Ethiopian Dining Was a Gas

About author / Sarah Christine Bolton

Coffee addict; professional food writer; food fusion. Her slow cooker recipes go above and beyond your normal crockpot fare.

Considering that our backgrounds in food are complete opposites, my husband and I somehow find ways to meet in the middle. If not, we will just cook our own dinner, with him piling on the meat and hot sauce, while I grill chicken and toss a salad. I have tried to introduce him to new and exciting foods, with some success. There was the time I made baked tofu. He took one look as I pulled the sheet out of the oven, and said “ew.” However, I am proud to say that he now eats artichokes, and loves them.

When my good friend asked if we wanted to go on a double-date with her and her boyfriend, I was all excited about picking a brand-new restaurant to try. My friend and her boyfriend are both vegans, so I knew we wouldn’t be going to TGIFs. She suggested an Ethiopian restaurant.

“Yes!” I answered.
“What will your hubby say?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pitch it just right so he’s excited,” I promised.

He wasn’t as gullible as I hoped. When he looked at me like I was crazy, I told him it would be fun and different and promised he could stop for a burger if he hated it. That clinched the deal.

Convincing my husband turned out to be the easiest part of making our dinner happen.

First of all, on our way there, I decided to stop for gasoline. After being asked for money by various people (in Memphis, that’s part of the pumping gas experience), I managed to run my credit card, open my gas tank, and insert the nozzle. I waited patiently, anticipating our upcoming dinner. Suddenly, the nozzle jerked backwards out of the tank, and proceeded to spray me with gasoline. I stood still for a moment, contemplating life and wondering just how flammable I was at that point in time. I slammed the nozzle back onto the gas stand. I squished to the driver’s door. Opened it. Got in. My husband knew better than to even ask what happened.

Then, I drove past where I thought the restaurant was about four times. We finally found it, with no help from their sign, which was the size of a postcard. I found what looked like a parking spot in the back alley behind the dumpster. As we walked towards the restaurant, I looked back at my little car, wondering if I would ever see it again.

I arrived at the restaurant only slightly reeking. The fabulous thing about Ethiopian food, which I realized when we entered the restaurant, is that it is very spicy and pungent. Soon, my gasoline perfume was overcome by spices. My mood also improved as I looked at the menu. Everything sounded amazing, and just looking around at other patron’s meals convinced me that it was.

The food came out on a big plate. We could have ordered a giant platter for everyone to share, but my husband had to have his meat, and my vegan friends weren’t going to budge either. I got the lamb, which was tender and juicy. The most exciting part of the meal was the side dishes. Soft baby carrots and green beans in a light sauce. Sauteed cabbage. Pureed sweet potato. And my favorite was the lentil mash. The flavor was amazing, and I have no idea what spices were in it.

I came home, scrubbed my clothes, and got inspired to try lentil soup in the crockpot. And yes, my husband did stop for a burger afterwards.

Serves/Makes: 6

• 1 cup dry lentils
• 1 cup chopped carrot
• 1 cup chopped celery
• 1 cup chopped onion
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 teaspoon dried basil, crushed
• 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano, crushed
• 1/4 teaspoon dried thyme, crushed
• 1 bay leaf
• 3 1/2 cups chicken broth or veggie broth
• 1 1/2 cup water
• 1 can (14.5 ounce size) Italian-style stewed tomatoes
• 1/4 cup snipped fresh parsley
• 2 tablespoons cider vinegar