And frankly, I didn’t expect to. For years, I’d been a dutiful visitor to Meskerem on 18th Street, always game for an unusual, vaguely exotic night, always proud to see the diversity – of races, nationalities, and degrees of scruffiness – of the other diners around me. But I never ‘took’ to Ethiopian food before. I didn’t get it, exactly, though I always left both sated and happy with the food. After reading about the burgeoning “Little Ethiopia” at 9th and U Streets, NW, I decided to do a little more exploring.

Walking east along U Street, just below the jumble of new and old spots at 14th, you begin to get a sense of a cultural shift. Restaurant awnings begin to feature both English and Amharic. Hints of chili-spiked berbere and fenugreek mingle with the car exhaust in the air. Within a block of 13th Street, Ethiopian names become the norm – Roha, Dukem, “The Famous” Madjet.

And that only gets you to Salome at the corner of 9th and U. Once you’ve turned onto 9th Street (take a right at the Flea Market on Saturday and Sunday afternoons) you take a step into somewhere entirely new. On the 1900 block of 9th, sprinkled across both sides of the street, you’ll find Etete, Zula, Abiti, Queen Makeda, Axum, and Sodere. The restaurants range from sleek, modern showplaces to what look like unpainted bay-window living rooms, and the cultural shift is complete. Little Ethiopia indeed. It was a little bit daunting, I have to admit, so I decided I needed a guide.

My friend David works in Mali in West-Central Africa. He is an infectious disease specialist who travels several thousand miles at least once a month to manage ongoing clinical trials. His partner lives in Uganda. They vacation all across the continent. So when he insisted that we start at Dukem Ethiopian Restaurant, I trusted him. I imagine he knows a little bit about African food.

For our night at Dukem, we were gifted with an evening warm enough to sit on their small outside patio where we could enjoy a cool breeze and the sounds of the city night. Unfortunately our outdoor spot also meant we missed the aroma of a just-finished coffee ceremony and all but a hint of the music being performed inside. We started with small, piquant glasses of T’ej, a signature Ethiopian Honey Wine. Our T’ej was crisp and sweet, and tasted more like a cognac than a more traditional wine. Drinking T’ej alongside our vibrantly spicy dinner was ideal, but beyond that pairing the taste becomes almost cloyingly sweet. I’d recommend the Harar Beer, but they didn’t have any available that night.

As we sampled our first glass, we ordered dinner, despite a menu that was almost too Americanized. One of the joys of eating here is the experience of it all – the dancers, the disparity of accents and languages, the traditional costumes, art, and evocatively carved wood—and to have our vegetarian options called, plainly, “Regular Vegetarian Combo” was a bit of a disappointment. We selected the basic vegetarian sampler, with spicy split lentil, yellow peas, greens, and a tomato salad to serve as the base of our forthcoming meal. Luckily, every Ethiopian meal is beautifully displayed - a roundelay of colors and flavors laid flat on cool bread on a shallow metal tray.

And, oh, the wonders of Injera. Made from an Ethiopian cereal grain called teff, this porous, slightly sour bread serves as both palette (spread across the tray and under the main dishes) and utensil (Ethiopian meals are eaten by tearing injera and scooping up morsel after morsel with the hands). Pair it with those yellow peas, or Doro Wat, or Zilzil Tibs, and it balances heat and leavens sweet. Small servings of vegetables and sauces circle the outer edge of the tray in an array of color and texture. One sauce - a thick, dark brown sauce that tasted like a spicy, spiked molasses - was particularly amazing, and I ended up eating a cow’ weight in Injera simply by dipping in bite after bite. Main dishes (usually meats and stews) are then spooned onto the center of the injera-tray. And our main dishes certainly did not disappoint.

We shared three: a golden-red, rich and hearty lamb stew (Lamb Wat), simmering in meat juices, paprika, spicy-chili berbere, garlic and niter kebbeh (a butter spiced with onions, garlic, ginger, and more). Imagine it – all those spiky, tangled flavors blending together with the heavy roast of lamb. This is a flavor cousin to Indian Tikka Masala, but spicier, heavier, more robust. By the end of the meal your fingers will be (should be?) stained a delicious orange hue.

Dukem Kitfo was a bit more adventurous, a mix of near-rare beef, nutty cottage cheese, spiced butter, cardamom and mitmita (a very hot, red spice). Dave had worried that I would be daunted by the Kitfo, but I highly, highly recommend it. Served warm, the Kitfo had an edge of heat, but its gentle primary notes expertly bridged the hotter, spicier dishes and sweet, pungent, or pasty vegetarian sides. Both of these dishes, my world traveling partner promised, were equally as good as he’d had in Ethiopia itself.

A quick note for the uninitiated: when Dave requested that our Kitfo be served “leb leb” (ie: slightly cooked rather than the traditional style, served raw), our waitress laughed. Apparently, for Americans, Dukem automatically prepares their Kitfo that way.

The evening’s only disappointment was our third ‘main’ course, Minchet Abesh.
This ground beef dish, described as “seasoned with ginger and garlic” and served in a “mild green pepper sauce,” tasted like so much pre-Sloppy Joe, watery ground beef from my mother’s kitchen twenty years ago. Thankfully, the jalapeño, ginger, and garlic added a little spice, but if there’s a dish to skip, this is it.

Dukem features live dancing and singing every Monday and Wednesday night, and the enthusiastic, brightly garbed dancers performed a variety of sets, each with its own personality and costume, and each representing a different cultural or ethnic group. I have to admit that, with the dancing and music and closed-circuit television on the wall, it felt a bit like “Disney’s Ethiopia!” (check out www.dukemrestaurant.com), but Dave assured me that this is genuinely how an evening in an Addis Ababa restaurant feels.

As we lingered in the cool night, we were offered two genteel, flowered finger bowls of coffee. With plenty of sugar, this clove-scented, nutty coffee served as a delightful end to our meal.

Etete Ethiopian Cuisine

Etete Ethiopian Cuisine, on 9th, knows what they are doing as well. More modern and urban in its styling and presentation, with sleek furnishings and a pumpkin-colored walls, Etete is patronized by a nearly exclusive Ethiopian clientele. I had to appreciate this – Ethiopians eating Ethiopian has to speak well of the integrity of the food. Etete describes their specialty as “Ethiopian Soul Food,” and, whatever that means, they serve an incredible meal.

Since they were not serving their Sambusa’s (triangle-shaped pastries of ground, spiced beef, onions, peppers, and jalapeños) at lunch, I opted for a Tomato Salad comprised of equal parts tomato, shredded lettuce, onion and green pepper, and tossed in a lemony vinaigrette. The salad itself was delightful, if a bit oily, but the dressing-soaked injera was (unlike the saucy-injera that is a real treat of an Ethiopian meal) sodden and thick with oil. It took me a moment to realize that, yes, the salad too is eaten with the bread, but once I made that leap, all was good to go.

The main course was pure comfort food. Etete’s Yeawaze Tibs are a distinctly ‘Ethiopian’ meal – rich chunks of meat in a powerful berbere and butter sauce, smooth and aggressive but with an underlying loyalty to the flavor of the tenderly marinated beef that is the dish’s base. I made the mistake of trusting that amazing flavor too completely - munching in and chomping on a large slice of jalapeño - and both reaped the benefits and paid the price. While the taste of marinated beef, savory sauce, and hot pepper was incredible, and while I fully appreciated that killer-spice punch, within seconds I was diving for my soda, my water (this was lunch, so T’ej wasn’t in play), and the accompanying salad in an attempt to cool my mouth and tongue.

Unchastened, I had a little salad, a little injera, a little drink, and moved right back into the rich, meaty delight of my Yeawaze Tibs. After lunch, full and happy, I realized that there were easily eight more restaurants within eyesight that I wanted to explore. Let’s hope “Little” Ethiopia continues to grow. Because suddenly, I am someone who might just eat Ethiopian almost every day.

BIO:
Alex MacLennan is a writer and editor who has lived in D.C. on-and-off for over ten years. His first novel comes out in May, 2006, and yes, it includes lots of descriptions of food.