Bonding at Buna Ethiopian
When we played “Name the Capital” back in school, to test others’ knowledge and show off our own, Ethiopia was one of the trump cards. But I still remember, once, being totally stumped by a question on the rebound — “What does Addis Ababa mean?”
The ‘New Flower’ came up in conversations again, years later, during a team outing. The manager, and his boss, took a few of us out at the beginning of a project as a sort of an ice-breaker. “We’re doing Ethiopian tonight. But they do not provide any silverware — are you OK with eating with your hands?” What a question to ask an Indian! It was my first work trip, and I would still instinctively pick up the fork with my right hand. Being so comfortable around the food that evening indeed helped me work on the ice-breaking part of the meeting. That was Meskerem in Greenwich Village. Later, when I was a longer lasting resident more acquainted with the place, Queen of Sheba in Hell’s Kitchen became a regular hosting venue for meet-ups.
It is not just the eating style that is familiar. The food is also pretty close to certain Indian dishes. The lentils and the curries are very similar to basic home-cooked fare. Even the most celebrated staple, the Injera, is very similar to South India’s Set Dosa — in taste and texture if not in ingredients and size. As such, whenever I have invited any Indian to an Ethiopian place, I have always seen them get happy and content. That they usually have quite a few vegetarian options has also helped in such meetings.
In Los Angeles, driving or walking along a stretch of South Fairfax Avenue, one is greeted with modest signs reminding you of your entry in Little Ethiopia. If you have not planned in advance, this could be a serious conundrum — which among the most authentic, cosy, Ethiopian eateries do you finally walk into? Messob, Genet, Buna, Rahel, Rosalind , Nyala— they all beckon you with the same absorbent warmth as you’d find in their fresh injeras. I chose Buna because it is right next to Paradocs Coffee (apparently serving the best Affogatto in the area). It was just right for the planned after-meal dessert stopover. The place was empty but for a friend of the owners’ who was in for a late afternoon chat. I had the place, and the people inside, to myself.
The friendly owner, Eyob, immediately started conversations and pointed out that the visiting friend had lived in India for a long time. (A medical course in Pune, a city the quiet man said he loved for the endless cups of chai and ubiquitous vada pav.) Growing up, they were also great fans of Mithun Chakraborty movies of the Eighties. He broke into a rather passionate rendition of a song from Disco Dancer — which I must admit makes me smile whenever I think about it. He also told me I must visit Ethiopia and Morocco — and I told him I would love to, and added, rather needlessly, that I know what Addis Ababa means in Amharic.
The authentic Injera is made from flour milled from Teff — a kind of very tiny grass grain. Very, very tiny, in fact, since a grain is about 1/150th of a wheat kernel. Literally even, teff means lost — so heed the advice and don’t try to find it if you drop one on the floor. To make injera, the flour is kneaded and left to ferment at room temperature. But being a type of grass, it is gluten free and hence does not rise during the fermentation process. Instead it gets to its characteristic spongy, airy texture along with the obvious hint of sourness. An Ethiopian will tell you that any other grain will never make the cut — injera is from teff and teff is for injera. “Whatever it looks like, it will never taste like teff.” Other than its obvious presence in almost every meal, it also serves the dual purpose of a serving base for the stews and a scoop to pick up the food from the plate. If you are a guest and eating in a group, be ready for a round of the Gursha — where the host shows the respect he has for you by feeding you from his hands. Though the best response is to return the favor, the least you can do is to not cringe or refuse. I ordered the Yebeg Alich Wot (Mild Lamb Stew) and had a heavenly thirty minutes once it was served. I was almost forced by Eyob to have another injera after these three that you see in the picture below! He also offered me their Baklava or the Home-made Tiramisu free of cost to mark our new friendship, but I had already celebrated it enough.
Before I left, I asked about the baked trout in the menu. The discussion on the topic got so delicious that I could not stop myself from ordering it to-go. I relished it the next afternoon and pretended I was back at Buna.
“You must open an Ethiopian restaurant when you go back to India,” Eyob told me as I was leaving. “You like our food so much. Let me know, we can do something about it.” I smiled at him and kept wondering how many restaurants I would need to open based on that logic.
I walked silently and laboriously past Paradocs Coffee — there was no way I could make some space for the best Affogatto in Los Angeles.
