The first tear of injera always feels like a small ceremony.
In Ethiopian tradition, eating with your hands is a way to connect more deeply with your food, and with others.
Growing up in India, I often had meals eaten the same way, with bread and fingers, feeling the texture of every bite along the way.
It reminds me instantly of the rotis and naans of my childhood in India, not in taste, but in purpose.
I pinch a piece from the spongy, slightly sour flatbread laid out like a soft, edible tablecloth and tear a piece, scoop up a bit of doro wot: spicy chicken slow-cooked in a thick berbere sauce and finished with a hardboiled egg, and taste it.
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The building (see photos above) was constructed for Zewditu, the daughter of the great Ethiopian Emperor Menelik II, and a regional governor (dejazmach) named Webé, and its roof is shaped somewhat like a tukul, a thatched hut constructed by Ethiopians in non-urban regions.
The restaurant’s surrounding community is now known as Dejach Webé Sefer (“Dejach Sefer neighborhood”) or Webé Berha (Webé “light” or “bright”), a reference to the fact that in the early ‘50s, it was a lively place with dance bars - a sort of red light district.
Asegedech Alamirew, reportedly a madam, operated the place before Emperor Haile Selassie turned it into a traditional restaurant to raise money to help poor women under a program championed by his wife, Empress Menen.
The place seems to serve only “traditional” food - that is, the familiar dishes that we know as Ethiopian.
“This was one of the best meals we had during our two-week trip around Ethiopia,” writes a visitor from Washington, D.C., on Trip Adviser.
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“Delicious mahabarawi platter, t’ej, and beer in a gorgeous newly built tukul interior, within walking distance of the Piazza.
It is authentic and the presence of a local clientele attests.
The large round room offers a rather surprising frame, with its decor a little faded.
Says another visitor, from Spain: “The food is good, and the price is fair, but most remarkable is the building itself.
It is over 100 years old and well preserved, which makes your lunch/dinner a unique experience.
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The restaurant is located in the center of Addis Ababa and very close to the famous St. George Church.
This area used to be known like Las Vegas, with bar after bar, glittering lights, prostitutes and dance clubs.
The restaurant also offers catering.
The restaurant has plenty of servers to bring drinks.
I asked one of the workers recently if they get a lot of tourists like before, and he said no way.
Addis Ababa is up the hill from the hotel, and it’s round inside, with lots of mesobs and berchumas (traditional wooden tables).
“I remember during the ’70s it was a tourist attraction,” Araya says, “with busloads of people eating and drinking t’ej there.
The locals couldn’t afford it then.
The Rise of Ethiopian Cuisine in the United States
While cities like D.C., New York and Seattle have long supported vibrant Ethiopian dining scenes, Pittsburgh has only ever had a couple of Ethiopian restaurants.
“That’s because Pittsburgh doesn’t have a large Ethiopian population,” says Kloman.
The city’s first Ethiopian restaurant, Abay, opened in 2004 on Highland Avenue in East Liberty and played a key role in introducing the cuisine to Pittsburghers.
Back when he was a student, Haileyesus remembers how limited the options were.
“I missed the food so much.
For Haileyesus, that longing turned into something more: a realization that he could fill a gap in the market, feed his own craving for Ethiopian food and put his background in business analysis to use.
Indeed, Tana has built a quiet, loyal following.
“Even during Covid,” Haileyesus says, “customers would call, asking if they could still order food.
They wanted to support us.
That’s what this country, this city has given me.
Haileyesus runs almost everything himself.
He hasn’t taken a real vacation or gone back home to Ethiopia in years.
Pioneers of Ethiopian Cuisine in America
Tefferi has made promoting Ethiopian food and culture to the world her life’s work.
She travels to the high plateaus of Ethiopia every few months to check on her growing spice business, and when she’s stateside she’s managing the restaurant, checking in on the spice shop or organizing cooking classes at the culinary studio.
She acquired a space to manually process materials and create spice blends.
She now goes back every few months, so often that she estimates she’s there “five months a year.”
She’s working on the factory she owns where spices are blended, looking to add solar energy and a larger, more functional building, where she can start packaging spices.
On her desk in the Brundo office, she has a small, round black clay pot that is used to make butter and was made by one of the women that work for her in Ethiopia.
As with food, sharing is very important in Ethiopian culture, Tefferi says, and so since she has been successful, she feels the obligation to help others.
For her, it’s teaching everyone she can about the benefits of Ethiopian food and trying to improve lives back home as well.
In 1990, Tefferi quit her job as a banker in Los Angeles to move to Oakland and start Café Colluci with two friends.
She soon found the work of cooking and running a restaurant was perfect for her.
“I always had the desire to create the food that I ate when I was young, so [the idea of owning] the restaurant really appealed to me,” she says.
“Then I got into it.
I said, ‘I like this, I can cook, I don’t get tired when I cook.
I really enjoyed it.
At that time, during the early 1990s, North Oakland already had a vibrant Ethiopian community for decades, and there were also a few restaurants specializing in Ethiopian and Eritrean food on Telegraph Avenue.
Tefferi says she thinks the large number of restaurants is tied to Ethiopian culture.
