Eating Ethiopia With My Hands.

It's fast when you're hungry.

Upon walking into Mesob, an Ethiopian restaurant in Montclair, New Jersey, I settled down for an experience which left me wondering why it is still unknown to all but the most adventurous suburban eater. Since that meal, I fear I’m becoming annoying to my friends who have to hear me go on and on about the pleasures of injera, the flavor of cardamom and turmeric. Can you call a cuisine underrated? Meet Ethiopian food, the Jaylen Brown of Montclair’s illustrious food scene.

Though I’ve eaten fish eyeballs in Portugal and dried scorpions in Mexico with hardly a thought of their potential to confuse the palate, partaking of Ethiopian food seemed daunting to me. Maybe it was the lack of utensils, which Ethoipians believe create a barrier between eaters and their food, that seemed intimidating. Perhaps it was the shared plate, which is intended to make the meal a communal experience, that seemed too intimate for my more independent American sensibilities. However, upon stepping inside this restaurant, the warm smell of cinnamon and cloves reminded me of my dad’s spice mix warming on our stove and made me feel instantly like I belonged in the room. The restaurant’s decorations were something from a travel brochure, filled with intricately patterned grass baskets and ochre colored paintings. The music was low and rhythmic, a soundtrack for the main event.

As I walked to my seat, matching my steps to the downbeat, I noticed the other diners scooping glistening mounds of colorful meats and vegetables to their mouths with pieces of spongy bread in their right hands. I made a mental note as I sat: no left hands allowed. Later, after some investigation, I was relieved to have made this decision; Ethiopians consider the left hand unclean. If I were going to eat Ethiopian food, from then on, I’d have to be solely a Right Hand Man.

If you’re like me, a culinary adventurer, you always ask the locals for their favorites when you travel. So, we asked our server to bring us her favorites. Soon, we were presented with a circular platter the size of a hubcap filled with bits of fragrant stews and sauces, piled on top of sour, thin injera (a sour flatbread) shot through with tiny air bubbles. The cornucopia of oranges, browns and yellows sent the scents of turmeric, ginger, and chiles into the air around us. We were ready to eat, but not exactly sure how.

Watching the other tables to see how the comparative experts did it, I tore off a piece of injera, scooped up some of a beef-like stew, and went for a bite. The beef, called Minchet Abish, was soft and tender, with warm flavors of cumin, fenugreek and cardamom seeping through the bread so that every bite had the same distribution of flavor. Clearly braised for a long time and infused with the belief that food should be felt, not just tasted, I examined my dinner companions to see if they were experiencing the same epiphany. They were so consumed with making a land grab for their portion of the spicy, smoky red lentils and cubed chicken bathed in tomato and rosemary that they’d forgotten to be amazed. I turned my attention to the collard greens, spiced with cumin and ginger and shining with the Ethiopian version of clarified butter, or niter kibbeh. We had a winner. 

The common plate posed one challenge to our group of American eaters: if we all liked the same dish the most, this would become a battle for domination. But eventually, we took turns tasting each dish, encouraging each other to try our favorites. Maybe this is why the Ethiopians eat this way. If we can civilly share our food from the same vessel at mealtime, maybe we’d be better able to collaborate when we’re away from the table and the stakes are higher. The world could surely use an Ethiopian meal these days.

I wish I could say that we cleaned our collective plate, but our stomachs quit long before our mouths were ready. I saved room for a handleless cup of Ethiopian coffee, which takes up to 20 minutes to brew and only three to drink because it’s so deliciously fragrant and rich. While I tossed and turned that night cursing the caffeine I’d had too close to bed, I thought about what tip I’d give you if you traveled to Mesob. If you go, visit as a local, not a traveler. Eat whatever’s on your plate. Use your hands. And don't lick your fingers, though you’ll definitely want to.

Mesob

515 Bloomfield Ave

Montclair, NJ 07042