After shipping his beloved beaten up Rambler across the Mediterranean Sea to Naples to load as cargo on the ship, we sky-jumped on several short flights for extended stays in Egypt, Morrocco, Turkey, and Greece before renting a snazzy car for a lazy tour through the entire boot of Italy to reach Naples for the crossing. My father was in heaven. He might not have displayed much emotion, but I could feel it.
Cooped up in our tiny one portal cabin, I gave him fits during the nine day crossing. While I wanted to hang over the railings and fish for whales, he insisted I play shuffleboard and cards. He won. Shuffleboard it was.
We finally made it back to the states for a short stint in Washington, D.C. before my father retired and moved us to the family farm in western Kentucky. With time, the calm that swept over him trickled down and swept over me. All the while, Africa stayed fresh in my heart. Years and years later, it still does. The food. The sand. The safaris. The Red Sea. The red-butted baboons. Most importantly, my father's insight and foresight to keep our little clan happy and safe.
Food is my memory trigger.
I might not remember the small details of my childhood, but I can taste them.
Revisiting Doro Wat.
Revisiting Africa.
Ababa, our housekeeper in Ethiopia, occasionally cooked her food for us. Even now, those flavors wrap me in her warm and gentle hug.
My father took us out of Africa.
I don’t know what became of Ababa.
Moments before boarding a plane to leave Africa behind, Ababa cupped my face with her calloused hands and kissed my forehead with her sun-parched lips. And we left.
My family lived in Ethiopia for a few years while my father was stationed on an army base located on the dusty outskirts of Asmara. It was a sprawling military base surrounded by 20 foot concrete walls topped with tangled webs of sharp barbed wire. As a kid, I wasn't sure if the walls were there to keep people out or to keep us in.
The isolated self contained base had everything we needed. Aside from occasional weekend jaunts to the Red Sea or adventurous Kenyan faux safaris, we happily lived our lives within our walled-in fortress.
Ababa was bussed onto base daily with other off base domestic workers. With a gentle grace and serenity, she took care of my family and me. I adored her.
Every day, in addition to her other tasks, Ababa cooked for us. Intermingled with Swanson TV dinners and frozen pot pies, she'd prepare curious interpretations of American food. But, once in a while, she'd pulled out the big guns and cook her food. Her intoxicating doro wat and tangy injera bread captured my tender young heart. I've craved it my entire life.
Nowadays, I don't prepare it as often as I'd like. While it seldom compares to her humble version of long braised chicken smothered and stained with spicy blood red berebere, the labor of love it requires to prepare takes me straight back to Africa. And to her. And to my father.
While the preparation of doro wat and injera is fairly straightforward, the days long process reveals its true essence and soul.
Niter Kibbeh.
Spiced clarified butter.
I melted 1/2 pound unsalted butter in a small cast iron skillet. When the butter started to foam, I added 1 cup diced purple onion, 2 whole garlic cloves, 1 tablespoon grated ginger, 1/4 teaspoon cardamom seeds, 1/4 teaspoon fennel seeds, and three whole cloves. When the onions turned translucent, I covered the skillet, reduced the heat to low, and let the butter steep for 45 minutes before draining it through cheesecloth to trap the solids, covering it, and setting it aside.
Berbere Paste.
After toasting 2 teaspoons cumin seeds,1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes, 1 teaspoon cardamom seeds, 1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds, and 4 whole cloves, I pulverized them in a pestle before mixing them with 1 tablespoon kosher salt, 1 1/2 tablespoons paprika, 1 teaspoon ground ginger, 1 teaspoon ground turmeric, 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice, and 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg. After adding 1/2 cup peanut oil and 1/2 cup dry red wine, I blended the berebere into a thick fiery paste and slid it into the refrigerator to chill.
Injera Bread.
Injera can be tricky.
To achieve the characteristic tang of the bread, a sour started needs to proof and ferment for several days. There are methods for quick starters, overnight starters, three day, five day, or seven day starters. The longer it proofs, the more intense the flavor. I took the middle road with a 4 day starter.
On the first day, I added 3/4 cup warm water to 1/2 cup fine teff flour. After sprinkling a pinch of active dry yeast over the mix, I covered the bowl with a kitchen towel and set it aside. Every morning, I added 1/3 cup teff flour and 1/2 cup warm water to the bubbling starter. As it slowly fermented, gurgled, and popped, the started exuded the familiar pungent aroma of injera bread.
After cranking an electric skillet (perfect for injera) to 400 degrees, I ladled 1/2 cup injera batter into a corner of the skillet and tilted it to swirl the batter over the bottom of the skillet (similar to crepe making). When it covered the surface, I let it cook until holes appeared in the batter and the bread cooked through . As each spongy injera crepe came off the skillet, I stacked them between sheets of waxed paper before rolling them up.
Doro Wat.
Chicken stew.
After breaking down a whole chicken into 8 serving pieces, I marinated the chicken in 1 cup freshly squeezed lime juice for 1 hour. Working over a medium low flame, I slowly sauteed 3 cups thinly sliced red onion, for 45 minutes. When the onions caramelized, I added 1/2 cup of the reserved niter kibbeh, 1/2 cup berebere paste, 1/2 cup red wine, and 1 cup chicken stock. I brought the sauce to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, and added the marinated chicken to bubbling blood red sauce. I covered the skillet and let it rip for an hour, adding boiled eggs to during the final 15 minutes.
In keeping with tradition, I covered a platter with pieces of the spongy injera, tumbled the saucy chicken over the bread, and nestled the reserved rolled injera to the side before finishing with parsley sprigs and the stained boiled eggs.
No utensils.
Just injera.
Finger food.
Scoop.
Sop.
Repeat.
Hold fast to revisiting.
Cooped up in our tiny one portal cabin, I gave him fits during the nine day crossing. While I wanted to hang over the railings and fish for whales, he insisted I play shuffleboard and cards. He won. Shuffleboard it was.
We finally made it back to the states for a short stint in Washington, D.C. before my father retired and moved us to the family farm in western Kentucky. With time, the calm that swept over him trickled down and swept over me. All the while, Africa stayed fresh in my heart. Years and years later, it still does. The food. The sand. The safaris. The Red Sea. The red-butted baboons. Most importantly, my father's insight and foresight to keep our little clan happy and safe.
Food is my memory trigger.
I might not remember the small details of my childhood, but I can taste them.
Revisiting Doro Wat.
Revisiting Africa.
Ababa, our housekeeper in Ethiopia, occasionally cooked her food for us. Even now, those flavors wrap me in her warm and gentle hug.
My father took us out of Africa.
I don’t know what became of Ababa.
Moments before boarding a plane to leave Africa behind, Ababa cupped my face with her calloused hands and kissed my forehead with her sun-parched lips. And we left.
My family lived in Ethiopia for a few years while my father was stationed on an army base located on the dusty outskirts of Asmara. It was a sprawling military base surrounded by 20 foot concrete walls topped with tangled webs of sharp barbed wire. As a kid, I wasn't sure if the walls were there to keep people out or to keep us in.
The isolated self contained base had everything we needed. Aside from occasional weekend jaunts to the Red Sea or adventurous Kenyan faux safaris, we happily lived our lives within our walled-in fortress.
Ababa was bussed onto base daily with other off base domestic workers. With a gentle grace and serenity, she took care of my family and me. I adored her.
Every day, in addition to her other tasks, Ababa cooked for us. Intermingled with Swanson TV dinners and frozen pot pies, she'd prepare curious interpretations of American food. But, once in a while, she'd pulled out the big guns and cook her food. Her intoxicating doro wat and tangy injera bread captured my tender young heart. I've craved it my entire life.Nowadays, I don't prepare it as often as I'd like. While it seldom compares to her humble version of long braised chicken smothered and stained with spicy blood red berebere, the labor of love it requires to prepare takes me straight back to Africa. And to her. And to my father.
While the preparation of doro wat and injera is fairly straightforward, the days long process reveals its true essence and soul.
Niter Kibbeh.
Spiced clarified butter.
I melted 1/2 pound unsalted butter in a small cast iron skillet. When the butter started to foam, I added 1 cup diced purple onion, 2 whole garlic cloves, 1 tablespoon grated ginger, 1/4 teaspoon cardamom seeds, 1/4 teaspoon fennel seeds, and three whole cloves. When the onions turned translucent, I covered the skillet, reduced the heat to low, and let the butter steep for 45 minutes before draining it through cheesecloth to trap the solids, covering it, and setting it aside.
Berbere Paste.After toasting 2 teaspoons cumin seeds,1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes, 1 teaspoon cardamom seeds, 1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds, and 4 whole cloves, I pulverized them in a pestle before mixing them with 1 tablespoon kosher salt, 1 1/2 tablespoons paprika, 1 teaspoon ground ginger, 1 teaspoon ground turmeric, 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice, and 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg. After adding 1/2 cup peanut oil and 1/2 cup dry red wine, I blended the berebere into a thick fiery paste and slid it into the refrigerator to chill.
Injera Bread.
Injera can be tricky.
To achieve the characteristic tang of the bread, a sour started needs to proof and ferment for several days. There are methods for quick starters, overnight starters, three day, five day, or seven day starters. The longer it proofs, the more intense the flavor. I took the middle road with a 4 day starter.
On the first day, I added 3/4 cup warm water to 1/2 cup fine teff flour. After sprinkling a pinch of active dry yeast over the mix, I covered the bowl with a kitchen towel and set it aside. Every morning, I added 1/3 cup teff flour and 1/2 cup warm water to the bubbling starter. As it slowly fermented, gurgled, and popped, the started exuded the familiar pungent aroma of injera bread.
After cranking an electric skillet (perfect for injera) to 400 degrees, I ladled 1/2 cup injera batter into a corner of the skillet and tilted it to swirl the batter over the bottom of the skillet (similar to crepe making). When it covered the surface, I let it cook until holes appeared in the batter and the bread cooked through . As each spongy injera crepe came off the skillet, I stacked them between sheets of waxed paper before rolling them up.
Doro Wat.
Chicken stew.
After breaking down a whole chicken into 8 serving pieces, I marinated the chicken in 1 cup freshly squeezed lime juice for 1 hour. Working over a medium low flame, I slowly sauteed 3 cups thinly sliced red onion, for 45 minutes. When the onions caramelized, I added 1/2 cup of the reserved niter kibbeh, 1/2 cup berebere paste, 1/2 cup red wine, and 1 cup chicken stock. I brought the sauce to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, and added the marinated chicken to bubbling blood red sauce. I covered the skillet and let it rip for an hour, adding boiled eggs to during the final 15 minutes.
In keeping with tradition, I covered a platter with pieces of the spongy injera, tumbled the saucy chicken over the bread, and nestled the reserved rolled injera to the side before finishing with parsley sprigs and the stained boiled eggs.
No utensils.Just injera.
Finger food.
Scoop.
Sop.
Repeat.
Hold fast to revisiting.
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