The very best thing ever to do with tomatoes

First thing this morning I spent a little time in the vegetable garden, hand watering the areas not served by drip lines. Usually Andreas does this but as he is in Greece for two weeks the job falls to me. I'm actually enjoying getting out there in the early hours of the day. This morning I brought in some squash, several cucumbers, and another big bowl of tomatoes, in addition to my favorite summer morning treat, squash blossoms.

Breakfast today was an omelet made with the blossoms, some herbs from the garden and a couple of local eggs. It was my intention to have our own chickens by now, but the coop-construction plans got sidetracked this summer in favor of a bedroom redecoration and a few other home improvement projects. We still hope to have it done before next spring, as we've promised Alekka some baby chicks. Fortunately local eggs aren't hard to come by.

After breakfast Alekka and I headed out to Ashland to shop at the co-op and to check out the Eat Local kick-off celebration in front of the store. They had a bluegrass band and some purist-friendly food samples. The Eat Local organizers had a table and I made my participation official by signing up. They are sticking to the standards, these THRIVE folks, and I guess that's a good thing - although it means I don't get to call myself a Purist. Coffee drinkers may as well turn in their badges right now. Oh well, been there, done that. So this year I am an Idealist.

The bar is pretty low for Idealists: all you have to do is eat one meal a day that is all-local. That's too easy. I intend to keep to my own Powdermilk Biscuit standard ("pure... mostly"; also "tasty" but not necessarily "expeditious"). However, after checking out the bulk food section at the co-op I think I will write myself a couple of more exceptions. I thought I remembered that Black Ranch wheat (sold at the co-op) had a white flour but it seems they don't. So I'm going to allow myself my usual white flour from Bob's Red Mill, located about 30 miles outside the 200-mile zone; the wheat itself is grown mainly in Idaho. And I'm going to use that Napa Valley red wine vinegar our son brought up last year. It will make a better vinaigrette than lemon juice does.

So, you might ask, why can't I manage without flour? After all, it's only a week. This is why - it's to make the bread that goes so well with with the amazing tomato stuff. You lightly toast a slice of rustic bread, spread it with with goat cheese (made locally by Siskiyou Goat Dairy or Mama Terra, from Ashland Food Co-op) and top it with these roasted tomatoes dripping in garlicky olive oil. Last night I wasn't allowing myself the bread because the wheat wasn't local, so I put some of the tomatoes on my steak. That was good, too.

One day last summer Nik ate an entire batch of these tomatoes in a day, so last night I secured the bowl from midnight snackers with rubber bands and a "do not eat" sign to make sure there would be some left for tonight. By the way, when the tomatoes are gone, don't throw away the oil - use it to make dressing, to cook eggs in, or for dipping more bread.

Pomodori al Forno

1 C olive oil, divided
2 lbs. plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise, seeded
1 1/2 t dried oregano
3/4 t sugar *
1/2 t salt
1 or 2 garlic cloves, minced
2 t minced Italian parsley

*Eat Local people - it will be fine if you omit the sugar

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Pour 1/2 C oil into a 13x9 glass baking dish. Arrange tomatoes in the dish, cut side up. Drizzle with remaining 1/2 C oil. Sprinkle with oregano, salt, and sugar. Bake 1 hour. Use tongs to turn the tomatoes over. Bake another hour. Turn tomatoes again. Bake until deep red and very tender, about another 15 to 45 minutes.
Layer tomatoes in a bowl or glass loaf pan, sprinkling garlic and parsley over each layer. Pour the liquid from the baking dish into a large measuring cup. Pour just the oil that rises to the top of the measuring cup (not the tomato liquid) over the tomatoes until they are covered (if there is not enough baking oil, use additional olive oil). Let stand at room temperature 2 hours. Serve with goat cheese and toasted bread slices.

Mapping out a week of Eating Local

Today is the first day of my third year of the Eat Local Challenge and I’m feeling confident. The first year, I was a self-described “stickler” who made no exceptions whatsoever to the 100-mile rule. One of the things I learned from that experience was that I need exceptions. My second year, last year, I wrote a blog about my week of eating local for the Mail Tribune. We had some great meals that week and I found several new sources for local ingredients. This year will have a few new twists.

The rules themselves have changed for 2009: “local” according to the sponsor's rules, is now defined as “grown, raised, or produced within the 200 mile radius.” I assume this change was effected to include the coast with its fishing industry and also seawater (for salt) from Port Orford. Well, 200 miles is all right by me. I love fish and now I won’t have to write myself an exception for salt. But I don’t like the “grown, raised, or produced” part – I like to keep it to grown or raised. “Produced” means the ingredients could come from anywhere; this might be good for the local economy but if you are concerned about food miles I think you need to look at where all the individual components come from.

I got out a map and tried to make a geometry lesson out of the new local definition but my 12 year old daughter wasn’t having any of it. It’s been a rough first week at school for us both. So I drew the circle myself: it arcs the coast from Lincoln City OR to Fort Bragg CA. Heading up I-5 it reaches just north of Salem to Keizer, and south as far as Willows CA. Heading due east we go past Lakeview to an area called the Basque Hills. Ought to be plenty to eat in that big circle.

As I mentioned, work has been a bit of a trial recently. In fact, I didn’t get to the Ashland food co-op this week at all and so started the challenge today somewhat unprepared. But we’re doing OK. There were nice local 49er peaches (from Quality Market) for breakfast. Lunch was some eggplant salad made according to a recipe in a previous post with all-local ingredients (except the oil - see below), some leftover steamed green beans from our garden, a carrot bought last week at the co-op, and some raspberries also from the garden. I was hungry when I got home so I ate the leftover garden chard that was in the fridge.

I had to dig around in the freezer a little to find dinner for me and Alekka. I bought a quarter beef from rancher Larry Martin in Central Point a while back - one of the big changes in my food purchasing habits that came about because of last year's Challenge was that now we get almost all of our meat now from local producers - but now most of it is gone except for some short ribs and stew meat. I have an order in for a half beef but the animal won't be killed until October.

But then I found a package of long strips of round steak down in the bottom of the case and thawed it out in the microwave after work.For dinner I cooked that on my stove-top grill along with some Romano beans from the garden – they’re great tossed with some olive oil before grilling and sprinkled with salt and a little lemon after. Alas, no local potatoes in the house but I’ve got a loaf of bread baking in the oven (no local flour in the bin, so the bread will just be for the kids). That and some of our amazing baked tomato stuff (more about that tomorrow) and I think the two of us are all set for decent - and local - meal.

I call myself a purist but I have to make a couple of exceptions if I want get to the goal of educating myself with local eating lessons I can use throughout the year. I don't see this as a Lenten-like deprivation exercise, rather as an opportunity to open my mind to the to realities of agribusiness while exposing my tastebuds to nearby epicurean delights. That's how I interpret it anyway. I could survive a week on steamed zucchini and raw tomatoes from the garden but that wouldn’t inspire me to any kind of higher level. So –

1) I get to drink coffee. The first year I did the challenge, I gave up coffee (it doesn’t grow here) but got a mongo headache that didn’t go away all week. I haven’t done anything to cure myself of my addiction so there we are. Anything that goes into the coffee, however, must be local.

2) Cultures. So many tasty foods depend on yeast and bacteria that I’m just not going to worry about where those ingredients came from. That means I get to make yeast bread (with local flour, of course). I suppose maybe for next year I could get a starter going and make sourdough bread out of the air. But meanwhile for our purposes I declare that yeast is not a food. Same with bacterial cultures used to make buttermilk, sour cream, cheese, and so on. I would not be able to partake of the delicious local cheeses or even make my own if I worried about where the starter was made (the one I use comes mail order from Vermont, but I don’t know where they get it). Even Daisy brand sour cream whose sole ingredient is listed as “cultured cream” contains bacteria of unknown origin. Same with sulfites added to wine and other similar trace chemicals. I say, who cares.

3) Olive oil. My son is allergic to all dairy products, but aside from butter, there are no local oils. You have to have some oil for cooking, and if I choose butter for its local-ness, I have to cook a second dinner for my son without it. No thanks. Besides which, olive oil is delicious and good for you. I get mine in bulk at the food co-op in a container I reuse, so at least I can say I save on the packaging.

4) Lemon juice. I need something sour to make salad dressing and to add a little tang to things. The other option is vinegar. Last year one of our sons in California had the grace and good sense to bring a bottle of Napa Valley red wine vinegar with him on a visit during Eat Local week and I talked myself in to thinking that was legit. But I think we need a real exception. The lemon juice is from lemons we picked ourselves on a visit to LA but I can’t honestly say that makes them local-legal – that’s a slippery slope (I mean, where are the food miles savings if I fly to Ecuador to satisfy a banana craving?)

So, those are my rules. Tomorrow I'm going shopping.

Off he goes, in to the wild Blue Zone

Andrea has gone to Greece for two weeks. He and his brother Tony and their uncle Andy are flying today from Athens into the little airport at Faros on Ikaria. This is something I hope to never do. For one thing, the airport at Faro makes the Medford International Airport look like LAX. Please note in the photo how the runway ends at a little cliff above the sea. And who, I ask, would willingly board a dinky plane headed for an island named after a guy who fell out of the sky and into the waves? There is even a big statue of Icarus in front of the airport (you can sort of see it in the picture). Aristotle would call this hubris. I would say take the boat. Aack.

Andreas is going to Ikaria with his uncle Andy so they can sort out the family property there. They need to get it surveyed and registered with the authorities so it doesn’t end up belonging to the guy storing lumber in the old kafeneo or the other guy who’s using one of the houses as a goat shed. Andreas is also (we hope) finalizing his paperwork to become a Greek citizen. We shall see.

Evdilos

The travelers aren't actually staying in their own village, which is called Arethousa. Instead they're staying nearby in the larger port town of Evdilos. Andreas's aunt called from Athens last week to warn them not to stay in Arethousa because two guys there want to kill Uncle Andy. Eighty-year-old Uncle Andy hasn't been to the island for thirty years but he seems to inspire that kind of thing in people. Andreas emailed me to say that Uncle Andy nearly caused an international incident at Orly airport last week when the French customs officer got a little too personal.

Ikaria recently found itself in the limelight once again after being identified as a “Blue Zone”, one of those places where people live to remarkable ages. Here’s a short video about it. Apparently there's a best selling book about this Blue Zone thing. It was even on NPR. For those of you who have a lame computer like mine and can’t watch the video, these are the “eight simple secrets” of becoming a very old Ikarian:

1) wild greens
2) herbal teas
3) low sense of time urgency
4) daily naps
5) mountain living
6) strong sense of community
7) goat milk
8) Ikarian diet (more vegetables, beans, olive oil; less meat & sugar. Not so much fish and grains, but plenty of potatoes.)

This is inhumane

It is the first day of school and I am leaving for work before the squash blossoms are open. Sigh.

Squash blossom summer

One the best things about summer is finding breakfast in the back yard. The sun shining on our little garden plot in the morning is a joyous sight to behold. Andreas is an early riser even when on vacation, so he’s the one to get the drip coffee going and JPR on the radio. By the time I wander downstairs I’m often greeted with the smell of Trade Joe’s organic fair trade breakfast blend and one of Andreas’s special garden frittatas. The method is simple: gather peppers, squash blossoms, and basil from the garden, saute the pepper with chopped onions, add some roughly chopped basil and squash blossoms and also some crumbled cheese(feta or goat); whisk some eggs and pour them over the vegetables; bake until puffed and set. If there are some mushrooms in the refrigerator, slice and saute those with the vegetables, or chop some garden tomatoes, or put in some leftover sauteed zucchini. Whatever you do, it will be good.

Some days Andreas can’t wait for me to drag my lazy self downstairs and he’s already had his oatmeal or omelet before I show my face. If I’m lucky, though, he’s picked a few big beautiful squash blossoms and a handful of ripe raspberries and strawberries and left them on the counter to brighten my morning. I like the blossoms prepared very simply: beat an egg in one dish, and in another dish mix a handful of flour with some salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Dip the blossoms in the egg and then dredge them in the flour. Fry them in butter. That plus a little dish of strawberries and raspberries, or some just-picked cherry tomatoes will brighten your morning as if you’ve swallowed the sun.

New Sammy’s Cowboy Bistro

We’ve been trying to get to Sammy’s all summer. Sammy's is hands down, without a doubt, the best restaurant in southern Oregon. In fact, so far as I know, it is the best restaurant in all of Oregon, and much of California besides. We’ve been eating there as often as the budget has allowed ever since we moved here in 1991. Since the budget doesn’t allow much, that’s normally been twice a year.

This year, various factors necessitated putting off our traditional June date night at Sammy’s. Then family business called Andreas to take off this morning for fifteen days in Greece without me. He goes with my blessing, but I wasn’t going to say no to a conciliatory dinner at Sammy’s. When he called the restaurant Tuesday for a reservation, the only time available for Friday night was 9 pm. We took it, along with the promise of earlier seating in the event of a cancellation. On Thursday they called back and we were in at 8:30, and then Saturday afternoon we got another call for 7 pm. Perfect.

We used to consider Sammy’s one of the best-kept secrets in the Rogue Valley. Locals dining there 15 years ago were reluctant to recommend it for fear of diminishing their own chances for a future reservation at one of the only six tables. It’s not such a secret anymore. Word got out somehow – how could it not – and I guess we should all be glad for the proprietors’ sakes that the place is so popular. Last night, from the snatches of conversation we picked up, it seemed our fellow diners were all Californians up for the festival (one table of two had another food blogger at it, and the people at the big table in the next room were taking photos of their food as well. Dinners at Sammy’s seem to be well-documented these days).

Before the remodel, Sammy’s sported an (extremely) low-key exterior: it was a multi-colored shack with a mostly burnt-out flashing arrow, and no sign. Now it has a more conventional California-mission face with the restaurant’s name spelled out in big letters above the door. I do miss the diamond-in-the-rough look – I felt like I was entering a speakeasy, a private boîte open only to those in the know. But the original six white linen-covered tables, arranged in three rooms with combination bistro and cow motif on the walls, is still contained within the new exterior. We always ask for a table in this old area; the new addition includes an attractive bar, tile floor and custom hammered-metal tables and is sleek and modern but loud. The biggest problem with it is that in there we miss the quirky charm of the original.

The food at Sammy’s is entirely the creation of the talented Charlene Rollins, and the extensive wine cellar is the responsibility of her husband Vernon. When the place was smaller, Charlene literally did all the cooking herself. More tables mean she has some additional help in the kitchen now, but she has made certain that the food meets the same standard of excellence as before the expansion. The food itself is artfully presented but not fussy; creative and interesting but not outré. It’s made with attention to what’s local, what’s fresh, and what’s good. Much of it comes from the restaurant’s own garden or nearby, named producers. It’s a lot like eating at the home of the very best cook you know. Vernon and Charlene Rollins have been creating fine food in California, France and Oregon since 1978 (the whole interesting story can be read here). There are usually red meat, fowl, fish, and vegetarian options, and the kitchen is open to making adjustments for special dietary requests.

For my dinner last night I chose the prix-fixe menu. It began with a generous slice of organic chicken liver terrine with mixed green salad, garnished with marinated chiogga beets, spiced walnuts, pickled red onion and accompanied on the plate by thin slices of lightly toasted seeded rye bread. My main course consisted of two large grilled Umpqua Valley lamb loin chops served over a beautifully balanced risotto with sweet corn kernels, shiitake mushrooms, onion, marjoram and pecorino cheese. On the prix-fixe menu the diner gets a choice of desserts, and I selected a satisfyingly rich bittersweet chocolate cake with cherry mousse ice cream.

Andreas chose his dinner from the a la carte menu. His first course was a coho salmon and sorrel terrine with Meyer lemon crème fraiche and a small salad. Andreas can’t say no to duck, and he was not disappointed by the grilled skinless, boneless breast in spiced cherry sauce, served with braised mustard greens, applewood smoked bacon, chiogga beets, and polenta. His dessert selection was a crispy, cold torte of frozen sorbet layered with chocolate-almond meringue, served with orange sorbet and blackcurrant sauce.

Vernon is a knowledgeable wine expert; he’ll come to your table after you place your order with the server to take your wine order. We've learned to ask for his educated opinion on the wine. He’ll ask you what you like, get a gentle feel for your budget, and make some suggestions. Last night we took his advice on by-the glass options and had a cotes-de-Rhone that went well with both our meals. The wine prices are so not absurdly inflated as they are in many restaurants, and the selection is extensive. There is a $6 corkage fee if you bring your own, but if you also choose a second bottle from Sammy’s cellars then the fee for yours is waived (it’s relevant to remember here that in Oregon it is legal to bring open leftover wine home with you.)

In addition to all this, diners are kept tantalized with a small parade of clever amuse-bouches based on ingredients from the restaurant’s garden: before dinner we had a couple of grapes and tiny tomatoes accompanied by a paper-thin and spicy-hot wafer. This was followed by an egg-cup of “white gazpacho” made with cucumber, almonds, grapes, and dill, and a little plate of edamame pods served with a tiny rice ball and a spoonful Asian dipping sauce. Sammy’s is known locally for their rustic house-made bread, which is also sold in stores and farmer’s markets; at the restaurant it is served with tangy olive oil for dipping. After dessert we were presented with two tiny ground-cherries (raw tomatoes) dipped in dark chocolate.

While spendy by southern Oregon standards, urban visitors will be pleasantly surprised at the reasonable price. The prix-fixe menu last night was $51.00. First courses are around $10-15, desserts a little less, and mains around $25. Lunchtime has a different menu, with lighter dishes, soups, and salads – and is a serious bargain at around $15-20 per person.

End of summer salads

When I’m not cooking or eating or blogging about it, I’m often busy being the librarian for a large public high school. This week I’ve tried hard to get back into the academic-year routine but it’s been a rocky start. Our new library is going to be gorgeous, however right now its salient characteristic that it is under construction. I have it from a reliable source that the building will be fit for human habitation by next week, but this week was frustrating in the extreme. What’s a librarian with no library?

I’ve pledged not to think about it this weekend. Labor Day offers the last opportunity to ignore real responsibilities before the treadmill revs up (speaking of treadmills, my new routine will include an hour at the YMCA every morning– you heard me say it, folks). So let’s have a picnic and I’ll bring the salad. Here are two more of my family’s current favorites.

Watermelon-feta salad was everywhere a couple of years ago. I’ve seen it billed as a Greek dish (it’s not), or Mexican when made with cotija instead of feta cheese; Nigella Lawson puts in some black olives and calls it Israeli. But I’m pretty sure some American just made it up. In any case it’s light and refreshing on a hot day, and very simple to make. There are recipes that include balsamic vinegar instead of lime, cilantro or basil instead of mint, and numerous other variations. I like this particular version because I can remember it without looking it up in my file. I think of it as the 4x4 salad (that would be a dumb name, but it makes it easy to remember the proportions) – 4 cups of watermelon plus ¼ cup each of the other 4 ingredients. If the agribusiness aura doesn’t put you off too much, get one of those cute little personal-size Dulcinea watermelons , or else use up the rest of that giant melon you regret buying because it’s taking up half your refrigerator.

Watermelon-Feta Salad

4 cups watermelon, cubed (seedless, or remove seeds)
¼ C lime juice
¼ C finely chopped red onion
¼ C finely chopped fresh mint leaves
¼ C feta cheese, crumbled

Toss all ingredients together. Chill.


The green beans in our garden are ripening by the bucketful right now. I found this recipe on Epicurious – it was originally from Gourmet magazine, April 1995 – and made it take to the Pink Martini show at Britt last week. After we ate all the green beans Andreas couldn’t bear to throw out the dressing that had dripped to the bottom of the bowl; he was inspired to pour it on some blanched chard the next day. Very tasty indeed.

By the way – if you don’t already, keep your fresh ginger root in the freezer. It’s easy to grate off what you need while it still frozen, then put the rest back in the freezer for next time.

Green Bean Salad with Asian-Style Dressing

Dressing
3 T white-wine vinegar
2 T rice vinegar
2 t soy sauce
1 garlic clove, minced
1-inch piece of fresh ginger root, peeled and minced (about 1 T)
2 t sesame oil
1/3 C canola oil

Salad
1 T sesame seeds
2 lbs green beans, trimmed
2 scallions, chopped fine (about 2 T)

In a small bowl, whisk together vinegars, soy sauce, garlic, ginger root, and sesame oil. Add canola oil in a stream, whisking until emulsified. Season dressing with salt and pepper.

In a small dry skillet toast sesame seeds over moderate heat, stirring, until golden and transfer to a small bowl.

In a large saucepan of boiling salted water, cook beans until crisp-tender, about 4 minutes. Transfer beans to a colander and rinse under cold water. Drain beans well.

In a large bowl, combine beans, scallions, sesame seeds and dressing and toss well. Serve salad chilled or at room temperature.

I left my heart in San Francisco, part two

We had tickets for 1:00 at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The timed entry scheme was due to two hugely popular special exhibits running simultaneously at the museum this summer. One is the Ansel Adams / Georgia O’Keefe show (did you know they were friends?). Good stuff, but the other exhibit was the one I really wanted to see. Richard Avedon. I love black and white portraiture, and Avedon was the master.

When I was living in Washington DC in the early1980s I had a great friend named Kelly. We both worked at Georgetown’s New Wave emporium, Commander Salamander. I was a self-styled prairie punk with cowboy boots, an orange and purple fauxhawk, and a thing for Willie Nelson. He was an ethereal blonde with great bone structure and a better style sense than anyone else I knew. When the Commander gave us time off from hawking pink hairspray to Amy Carter and her friends and punk accoutrements to touring rock performers (I once sold Prince a leather jacket), Kelly and I made a striking pair on urban excursions. We smoked a lot of Sobranies, danced to Martha and the Muffins at the 9:30 club, and marinated our angst in vodka tonics at Cagney’s on Dupont Circle. Ah, the life of the tragically hip.

For all his flamboyance, Kelly sheltered his secrets well, and I only saw his apartment on one occasion. We had been talking about the photo studio in San Francisco I’d worked in before moving to D.C, and how much I admired the work of Diane Arbus. Kelly said he wanted to show me something. He took me upstairs in a dingy apartment building to a tiny studio with a Murphy bed and a hotplate. And there on the wall above the dresser was a huge black and white photo of Kelly taken by Richard Avedon. Avedon had noticed Kelly when he was a teenager blowing though his inheritance by living high in New York’s Plaza Hotel. I don’t know what ever happened to Kelly, or his picture. I look for it in the indexes to Avedon books and on the walls of exhibits, but I never have seen it again.

One of the several things Kelly introduced me to in Washington was Ethiopian food. Late at night after work we used to drive in his gargantuan late-model Cadillac sedan from Georgetown up to Adams Morgan, to the Red Sea restaurant. We always ordered the kitfo – chopped raw beef in spiced butter, loaded with enough hot mitmita pepper to make your eyes water. We both thought it was the best food in the world. I remember Kelly’s solemn promise to find a way to mail me some when I moved back to San Francisco.

My taste for Ethiopian food has followed me everywhere. Now whenever our family goes to LA, the East Bay, or Portland we have to have an Ethiopian meal. After our Sunday at the museum, we went back across the bay to Oakland where the best Ethiopian food in the Bay area is located. We have several places we like, but there was a newcomer with us this time in the person of the intrepid Stephanie, and we wanted her to have a good impression. That meant we had to go to the friendliest, homiest one of the bunch, which has to be Ensarro on Grand Avenue.

When people ask what the Ethiopian cuisine is like I usually say that it is something like Indian, but without the curry powder. It sort of looks like Indian food, and the texture is similar (medium thick stews), with a lot of vegetarian choices; the spices are quite different however. The meal is served family style on one big platter with the various stews mounded separately on a giant round of injera. Injera is usually described as a spongy, sour “bread:” really more like a thick pancake cut into wide strips and rolled up. (Someone told me it made them think of “wet gray rags” – a comparison that stubbornly sticks in my brain, like the spinach-as-hair-in-a-drain metaphor offered by a fellow grad student in a foodways seminar. But don’t let that put you off). Anyway, everyone takes a roll of injera and tears off pieces to pick up the various stews and eat them. No utensils involved here, but you still need to mind your manners: etiquette requires you to eat with your right hand only.

The main types of dishes are wats (stews), tibs (small pieces of meat sauteed with onions), and various vegetable dishes including lentils, greens, and sometimes grains. I have never been to an Ethiopian restaurant that didn’t have helpful descriptions in the menu. There are many good choices for vegetarians but vegan options are limited: many of the vegetable dishes are made with niter kebbeh, a seasoned clarified butter. This ingredient probably won’t be listed in the dish descriptions so if you are a strict vegan you should ask before ordering; vegetable oil can sometimes be substituted. Also, many dishes are spicy, so if you are sensitive you will want to inquire about that as well (there are plenty of mild options).

I am still a great fan of kitfo, the raw beef dish. It is my absolute favorite and the primary criterion in evaluating an Ethiopian restaurant. If you want to try it, be sure to emphasize that you want it raw, not rare. We have learned that some places don’t expect non-Ethiopians to order it this way (although it is the correct and traditional way to make this dish) and so will automatically ask the kitchen to cook it slightly unless you make this clear to your server. Cooked kitfo is pointless. Don’t go there.

Most restaurants offer combination dinners. We have found that if you have fewer than 6 or 8 in the party that this is the best way to go. A meat combination usually gives you three small meat dishes for the platter, and a vegetarian combination gives you four vegetables. By ordering one each of the meat and vegetarian combinations plus an order of kitfo, a small party can get plenty of variety (eight items) and plenty of food to serve three or four people. It will all be served on the one platter, family style, the same as if you have ordered separately. For a larger group you might want to have each person choose an item for the platter, or still get the combinations plus some additional dishes for variety.

Last Sunday at Ensarro we ordered a bottle of tej, Ethiopian honey wine, to go with our meal. We were surprised to learn that the brand offered at Ensarro, Yamatt, is made locally in Oakland. It is sweet and amber-colored, with a light a taste of honey – we all enjoyed it very much. The food also goes well with beer; there are Ethiopian brands available.

I have to tell you that the proprietors at the family-owned Ensarro are lovely people. They will make you feel at home even when your husband insists on walking into the kitchen to meet the cook (it’s a Greek thing). We have not actually met the proprietors of Addis, but all of the other places listed below are recommended because of the both the delicious food and the charming and helpful staff.

Oakland
Enssaro 366 Grand Ave
Asmara 5020 Telegraph Ave
Addis 6100 Telegraph Ave

Los Angeles
Messob 1041 S Fairfax Ave

Portland
Dalo’s Kitchen 4134 N Vancouver Ave # 207