DC Culinarian

September Ethiopian -- Faster, Yataklete! Kilkil!

The triumph of meat guilt.

After somehow carnivorizing (definitely a word) my way through a food culture that doesn't really utilize a whole lot of meat, the yen for authenticity finally got the better of me. And I didn't just go meat-free on this one. Misr wot and yataklete kilkil are straight-up vegan.

The unavailability of meat in one's diet demands that an alternate source for protein be exploited. That's where pulses -- beans, legumes, peas -- come in. Misr wot is a simple spiced lentil stew flavored with berbere. It's spicy, earthy, and all kinds of tasty.

It's worth noting that pretty much everything I've prepared this month has been spiced with berbere, but the flavors vary significantly depending on the substrate. 

The yataklete kilkil -- insensitively mangled in the headline in the name of obscure cultural references -- has a decidedly Indian flair to it, owing to the cumin and turmeric, and green beans and lime juice add freshness to the starchy, savory dish.

So yeah: vegan cuisine getting it done. And it seems silly to write about vegan cooking and eating as exotic or surprising, given that most of the world's diet is primarily vegetable-based. But it's an inevitable consequence of crafting our food culture around meat.

That, and heart disease.

Photos and recipe (poached without shame from Eats Well With Others) after the jump.

September Ethiopian -- Kitfo With Ye'abesha Gomen

So, about that meat guilt...

Yes, I struggled with it and even might have made a big deal out of it the last time around. And yes, I had resolved to get some vegetarian entries in for September Ethiopian ASAP. But then I started researching recipes and I came across kitfo, a traditional Ethiopian dish of spiced raw beef.

I love raw beef.

So I set guilt aside (for the moment) and, armed with a Living Social voucher for $10 off at Whole Foods, bought a 1/2 lb of beef tenderloin and chopped it all to hell. Once thoroughly chopped, I mixed it with nit'r qibe (the spiced clarified butter) and mitmita, a potent Ethiopian spice powder that lent considerable heat to the affair.

Certain recipes call for lightly cooking the beef, but that's for the meek. The traditional way is to do it raw. It's important to use finely chopped -- not ground -- meat. Ground beef is a uniform mush, whereas the chopped meat has larger pieces which add substance and a slight chewiness. It's a textural experience, and the ferrous smack of raw beef was complemented well by the hot, aromatic spices.

But even still, the meat guilt was still there, so I paired up the mound of raw meat with some ye'abesha gomen, or spiced collard greens.

The best way to prepare collard greens, I find, is to trim out the fibrous center stem, roll the leaves tightly into little collard cigars, and slice them thinly. Prepared thus, you can simply saute them up with whatever flavoring you choose -- in this case, garlic, ginger, fenugreek, cardamom, vinegar, and chiles.

Next time we'll go vegetarian. I promise. Scout's honor. No joke. For reals.

Photos and recipes after the jump.

September Ethiopian -- Lega Tibs

I find myself once again grappling with meat-guilt.

In this case it is justified given that this the second meaty Ethiopian dish I've prepared, even though animal products do not factor heavily into Ethiopian cuisine. Owing to religious and traditional mores, much of the Ethiopian diet is vegan, and protein comes from pulses or lentils. When meat is consumed, it's usually something of an occasion, and lamb in particular is regarded as special.

In this dish, the lamb meat is sliced into strips called tibs, which are stir-fried over moderately high heat with onions, tomatoes, and the traditional berbere spice mixture we used in the doro wat recipe. The tomatoes and the berbere make a flavorful suace for the tibs, and the key ingredient here is SPICE.

The berbere, as you'll recall from the doro wat entry, is made with dried chiles de árbol, which pack a lot of punch. To bump things up just a wee bit further, I added a bit of cayenne. And garnished with sliced jalapeños. The gaminess of the lamb married wonderfully with the clean, building heat.

If you're not into searing your palate with capsaicin, the tibs can also be made "dry," with just the onions, garlic, ginger, and rosemary. 

One common preparatory element of the two variations is that the meat is sauteed in nit'r qibe, or spiced clarified butter. The butter, once the milk solids are removed, is mixed with ground cardamom, fenugreek, and nigella -- a dark, pungent seed often referred to as black cumin. It's insanely easy to make (clarify 1/2 lb. of butter, add 1/4 tsp of each spice) and keeps for a long time.

Photos and recipe after the jump.

September Ethiopian -- Doro Wot

On our first date, The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian and I -- after spending the better part of an afternoon at the bar at Saint-Ex -- meandered over Adams Morgan to have dinner at the long-since-destroyed-by-fire Fasika's. It was I who suggested we go for Ethiopian, partly out of beer-fueled bravado, partly out of a desire to seem worldly and impressive.

After perusing the menu and feigning knowledge of Ethiopian cuisine (unconvincingly, but endearingly, I'm told), a large plate with small heaps of prismatic foods piled on top of something that looked like packing materials was delivered to our table.

I searched for a fork and knife. TSTBMC smiled and tore off a piece of injera -- the giant, spongy sourdough flatbread upon which our meal was served -- and started eating, trusting I'd get the message. I did, and we started eating with our hands. Good date.

Anyway, here we are, an indeterminate number of years later, kicking off September Ethiopian with doro wot, a spicy chicken stew popular across Ethiopia. It is flavored with a traditional Ethiopian spice mixture called berbere, the Amharic word for "hot." And hoo boy is it pungent.

On top of tongue-searing chiles de arbol, the rust-colored berbere boasts coriander, fenugreek, allspice, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a host of other spices. The resulting flavor was reminiscent of the chicken vindaloo from April Indian: spicy, earthy, with a slight tang, a sharp aroma, and a lingering sweetness from the caramelized onions.

Photos and recipe (via Saveur.com) after the jump.

September Will Be... Ethiopian

I've had at least a passing familiarity with every cuisine I've done up to this point, but my experience with African cuisine is just about nonexistent. I've never prepared an African dish. The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian and I went to an Ethiopian restaurant on our first date. That's about it.

I'm going into this almost completely blind. Which is why I'm feeling pretty excited right now. And slightly terrified.

Ethiopia! The cradle of humanity, the birthplace of coffee. We're going to use exotic spices, make edible plates, and destroy a few tongues with capsaicin. We're going to eat with our hands, and stuff food into each other's mouths. As friends, of course.

It's going to be great.