How an Ethiopian Meal is Like Home Schooling

The first time I tried Ethiopian food, I was less than enthusiastic. Give me authentic Mexican chilies rellenos and a margarita with a sugar rim, or tofu Pad Se-ewe and a creamy Thai Iced Tea. But Ethiopian? I know there are certain spices that don't always sit well on my taste buds and certain textures that transform my epiglottis into an instant trebuchet. I was concerned about anything heavily curried or squishy like baked beans, either of which had the potential to ruin my dining experience.



However, on this particular date night, my hub really wanted to go to "The Blue Nile" for Ethiopian. I was pretty sure that the words "Ethiopian" and "cuisine" should not be used together in the same sentence. But I knew that, at the very least, the experience would broaden my horizons... an educational opportunity, if not a gastronomical joy.



We ordered some kind of feast for two. Seated on cushioned chairs around a tiny round table, we sipped our beverages while taking in the Ethiopian decor. When our food came, the round tray piled with steaming goopy heaps of unidentifiable meats and pulses dripping in various sauces was positioned between us along with a pile of pancake-like bread, apparently for scooping up mouthfuls of morsels.


Okay, I'm game for anything once.


I cupped a thin piece of bread in my hand and scooped up something that I think was chicken. It was tolerable. I swiped the rest of that slice of bread across something yellowish and popped it in my mouth. It was nar-sty! I quickly washed it down with sweet, sweet honeyed wine and noshed on another piece of bread. Mental note: Never, ever, eat that yellow stuff again.

Moving on, the beef was tasty. I liked the spices and it was quite tender. Some of the veggies were fine. I worked my way around the saucy, drippy, messy color wheel of food products... tasting them one by one with a full glass of wine ready and loaded for quick defense against the narsty-food-reflex.


Meanwhile, Jay sat across the table from me engaged in nothing less than the intense pursuit of getting his money's worth from the all-you-can-eat-Ethiopian feast. (I'm sorry, there just HAS to be a joke in there somewhere.) He was savoring every morsel of it, even the chicken and the yellow mosh that was probably some kind of lentil.


By the end of the meal, I had found enough foods on the tray that worked for me, and even a few that I really enjoyed. The samplings that repulsed me were washed down with the nectar of the Ethiopian gods, which truly came to rescue my soul several times that evening.


Today is the Sunday at the end of our first full week of home schooling. As I pondered the week's events, I realized that the start to our new educational process has been a lot like my first Ethiopian meal. I learned that we need to eat more of the delicious beef and tolerable veggies, but leave the yellow stuff to the guys that relish it.


We are finding out how to walk out of the restaurant with full bellies.


But most importantly, I have come to understand something integral to the success of the experience...


It's the sweet honeyed wine that makes the nasty bits easier to swallow.