A mission to spread Ethiopian hospitality
Ethiopian food is of the culinary zeitgeist: veganfriendly, gluten-free, and novel. Auckland’s two Ethiopian eateries didn’t make it through lockdown, but a former refugee is making sure spicelovers can still get their fix, as Amanda Saxton reports.
Buntheun Oeng discovered My Mother’s Kitchen while mourning Cafe Abyssinia.
The 31-year-old tattoo artist has spent most of his life chasing Ethiopia’s bold flavours across Auckland, ever since his childhood bestie’s mum showed him how to scoop up stew with a spongy pancake called ‘‘injera’’.
That was in the mid-90s. Both boys’ families had recently arrived in New Zealand from war-ravaged places: Oeng’s from Cambodia, his friend’s from Ethiopia. Their mums worked together on a farm.
Covid-19 felled Cafe Abyssinia, a well-loved restaurant in Mt Roskill.
It also felled Mesob, a cheerful red food truck parked in New Lynn.
Former refugees from Ethiopia ran both eateries. They cooked ancient, spice-laden recipes for loyal customers who’d dig in with injera instead of forks. Mesob’s owners say they are tentatively planning a comeback, more than a year after New Zealand’s first pandemic lockdown ended.
In the meantime, another former refugee, 37-yearold Yeshi Desta, has stepped into the breach. Her sidehustle, My Mother’s Kitchen, stages temporary takeovers of restaurants and home kitchens, where Desta prepares feasts for parties of strangers or groups of friends. The long-time hospitality worker does this between shifts at swanky Xuxu Dumpling Bar in the CBD.
Desta learned to cook from her mum Abegish, hence the pop-up’s name. The mission of My Mother’s Kitchen is twofold: to pave Desta’s way to a permanent restaurant, and to spread the joy of good old-fashioned Ethiopian hospitality.
‘‘Everyone in Ethiopia knows that sharing food brings happiness,’’ Desta says. ‘‘There’s one big plate for everyone, and you never eat alone! Preparing a meal? You will invite your neighbour over. Someone is walking by your house? Invite them in for coffee.’’
Her mum personifies this mentality, Desta says. Abegish lives in Gondar, the misty mountain town where Desta was born and from which the family fled when she was seven. Ethiopia was at the tail end of civil war and its then-Communist government had just been overthrown.
Desta’s family entered neighbouring Sudan as refugees. When she was 15, she and her older sister flew to New Zealand for re-settlement. Her parents and other siblings eventually returned to Gondar.
Desta returns to Ethiopia every so often, to visit. She was last there four years ago. When away from her family, Desta sends them photos of her feasts. Abegish, she says, is proud.
My Mother’s Kitchen started in March last year, as Covid-19 infiltrated New Zealand. The country was soon in lockdown and operations froze.
But Desta, a glass half-full kinda gal, says this inauspicious timing worked out fine. Her pop-up model – no staff, no rent – let her bounce back fast. And she reckons Kiwis have become more receptive to the likes of an exotic dining adventure at home, or exploring a far-flung culture in their own backyard.
Desta announces her pop-up events on Instagram. Sometimes she offers giveaways – that’s how
Buntheun Oeng found out about My Mother’s Kitchen. With much excitement, he snagged two free tickets. What better way to mark his and his partner’s five-year anniversary, he tells me. I happened to meet the couple at that particular feast in late March, which cost $50 a head.
It kicked off in an off-Queen St alley outside the host restaurant, Le Chef. An eclectic group of 16 strangers sipped honey wine brewed by Desta the day prior. This sweet, cloudy beverage is called ‘‘tej’’. Desta makes it from pinot gris, honey, and the leaves of a hops-like herb.
‘‘Our honey wine can be dangerous,’’ she says, conspiratorially. ‘‘You never quite know how potent it is.’’
Catching wafts of spiced lamb on the breeze, I chatted with an addiction specialist until Desta herded us into a basement bathroom. Thorough handwashing is part of the experience, as Ethiopian food is eaten without cutlery.
We arranged ourselves around a long dining table where woven trays bore coils of injera. Bowls of cottage cheese and tomato salad stood by. Desta passed round a pot of cardamom-infused butter, followed by a spice mix called ‘‘berbere’’ that includes cardamom, fenugreek, ginger, turmeric, chilli, and cinnamon. Our meal would lean heavily on these divine-smelling concoctions, she explained.
The main courses arrived on communal platters: saute´ ed fish with a lemony tang, okra with just enough crunch, spicy lentils, and lamb-on-the-bone that might have been slow-cooked in heaven. We reached into each with injera, brushing hands and singing high praises to the chef.
‘‘My only complaint is that this food isn’t great for Instagramming, cause your fingers get too sticky to use a phone,’’ said someone.
‘‘If there’s one bird I wouldn’t mind getting arrested for eating, it’s kereru¯ ,’’ someone joked.
‘‘It’s called trypophobia, isn’t it?’’ one guy asked the addiction specialist.
Tryphobia, it turns out, is the strong aversion to clusters of holes or lumps, and was suffered by the addiction specialist. She told us that it’s thought to be a subconscious association between bubbly patterns and bubbly-patterned things that actually spell danger – like a paper wasp nest or the venomous blueringed octopus. Unfortunately for her, one side of injera bears a prime example of this pattern.
While traditional Ethiopian food may not suit the trypophobic, it’s almost uncannily on-trend. Many dishes are vegan, as Orthodox Christians (almost half the country’s population) abstain from animal products most Wednesdays and Fridays. Injera is gluten-free, made with an ancient African grain called ‘‘teff’’.
‘‘It’s just luck,’’ Desta laughs when her food’s adherence to the culinary zeitgeist is pointed out. ‘‘We’ve been doing it this way for centuries.’’
I ask Desta about Gondar.
Step outside your cardamom-infused house, she says, and the smell of freshly-roasted coffee will hit you. On Sundays, you’ll hear liturgical chants as women walk to church in white dresses and veils.
On other days there’ll be Ethio-jazz playing everywhere. This primordial-sounding music is also playfully psychedelic, with occasional hints of ska.
This sensory paradise is also battle-scarred and has been famine-stricken. Military forces and a rebel faction in the north-east Tigray region are currently at war. Many of New Zealand’s 1630 Ethiopians are from Tigray. The community has twice marched to parliament, in Wellington, calling on the New Zealand Government to condemn the violence.
But unpleasantries have no place in My Mother’s Kitchen. Wherever her feasts pop up, Desta will showcase Ethiopia’s warmth and bounty.
‘‘Sharing and smiling and enjoying whatever Mother Earth gives us… this makes me happy,’’ she says.
Oeng is sold: straight after the event at Le Chef, he booked Desta to cook for his brother’s birthday party.
Find more tasty ideas in Sunday magazine with this week’s recipes from Jordan Rondel and Sam Mannering...
‘‘Everyone in Ethiopia knows that sharing food brings happiness... you never eat alone!’’ Yeshi Desta
How about delish dunkin’ biscotti with earl grey tea, white chocolate and apricot?