Porridge Weather
I’m a sucker for porridge. Oatmeal was an early constant of my young adulthood, and last year I jumped on the savory porridge bandwagon hard. I could make it at home, and still would pay $9 at Empire State South for their earthy, bacony bowl of grains that walked you right up to virtuous, before yanking it away with a slight sweetness.
This time of year Southerners are trigger happy for hints of cooler weather. Breeze? Out come the boots. High below 80? Jacket time! So even though the remnants of tropical storm Nate are bringing sponge-like humidity and a temperature range stubbornly between 78 and 82 degrees, the clouds having me thinking porridge all over again.
I eschewed the very nice Ethiopian breakfast on my way home from Chamblee this morning, knowing I had some sort of grain in the pantry, and reasoning that I could produce it faster and cheaper than a side trip.
I did not count on the time spent making kibbe, a spiced, clarified butter. Or cobbling together a slapdash version of berebere since my porridge pan was being pressed into service clarifying butter. And the most appropriate grain I had, Freekeh, takes an hour to cook. Really, I made lunch.
But oh man, it was a good lunch. Eggs scrambled in kibbe with onion, pepper, and berebere and porridge. Many Ethiopian porridges are savory, but at least one description was clearly savory-flexible, drizzled with honey. I prepared a small scoop of buttery, salty porridge, hit it with the berebere, and drizzled sourwood honey over the top. It was delightful: sweet, savory, spicy and satisfying.
All that butter left me slightly queasy but ready to call it: Ethiopian porridge is my new hotness this winter.
Whenever it gets here.
Afterword: The whole process gave me conversation fodder for an uber trip the next day in Chicago: the driver had recently learned the hard way that you can’t bring back a significant quantity of dried ox through customs. I learned that there is a chicken part hierarchy in Ethiopian cuisine.
References: Ethiopian porridge is made with everything from flour to whole grains, boiled with water or milk and seasoned liberally with kibbe.
Typical flours:wheat (whole is more flavorful), teff or barley.
Grains: cracked wheat or whole oats. Cardamom can be added during cooking if desired.
Kibbe: butter infused with a range of spices. It’s neon yellow (hello turmeric!) and surprisingly versatile given the spices involved.
Berebere: a combination of spicy peppers and a number of aromatic spices. You can buy it at a good international supermarket, but I more or less followed this recipe. I definitely recommend clicking around, or even getting the spice from a reputable seller.
Harry Kloman’s Ethiopian food blog is great for a foggy afternoon wormhole read. The exhaustive description of breakfast foods was a joy, and I will be trying Ful once I’m out of porridge.
I passed up Desta for breakfast. It’s been around forever, and I’ve enjoyed more than a few lunches there. It’s surrounded by other Ethiopian restaurants, meeting the Tyler Cowen indicator of good food:
“The larger the number of restaurants serving the same ethnic cuisine in a given area, the more likely the food they serve will be good. Why? Restaurants that are competing most directly against each other can’t rest on their laurels. They are also typically appealing to an informed customer base. And finally, they can participate in a well-developed supply chain for key ingredients. In other words, a town that has only a single Indian restaurant probably does not have a very good Indian restaurant. In Houston, looking for clusters of similar restaurants will lead you to Mexican and Vietnamese food; in parts of Michigan, it will lead you to Arabic cuisine. Competition works.”
