Asmara Cafe
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“Because of the war,” he said, meaning Eritrea’s 30-year war for independence from Ethiopia, which ended in 1991. “A lot of Eritreans were displaced all over the world. During the war I was forced to join the Ethiopian army. My brother was on the other side, fighting for independence for my country. The only choice I had was to flee. I left my country in 1987.”
Mihtsun’s brother Gebrihiwet was killed in the fighting. Mihtsun ended up in Sudan, where he spent four years before a cousin in Chicago sponsored him for a visa. It was there that he learned to cook. Back home in Asmara, he said, he’d been spoiled by the women in his family. But in Sudan he had to make his own breakfast. Most mornings he ate ful mudammas–mashed fava beans seasoned with cumin, tomatoes, onions, and jalapenos–or kitcha fitfit–chunks of chewy spiced flatbread eaten with thick yogurt.
Mihtsun made a promising start in America. After earning an associate’s degree at Truman College, he found work assembling computers for Panasonic. But when he was laid off, he resorted to driving a cab. Because he was good at math, Mihtsun began filling out IRS forms for fellow drivers, then got a tax preparer’s license and opened an office on far-north Clark Street, next to Choice Taxi, which employs many Eritreans. Of course, the tax business is only seasonal.
I’m not well practiced at eating Ethiopian or Eritrean food. My injera technique is clumsy: I tear off a wide strip and wield it like a first baseman’s mitt, trapping the meat and vegetables in a deep pocket. As a result, my bread-to-food ratio is too high. I’m usually full before I’ve finished the entrees, not to mention vegetable sides like sauteed spinach, slices of cooked carrot and red pepper, or a complex dish of spicy red lentils.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photos/A. Jackson.
