Picky Eater

The other night I tried Ethiopian food for the very first time at a small cafe near ASU (Arizona State University, for you foreigners). I don't usually consider myself a picky eater, but most people would probably say that I am. I can't help it that my Scandinavian taste buds hurt just by hearing phrases such as "red hot chili peppers" or "medium salsa." So anyway, I went with 3 other girls and we ordered beef, chicken, and vegetables. The food is served on a big piece of injera (pronounced in-jeer-ah), which is a crepe-like sourdough-tasting bread (I didn't like the smell of it), with the meat in the middle and vegetables surrounding it. You also get a basket of smaller rolled-up pieces of injera, which are used as your silverware. Tear off a piece of injera the size of your palm, scoop up some food off the main platter and eat it all.

OK, so the eating with my fingers I can do. I've been doing that with all types of food for quite some time now; it's only right that I be able to do it in a public place and without my mother telling me to grow up. The problem was with the taste of the food. It wasn't overwhelmingly spicy, but it just had an odd taste. No, wait. It was the smell and texture that bothered me more than anything. I basically tried 3 of the 5 vegetable globs and determined that I would be better off sticking to the beef. I ate enough to be polite and let the others take home the leftovers.

To sum up my feelings toward Ethiopian food, let me just say this: if I were to move to Ethiopia, I would lose 10 pounds....the first week.