Ethiopia: Teff and Tenacity

In the highlands of East Africa, where the sun bakes red soil and ancient churches are carved straight from rock, is the land of Ethiopia, old, enduring, and unbowed. Ethiopia is home to one of the most ancient civilizations on the planet. The ancient Kingdom of Aksum was notably tolerant of religions that others in the ancient world persecuted, opening their doors to the Jewish diaspora, early Christians fleeing the Roman Empire, and even Muhammad himself along with early Muslims, escaping persecution in Mecca. Aksum was notably the second nation in the world to adopt Christianity as its official state religion (After Armenia), and in the centuries after doing so became much less tolerant of Pagans, Jews, and Muslims. In historical legends, Aksum’s Jewish population formed their own kingdom in the mountains, the Kingdom of Simien, though this is disputed. Either way, the Ethiopian Empire (also known throughout the world as Abyssinia) gained control over the entire region, and notably became the only African nation to successfully resist colonization by Western powers (except Liberia, which was founded by freed slaves from the US as a sort of “quasi-colony”).

The emperors of Ethiopia claimed to be descended from the ancient biblical figure of Solomon, and globally became the face of anti-colonial resistance after repelling invasion by the Italians. The Italians never forgot, and successfully occupied Ethiopia in the 1930s, but homegrown partisan resistance made sure the occupation was short. By the time Emperor Haile Selassie I returned from exile, he became a global icon to the dispossessed, becoming an icon of divinity in the Rastafari movement, and a leader of the non-aligned movement during the Cold War. However, at home, the views were not so rosy. Students and peasants, clamoring for land reform and exposed to left wing and anti-colonial ideas, started demonstrating against the authoritarian feudal system in the 1960s. It was not long before famine hit the country, and by 1974 the Emperor was deposed by a left wing Military Junta known as the Derg (Amharic for council). The Derg was welcomed by the working classes, as ethnic minorities felt increasingly sidelined, a brutal civil war erupted between the Derg and ethnic minority paramilitary groups. This created a rare schism in the Eastern bloc, with some Warsaw Pact countries (and the USSR and Cuba) supporting the Derg government and others (as well as China) supporting the ethnic separatists.

One of these groups, the Tigray Liberation Front captured the capital of Addis Ababa in 1991, and ended the Civil War, leading to Tigray dominance and an end to the Derg government. Over the next several decades, Ethiopia’s economy grew by leaps and bounds, becoming one of the fastest growing economies in the world. However, that growth has not been equally shared. As plans for economic growth for the city of Addis Ababa threatened to engulf the farmlands of poor farmers in 2014, massive protests erupted against the ruling Tigray government, and the government brutally put them down, exposing a country that remains deeply divided in the modern era.

However, its presence on the international stage cannot be denied. It is a powerhouse of culture, with Ethiopian funk and jazz becoming some of the most popular music out of Africa. Its film and art scenes make it the creative capital of East Africa. The Pan-African movement, and Rastarianism look to Ethiopia’s resistance to imperialism as a cornerstone, and the African Union headquarters in Addis Ababa. Traditional Ethiopian garb and aesthetics have greatly impacted the look of Afro-Futurism, including serving as an inspiration for the look of Wakanda in Marvel’s Black Panther. Then, of course, there is Ethiopian cuisine, one of the most recognizable cuisines in the world.

The Ethiopian diaspora has made Ethiopian restaurants a cornerstone of big city dining in places like Washington DC, Toronto, and London. Ethiopian food, flavored by berbere spice and cooked with its own version of clarified butter called Niter Kibbeh, is heavily influenced by its location as a crossroads between South Asia, Africa and the Levant. It often consists of various stews, adhering to Ethiopia’s various religious requirements, that are sopped up with injera bread, made from naturally gluten free teff flour farmed by the Ethiopian peasantry. The food is more than just sustenance. It tells the story of Ethiopia itself.

Today, we look at that story. We look at how the flatbread at the cornerstone of Ethiopian cuisine, injera, sustained peasants and soldiers at Adwa as they were fighting off Italians who came to colonize in the late 1800s. We move to Sambusas, a transplant of samosas from India and given an Ethiopian flair, and how they powered partisans during Mussolini’s occupation. Misir Wat, a red lentil stew from Ethiopia’s agricultural heart, was a cornerstone of the student and peasant movements of the 1960s. During the 1974 Ethiopian Revolution, Doro Wat, a spicy chicken stew that is the national dish of Ethiopia could be found on every street corner. In the aftermath, Tigray and Eritrean revolutionaries ate quickly stir fried meat, known as tibs, on the move as they plotted their own independence. Gomen Wat, a stew of various greens, is ubiquitous with the modern land protests of Oromo. Each of these dishes is a cultural anchor, both delicious and important.

So grab a griddle. Its time to cook up a story.

Injera: Bread of Victory

Injera, the sour, spongy flatbread made from teff, is at the heart of Ethiopian cuisine. More than food, it is a way of eating, a communal plate that brings people together around a shared dish. For centuries, farmers, merchants, soldiers, and rulers alike have broken off pieces of injera to scoop up wats (stews), vegetables, or meats.

At its simplest, injera is a flatbread made from teff, an ancient grain indigenous to the Ethiopian highlands. Teff grains are tiny, about the size of a poppy seed, but nutrient-rich, containing iron, protein, and fiber. For millennia, Ethiopian farmers cultivated teff on terraced mountainsides, often in challenging conditions where other crops struggled.

Teff is mixed with water and allowed to ferment for several days, producing a sour batter. This fermentation not only creates injera’s signature tang but also makes the grain more digestible. The batter is poured onto a large flat griddle called a mitad, spreading into a thin, circular sheet. As it cooks, the surface bubbles, creating thousands of little craters, perfect for soaking up sauces and stews.

Injera is always more than bread: it is utensil, plate, and meal foundation. In traditional Ethiopian dining, a large piece of injera is spread across a communal platter, with various stews, vegetables, and meats placed on top. Diners tear off pieces of injera to scoop the toppings, feeding themselves and often one another.

By the late 19th century, as the winds of empire swept across Africa, injera was already the core of the Ethiopian diet. Farmers ate it with lentils or shiro wat. Soldiers carried dried injera wrapped in cloth to rehydrate in water or eat plain. Nobles dined on lavish spreads atop injera. It was the one food that cut across social class.

So when Emperor Menelik II called upon peasants, artisans, nobles, and priests to march against the invading Italians, injera came with them. It was the glue of an army made up of diverse peoples: Amhara, Tigrayans, Oromo, Gurage, and more.

Ethiopia’s clash with Italy was not inevitable, but it was the product of Europe’s “Scramble for Africa.” In 1889, Italy, a young nation hungry for colonies, signed the Treaty of Wuchale with Emperor Menelik II. The Amharic version recognized Ethiopia’s sovereignty while establishing limited friendship with Italy. But the Italian version, deliberately mistranslated, claimed Ethiopia as an Italian protectorate.

When Menelik discovered this deceit, he rejected it outright. Italy, unwilling to lose face or its colonial ambitions, launched a military campaign to enforce its claim. The stage was set for confrontation.

Italy’s generals believed victory would be swift. They assumed Ethiopia, a landlocked African empire with no modern navy or industry, would fall easily to European arms. What they underestimated was Ethiopia’s unity, strategy, and will.

Menelik II mobilized a massive army, estimated at 100,000 strong. Unlike the fragmented polities of much of colonized Africa, Ethiopia remained an empire with a central authority and deep traditions of resistance. Peasants brought their spears and shields. Nobles contributed rifles, often purchased from European rivals of Italy. Priests carried crosses, chanting hymns to rally morale.

As the army marched north toward Tigray, injera sustained them. Each region contributed provisions: teff from the highlands, honey wine from the countryside, livestock driven along for slaughter. The supply chain was communal, echoing the way injera is eaten: everyone contributing to one shared survival. They carried with them sacks of teff flour and folded rolls of injera. It was light to transport, long-lasting once dried, and endlessly versatile.

Injera’s portability and durability made it a soldier’s food. Folded in bundles, it could last days. Rehydrated, it became filling again. Shared among comrades, it provided more than nutrition, it provided morale. Eating together around injera reaffirmed the very unity that the Italians doubted Ethiopia could muster.

On March 1, 1896, at the rugged hills around Adwa, the two forces met. The Italians, numbering around 17,000 troops, were divided into columns that became separated in the difficult terrain. The Ethiopians, meanwhile, had superior numbers, intimate knowledge of the land, and the element of unity.

At dawn, Ethiopian forces launched coordinated assaults on the fragmented Italian columns. Wave after wave of warriors, fortified by days of preparation and sustained by their simple rations of injera, overwhelmed the invaders. Italian troops, cut off from supplies and isolated from one another, could not withstand the onslaught.

By the day’s end, Italy had suffered a catastrophic defeat: thousands killed, thousands more captured. The humiliation sent shockwaves through Europe. For the first time in modern history, an African army had decisively defeated a European power in battle.

For Ethiopians, the victory was nothing short of miraculous. Songs and poems celebrated the unity of the people, the wisdom of Menelik II, and the hand of God. But beneath the spiritual and political triumph was the material reality: an army fed, clothed, and kept together by the simplest of foods, injera.

After the battle, injera remained central to the celebrations. Victorious soldiers feasted on spreads of wat and injera, toasting honey wine to their collective triumph. The bread of survival became the bread of victory.

The victory at Adwa preserved Ethiopian independence in a continent carved up by European empires. It was a beacon for colonized peoples across Africa and beyond, inspiring anti-colonial movements for generations. Leaders from W.E.B. Du Bois to Kwame Nkrumah hailed Adwa as proof that colonial domination was not inevitable.

At home, Adwa solidified Menelik II’s rule and cemented Ethiopia’s identity as a sovereign state. Injera remained the daily bread of that sovereignty, a living reminder of the collective strength that had preserved the nation.

Even today, Ethiopians speak of Adwa with pride. Each year, the anniversary is commemorated with parades, songs, and, of course, meals of injera. The dish is both everyday sustenance and a historical symbol.

Make sure when making it, that you let it bubble to get the current effect.

Injera

Injera is a sourdough flatbread made from teff flour, used as both a plate and utensil in Ethiopian meals. This recipe uses a fermentation process for authenticity.

Ingredients

• 2 cups teff flour (brown or ivory, or substitute a portion with barley or wheat flour; note: teff is gluten-free)

• 3 cups distilled water (fluoride and chlorine can interfere with fermentation)

• Optional: 1/4 teaspoon dry active yeast

Instructions

1. In a large mixing bowl, combine the teff flour and distilled water (and yeast if using). Loosely cover with plastic wrap or cheesecloth to allow air circulation while keeping out critters. Let the mixture sit undisturbed at room temperature for 4-5 days. The longer it ferments, the deeper the flavor will be. Note: Depending on the flour used, you may need to add more water if the mixture becomes dry. The mixture will become fizzy, very dark in color, and may develop a layer of aerobic yeast on top (not mold; discard if mold forms).

2. After fermentation, pour off the top layer of aerobic yeast and as much liquid as possible, leaving a clay-like batter. Stir the batter well.

3. In a small saucepan, bring 1 cup of water to a boil. Stir in 1/2 cup of the fermented teff batter, whisking constantly until thickened (this happens quickly). Stir this cooked batter back into the original fermented batter.

4. Add water to the batter to thin it to the consistency of crepe batter, about 2/3 cup, though this may vary by batch. The batter should have a sweet-soured nutty smell.

5. Heat a non-stick skillet over medium heat. Lightly spray with oil if needed, depcrepe but not as thick as a pancake.ending on the pan's non-stick quality. Spread a thin layer of batter on the skillet, thicker than a crepe but not as thick as a pancake.

6. Allow the batter to bubble and let the bubbles pop. Cover the pan with a lid, turn off the heat, and let it steam cook for a couple of minutes until cooked through. Be careful not to overcook, as it may become gummy and soggy. Remove the injera with a spatula and repeat the process for additional flatbreads.

7. Serve with Ethiopian dishes like Doro Wat, Sega Wat, Misir Wat, or Gomen.

Sambusas: Sustenance at the Stronghold

Sambusas, those small triangular pastries stuffed with lentils, onions, or spiced meat and fried until golden, are among the most beloved snacks across Ethiopia, Eritrea, and beyond. Though often thought of as distinctly Ethiopian today, sambusas trace their ancestry to the wider Indian Ocean world. Their forebears, the samosa, traveled with traders from Central Asia to the Middle East, across the Red Sea to the Horn of Africa, and into the Indian subcontinent. In Ethiopia, the pastry found new life: filled with local lentils stewed with berbere, with onions and green chilies, or with minced beef or lamb. Unlike heavy stews or injera meals, sambusas were compact and efficient. They could be eaten in two bites, wrapped in cloth, or carried in pockets. By the 20th century, sambusas were a common feature of markets and homes, particularly during religious festivals.

That portability made them uniquely suited to times of unrest. For Ethiopia, few periods were as marked by secrecy, hunger, and resilience as the five years under Mussolini’s occupation.

The Second Italo-Ethiopian War began in 1935 when Benito Mussolini, eager to prove Fascist Italy’s imperial might, sent his armies across the border from Eritrea and Italian Somaliland. Ethiopia, one of the only African nations never colonized in the Scramble for Africa, had already defeated Italy once at the Battle of Adwa in 1896. But this time, Italy brought modern mechanized warfare: tanks, planes, and, most infamously, poison gas.

Despite valiant Ethiopian resistance under Emperor Haile Selassie, the capital, Addis Ababa, fell in May 1936. Haile Selassie went into exile, famously pleading for justice before the League of Nations, where his words fell on deaf ears. Italy declared Ethiopia part of its new colony of Italian East Africa. For Mussolini, it was a victory parade. For Ethiopians, it was a nightmare of repression, massacres, and occupation.

But Ethiopia did not yield quietly. In the hills, valleys, and villages, the Arbegnoch, anti-fascist partisans, took up arms.

The word Arbegnoch means “patriots,” but it was less an organized army than a constellation of guerilla bands. They were farmers, priests, ex-soldiers, and students who refused to accept Italian rule. Operating in small units, they struck at convoys, ambushed garrisons, and then disappeared into the mountains. Their strength was not in numbers or weaponry, the Italians outgunned them at every turn, but in networks of trust and survival. Villagers hid them, fed them, passed messages, and sustained the fight.

In such a struggle, food was both sustenance and strategy. A dish like sambusas, small, concealable, filling, could mean the difference between hunger and strength on a long march.

Imagine a rural Ethiopian village under curfew. Italian patrols march through, demanding grain and punishing dissent. A mother bakes sambusas late at night, lentils spiced and folded into dough. She slips them into a woven basket, covering them with cloth. By morning, her son, a teenage fighter, carries them up into the hills where his band of Arbegnoch waits. No clanging pots, no heavy meals, just quiet, triangular parcels of strength.

The sambusa embodied the guerilla way of life. Like the Patriots’ tactics, they were small but potent. You could not carry injera and stew for days on the run, but you could pocket sambusas, each one a triangle of resistance.

Some oral histories suggest villagers used food as a code. A basket of sambusas left at a certain tree might signal that Italian patrols had passed and the path was safe. Whether apocryphal or true, the symbolism is powerful: food as communication, resistance baked into dough.

The occupation was brutal. In February 1937, after an attempted assassination of the Italian Viceroy, Marshal Rodolfo Graziani, Italian troops carried out the infamous Yekatit 12 Massacre. For three days in Addis Ababa, they slaughtered thousands of civilians. Priests were burned alive, churches destroyed, neighborhoods erased. Graziani earned the nickname “the Butcher of Ethiopia.”

Elsewhere, poison gas was dropped on villages. Collective punishments, mass executions, forced labor, deportations, were widespread. The Arbegnoch fought on despite staggering odds. They had no factories, no air power, no foreign backers at first. What they had was terrain, willpower, and the loyalty of villagers who fed them.

Every sambusa handed to a fighter was an act of rebellion. Every lentil-filled pastry fried in secrecy was a refusal to bow. The Italian empire might have claimed Ethiopia on maps, but in kitchens and hillsides, resistance simmered.

By 1940, the world war that Mussolini had gambled on was spreading. Italy’s empire was stretched thin. In 1941, British and Commonwealth forces, along with Ethiopian exiles loyal to Haile Selassie, launched a campaign from Sudan and Kenya. Crucially, they joined forces with the Arbegnoch, who guided them through terrain and coordinated strikes.

The guerillas, once isolated bands, became the connective tissue of liberation. In May 1941, Addis Ababa was retaken. Haile Selassie returned from exile, and Ethiopia stood as one of the few nations in Africa to cast out a European empire by force.

The Arbegnoch were hailed as heroes, though their struggle had been fueled less by glory than by grit, less by speeches than by the quiet work of villagers, and by food carried in baskets, hidden in cloth, or slipped hand-to-hand in shadow.

Today, sambusas are enjoyed across Ethiopia at weddings, during Ramadan, at street stalls, and in diaspora restaurants worldwide. Their association is festive, not martial. Yet, Ethiopia is not far removed from the time when they sustained partisans against a fascist empire.

When making them, do not be afraid to stuff full. Lentils stuff well, and the dough is resilient.

Sambusas

Sambusas are crispy Ethiopian pastries similar to samosas, often filled with spiced lentils, especially during fasting periods. This version uses lentils for a vegetarian option.

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups Beluga lentils (soaked overnight, available at Whole Foods)

• 1 1/2 cups Puy lentils

• 4 jalapenos (finely diced)

• 4 onions (finely diced)

• 3 cloves garlic (finely diced)

• 1 cup cilantro (finely chopped)

• 1 teaspoon cardamom seeds (crushed)

• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

• Salt (to taste)

• 1 teaspoon black pepper

• About 10 spring roll sheets

• Olive oil (for frying)

Instructions

1. Soak the lentils overnight.

2. Boil the lentils the next morning until tender, about 20 minutes.

3. Heat olive oil and sauté the onion, garlic, and jalapeno until translucent, about 5 minutes.

4. Add spices (cardamom seeds, cinnamon, salt, and black pepper) and sauté for 2 minutes.

5. Add the boiled and drained lentils and cook for about 10 minutes.

6. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.

7. Remove from stove and let it cool.

8. Add cilantro leaves.

9. Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit and prepare a non-stick baking sheet.

10. Take a spring roll sheet and dampen the edge by dipping your fingers in water and spreading it around the perimeter.

11. Mound one heaping teaspoon of filling on the spring roll sheet.

12. Close the sheet to form a triangle, pinching the edge tightly, and place it on the baking sheet.

13. Repeat until all filling is used.

14. Brush the sambusas liberally on all sides with olive oil.

15. Bake until golden brown, about 6-10 minutes, then flip and brown on the other side for about 2-3 minutes.

Misir Wat: Fire in the Streets

Misir Wat, the humble spiced red lentil stew of Ethiopia, seems at first a simple dish, a bubbling pot of legumes simmered slowly with onions, garlic, ginger, and berbere spice until it becomes thick, rich, and crimson.

The origins of Misir Wat lie in the agricultural backbone of Ethiopia. Lentils have long been one of the country’s cheapest and most available staples, grown in the highlands and eaten by peasants and laborers. Combined with berbere, a fiery spice blend of chili peppers, garlic, fenugreek, cardamom, and ginger, lentils became both survival food and comfort.

Traditionally, Misir Wat is eaten with injera. A family will gather around a shared platter, tearing off pieces of injera to scoop up the thick, red stew. It is meatless but filling, economical yet satisfying. During fasting periods of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, it is a perfect substitute for meat dishes. For students in Addis Ababa during the 1960s, it was also the cheapest option in the canteen, a dish you could buy for a few cents and stretch across an entire day of study and debate.

It was no accident, then, that Misir Wat became the flavor of Ethiopia’s radical age.

By the 1960s, Ethiopia was ruled by Emperor Haile Selassie, who had defeated Mussolini’s invaders and modernized parts of the nation, earning global fame and respect. But beneath the gilded image of the Lion of Judah, Ethiopia’s structure remained profoundly feudal. Vast tracts of land were controlled by landlords, nobles, and the church. Peasants, who made up over 80% of the population, toiled endlessly for rent and taxes, with little chance to own land themselves.

Urban Ethiopia, too, was stirring. Addis Ababa University, then called Haile Selassie University, became a hotbed of political debate. Students, exposed to Marxist literature, Pan-Africanist thought, and anti-colonial movements abroad, began to ask difficult questions: Why were peasants starving while landlords lived in luxury? Why did Ethiopia cling to ancient hierarchies while other nations modernized?

In cafes and dormitories, students would sit over steaming bowls of Misir Wat and injera, discussing Lenin, Fanon, and Mao. The lentils on their plates were not abstract, they were reminders of the peasant majority whose labor sustained the empire but who reaped nothing in return.

The first sparks came in the early 1960s, when students marched demanding land reform. In 1965, they gathered in Addis Ababa chanting, “Land to the tiller!” It was a radical demand in a country where land was considered the divine gift of emperors and lords.

Police cracked down. Tear gas and batons met the protesters, but the slogan stuck. Every year, on “Land Day,” students would repeat the demand. Each march grew louder, angrier, and broader, drawing in not just students but workers, teachers, and even taxi drivers who saw their own struggles reflected in the peasants’ plight.

Misir Wat was ever-present. Students leaving class, unable to afford meat dishes, filled the cheap cafes of Addis with the smell of lentils and berbere. Protest leaflets, smuggled into cafeterias, were passed over bowls of stew. The heat of berbere matched the sting of revolutionary ideas. Just as berbere transformed plain lentils into something fiery, so too did the students hope to transform Ethiopian society.

By the late 1960s and early 1970s, protests spread beyond the university. Workers staged strikes in textile factories and railroads. Taxi drivers in Addis Ababa shut down the city in solidarity with students. Teachers organized unions. Each group, though different in trade, shared the same basic meal: Misir Wat, affordable and filling.

When meetings went underground, stew often served as cover. A pot of lentils on the stove gave gatherings the air of an ordinary dinner, even as fiery debate filled the room. Food and politics blurred, one sustained the body, the other the soul.

The early 1970s brought famine in the north, particularly Wollo, where thousands starved while the imperial government concealed the scale of the disaster. Students exposed the truth, organizing protests and publishing underground pamphlets. Their fury was fueled not just by ideology but by hunger, theirs and the nation’s. It wasn’t long before this hunger came for the monarchy itself.

Don’t be afraid to let the stew thicken till it is almost a porridge.

Misir Wat (Ethiopian Red Lentil Stew)

Ingredients

• 1 cup red lentils, rinsed well

• 3 tbsp niter kibbeh (Ethiopian spiced butter) or unsalted butter/neutral oil

• 1 medium onion, very finely chopped

• 3 cloves garlic, minced

• 1 tbsp ginger, minced

• 2–3 tbsp berbere spice (adjust to heat preference)

• 2 cups vegetable or chicken stock (or water)

• Salt, to taste

• Optional: fresh cilantro for garnish

Instructions

1. Prepare base: Heat niter kibbeh in a pot. Add onion and cook slowly until golden and very soft (10–12 minutes).

2. Spice it: Add garlic, ginger, and berbere. Cook 1–2 minutes until fragrant.

3. Simmer lentils: Stir in lentils and coat them in the spice mixture. Add stock, bring to a simmer, then reduce heat and cook gently, stirring often, until lentils are soft and stew-like (20–25 minutes). Add more stock if it gets too thick.

4. Finish: Season with salt, adjust berbere to taste. Garnish with cilantro if you’d like.

5. Serving: Traditionally served on injera, but it also works as a side alongside your other dishes.

Doro Wat: Stew of Rebirth

Doro Wat, Ethiopia's fiery chicken stew, stands as a cornerstone of the nation's culinary heritage, a dish that marries intense flavors with deep cultural symbolism. Tracing its roots back to the ancient Aksumite Empire around 100–940 CE, when trade routes along the Red Sea introduced exotic spices from Arabia and India, Doro Wat evolved as a luxurious feast food. This era's bustling ports facilitated the exchange of ingredients like chili peppers and fenugreek, which would become integral to the berbere spice blend that defines the stew.

Under the Christianized Aksumite rule of King Ezana in the 4th century, the dish gained religious ties, often reserved for breaking fasts during holidays like Genna (Ethiopian Christmas) and Fasika (Easter). Prepared with bone-in chicken marinated in lemon and salt, slowly simmered in a base of caramelized red onions, niter kibbeh (spiced clarified butter), garlic, ginger, and the ever-present berbere, that mix of chili, garlic, ginger, fenugreek, coriander, cinnamon, and cardamom mentioned earlier, the stew demands patience, often cooking for hours or even a day. It is often finished with whole boiled eggs that absorb the rich, reddish sauce.

Historically eaten during special occasions and royal feasts under the Solomonic Dynasty, Doro Wat embodied hospitality and generosity, shared from a communal platter with injera, used as both plate and utensil. Over centuries, regional variations emerged, some adding more fenugreek or garlic, but its core remained a testament to Ethiopia's blended influences, from indigenous farming to foreign trade. In Jewish Ethiopian communities, a version called "sanbat wat" became a Sabbath staple, highlighting its adaptability across faiths. Yet, this dish of celebration would soon intertwine with turmoil, mirroring the slow-building heat of societal change.

The 1974 Ethiopian Revolution erupted from a cauldron of long-simmering grievances. Ethiopia under Emperor Haile Selassie, who had ruled since 1930, was a semi-feudal monarchy plagued by inequality, where vast lands were controlled by elites and the church, leaving peasants in poverty. Economic woes intensified in the early 1970s: the global oil crisis spiked prices, while a devastating famine in Wollo and Tigray provinces killed hundreds of thousands, hidden by the regime to preserve its image. Socially, urban intellectuals and students, influenced by Marxist ideas from global movements, demanded reform, while rural discontent festered over land tenure and taxes. Politically, Selassie's autocracy stifled dissent, but cracks appeared as modernization efforts, like education expansion, bred a restless youth.

The spark ignited on January 12, 1974, with a mutiny by the Territorial Army's Fourth Brigade in Negele, Sidamo province, protesting poor pay, water shortages, and harsh conditions. By February, air force personnel in Debre Zeyit mutinied, followed by strikes in Asmara and Addis Ababa. Teachers, taxi drivers, and workers joined, paralyzing the capital with demands for higher wages and political freedoms. Students marched, chanting against imperialism and feudalism. Selassie, sensing the upheaval, dismissed his cabinet in February and appointed Endalkachew Makonnen as prime minister, promising reforms like land redistribution. But it was too late; the pot was boiling.

By June 1974, junior military officers formed the Coordinating Committee of the Armed Forces, Police, and Territorial Army, known as the Derg (Amharic for "committee"). Initially anonymous, the Derg arrested key officials, including Endalkachew in July, and installed a new premier, Michael Imru. They issued "Ethiopia Tikdem" ("Ethiopia First"), a vague manifesto blending nationalism and reform. Meanwhile, famine relief efforts faltered, and regional insurgencies in Eritrea and Ogaden added pressure.

The climax came on September 12, 1974, Ethiopian New Year, when the Derg deposed Selassie in a bloodless coup, ending 3,000 years of monarchy. The emperor, once revered as the “Lion of Judah” and a divine descendant of Solomon, was confined to his palace and later died under mysterious circumstances in 1975.

As the flames of change spread, Doro Wat became a meal of the people rather than the privileged. Where once it graced imperial banquets, now it appeared in village gatherings and workers’ homes. Families shared it after long days of protest or uncertainty, its slow burn offering warmth amid chaos. Soldiers in the field cooked it with rationed onions and berbere, its red sauce mirroring both resilience and bloodshed. Breaking injera over Doro Wat became an act of faith that from ruin, something new might emerge.

The Derg proclaimed the Provisional Military Administrative Council (PMAC), with General Aman Andom as chairman, but internal rifts emerged. In November 1974, Aman was killed in a shootout, and 59 former officials were executed in the "Bloody Saturday" massacre, signaling the revolution's darkening turn. Mengistu Haile Mariam, a lieutenant colonel, rose amid the power struggles, consolidating control by February 1977 after purging rivals.

In March 1975, the Derg nationalized land, a radical attempt to redistribute what had been hoarded for centuries. For a moment, it felt as though the country had stirred itself into transformation. Students went to the countryside in the Zemetcha campaign, preaching literacy and reform like chefs teaching new recipes to a nation.

Yet, this top-down approach alienated civilians; the EPRP launched guerrilla warfare, met by Mengistu's Red Terror in 1977–78, killing up to 100,000 in purges. External threats loomed: Somalia invaded the Ogaden in 1977, repelled with Soviet and Cuban aid. Eritrean separatists intensified fighting, draining resources. It wasn’t long before Ethiopia was engaged in a brutal Civil War.

Today, when Ethiopians gather for holidays or celebrations abroad, Doro Wat still reigns at the center of the table. The dish that was once reserved for emperors is now the dish most associated with the nation itself.

This is a dish that demands patience. Do not be afraid of waiting.

Doro Wat

Doro Wat is a spicy Ethiopian chicken stew, often considered the national dish, slow-cooked with berbere spice and served with injera.

Ingredients

• 3 lbs chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces, or 3 chicken breasts, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

• 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

• 2 tablespoons niter kibbeh

• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

• 3 cups yellow onions, finely minced to a chunky puree in food processor

• 3 tablespoons butter

• 1 tablespoon finely minced garlic

• 1 tablespoon finely minced ginger

• 1/4 cup Ethiopian berbere (or use homemade berbere, highly recommended)

• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt

• 1/2 cup Tej Ethiopian honey wine, if available, or white wine mixed with 1 teaspoon honey

• 1 cup chicken stock

• 4 hard-boiled eggs, pierced all over with a fork about 1/4 inch deep

Instructions

1. Place the chicken pieces in a bowl and pour lemon juice over them. Let sit at room temperature for at least 30 minutes.

2. Heat the niter kibbeh or butter along with the olive oil in a Dutch oven. Add the onions and sauté, covered, over low heat for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

3. Add the garlic, ginger, and 1 tablespoon butter, and continue to sauté, covered, for another 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

4. Add the berbere and the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, and sauté, covered, over low heat for another 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

5. Add the chicken, broth, salt, and wine, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

6. Adjust the seasonings, adding more berbere according to heat preference. Add the boiled eggs and simmer on low heat, covered, for another 15 minutes.

7. Half or quarter the eggs and arrange on the plates with the stew. Serve hot with injera (Ethiopian flatbread), bread, or rice.

Tibs: Flames of the Guerrilla Feast

Tibs, a staple of Ethiopian cuisine, translates simply to "sautéed meat" in Amharic, embodying the essence of quick, stir-fried, flavorful preparation that has sustained communities for generations. Its origins trace back to ancient Ethiopian traditions, where meat, often beef, lamb, or goat, was stir-fried over open fires with readily available ingredients like onions, garlic, peppers, and berbere. Historically, tibs were crafted to honor guests, symbolizing hospitality and respect in a culture where communal dining is paramount. Variations abound: shekla tibs arrives sizzling in a clay pot with oil and berbere; awaze tibs amps up the spice with a chili paste sauce; dereq tibs is dry and crispy; while wet tibs simmers saucier with tomatoes and vegetables. Special tibs, enriched with clarified butter (niter kibbeh) or wine, elevate it for celebrations. Always served atop injera, tibs are adapted to whatever scraps or luxuries are at hand. Ethiopia's rural folk have long relied on such dishes amid scarcity, turning simple proteins into nourishing feasts cooked in camps or villages.

Yet, in the turbulent era from 1976 to 1991, tibs transcended the everyday table to become emblematic of the rebel and peasant struggles against the Derg, Ethiopia's Marxist-Leninist military junta. The Derg, formally the Provisional Military Administrative Council, seized power in 1974 after deposing Emperor Haile Selassie amid widespread unrest over famine, inequality, and autocracy. By 1976, under the iron-fisted leadership of Mengistu Haile Mariam, who consolidated control in 1977 through purges, the regime launched the infamous Red Terror (Qey Shibir), a brutal campaign of mass arrests, executions, and torture aimed at crushing dissent. Targeting urban intellectuals, students, and suspected counter-revolutionaries from groups like the Maoist Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Party (EPRP), the Red Terror claimed between 30,000 and 750,000 lives, with bodies often dumped in streets as warnings. This horror alienated peasants and rural communities, many of whom fled to join insurgent movements, carrying with them the communal rituals of cooking tibs over makeshift fires, quick strips of meat sautéed with foraged onions and peppers, shared among fighters to sustain body and spirit in the face of repression.

The rebel fronts drew heavily from peasant bases. In the north, the Eritrean People's Liberation Front (EPLF), formed in the early 1970s from splintered Eritrean independence groups, escalated its fight for secession from Ethiopia, which had annexed Eritrea in 1962. It was historically a part of the Ethiopian Empire, but after almost 50 years as an Italian colony, developed its own culture. By 1976, amid the Derg's peasant mobilization marches, where up to 100,000 rural conscripts were forced into futile assaults on Eritrean strongholds, the EPLF adapted with hit-and-run tactics, relying on mobility and local support networks. Peasants often preparing tibs in hidden camps: a dish that could be whipped up from scavenged goat or beef, its sizzling aroma a rare comfort in the harsh Eritrean highlands.

Similarly, the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF), founded in 1975 by Tigrayan students and peasants disillusioned with Amhara-dominated central rule, launched its insurgency in Tigray province. Facing Derg aerial bombardments with napalm and cluster bombs, TPLF fighters dominated rural areas by 1980, confining government troops to towns and roads. Their survival hinged on communal cooking and sharing. Tibs, adaptable to sparse rations, became a symbol of the rebellion, prepared over open flames in rebel enclaves where peasants contributed meat from their herds, fostering unity against the junta's divide-and-rule strategies.

Further south, the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF), established in 1973 to advocate for Oromo self-determination, the Oromo being Ethiopia's largest ethnic group, intensified its guerrilla operations in the Oromia region, clashing with Derg forces over land seizures and cultural suppression. The 1977 Ogaden War, where Somalia (supported by Maoist China and even Romania, a rare split in the Warsaw Pact), invaded to back the Western Somali Liberation Front (WSLF), temporarily diverted Derg resources, allowing EPLF and TPLF to seize territory. However, a massive Soviet-Cuban intervention, over 15,000 Cuban troops and billions in arms, reversed these gains by 1978, with battles like the Siege of Barentu and the First Battle of Massawa decimating rebel positions. Peasants bore the brunt, enduring forced relocations and scorched-earth policies that destroyed farms, yet they persisted in supporting insurgents. In OLF camps, tibs evolved as an improvisational meal: strips of lamb or beef, if available, or even substituted with wild game, sautéed with garlic and berbere scavenged from villages, shared communally to boost morale amid the regime's atrocities.

The early 1980s deepened the crisis with worsening food shortages. The catastrophic 1983–1985 famine, triggered by drought but amplified by war disruptions—blocked aid routes, bombed markets, and conscripted labor, killed 400,000 to 590,000, mostly in rebel-held Tigray and Eritrea. International aid efforts, like Live Aid, highlighted global outrage, but on the ground, peasants fled en masse, forming a diaspora while bolstering rebel ranks. TPLF and EPLF adapted by organizing famine relief in their territories, using guerrilla logistics to distribute food, where tibs, when meat was procurable, served as a high-energy staple for fighters. Its quick preparation allowed mobility in evading Derg offensives. By 1984, EPLF regained momentum with offensives, while TPLF expanded southward, allying with other groups under the Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) banner in 1989. OLF, though facing internal fractures, continued hit-and-run attacks, drawing on peasant grievances over land dispossession.

As Soviet support waned with perestroika in the late 1980s, the Derg's grip faltered. Failed campaigns like Operation Red Star in 1982 and Operation Shiraro exposed vulnerabilities, culminating in the pivotal Battle of Shire in February 1989, where EPRDF forces routed 100,000 Derg troops, capturing vast arms stockpiles. Rebels' communal ethos shone through: peasants supplied intelligence and provisions, with tibs feasts marking victories, their shared platters reinforcing bonds in the face of adversity. By 1990, EPLF captured Massawa, cutting Derg supply lines, while EPRDF advanced on Addis Ababa. In May 1991, as the junta collapsed amid desertions and economic ruin, Mengistu fled to Zimbabwe, and EPRDF forces entered the capital unopposed, ending the war with at least 1.4 million dead, 1 million from famine alone.

The resolution brought fragile peace: Eritrea gained independence in 1993 after a referendum backed by EPLF, while EPRDF, led by TPLF's Meles Zenawi, formed a federal government emphasizing ethnic autonomy, though OLF soon withdrew over disputes. Land reforms slowly materialized, redistributing holdings to peasants, echoing the "Land to the Tiller" cries that fueled the uprising. Yet, the revolution's legacy is mixed, marked by ethnic tensions and authoritarian echoes, but it instilled pride in Ethiopia's diverse peoples, who rose from repression through adaptability and community. Tibs remains, a dish born of necessity, sautéed swiftly over rebel fires, and now savored in peacetime feasts.

Tibs cooks FAST. Make sure you are prepared.

Tibs

Tibs is an Ethiopian meat stir-fry, often made with beef, lamb, or other meats, flavored with spices and served hot.

Ingredients

• 1 large red onion, about 2 cups, sliced thin

• 1/4 cup niter kebbeh or ghee spiced butter

• 2 pounds venison, lamb, or beef, cut into bite-sized pieces

• 2 tablespoons berbere

• 1 teaspoon ground fenugreek

• 1/2 teaspoon cardamom (optional)

• 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

• 1/4 teaspoon cumin

• 1/4 teaspoon ground clove

• 1 teaspoon black pepper

• 3 to 4 garlic cloves, sliced thinly

• 2 cups whole peeled tomatoes, broken into bits

• 1 to 5 green chiles, such as jalapenos or serranos

• 1/2 cup red wine

Instructions

1. Get the saute pan or wok very hot. Stir-fry the onions without the butter for a few minutes, until they char just a little on the outside.

2. Add the spiced butter and the venison, lamb, or beef. Stir-fry hot and fast until the outside of the meat is brown but the inside is still very rare. Do this in two batches unless you have a very large wok or pan.

3. Add all the meat back into the pan along with the berbere, ground fenugreek, cardamom (if using), ground ginger, cumin, ground clove, black pepper, garlic, and chiles. Stir-fry for another 30 seconds.

4. Add the tomatoes and the red wine. Toss to combine and let this cook for a minute or two.

5. Serve at once with bread or injera.

Gomen: Greens of Defiance

Gomen, a humble stew of collard greens simmered with onions, garlic, and spices, is a cornerstone of Ethiopian cuisine. Known as ye'abesha gomen in Amharic, this dish traces its roots to the country's ancient agricultural traditions, where leafy greens harvested from fertile highland soils have nourished communities for centuries. Collard greens, or gomen, are a staple vegetable in Ethiopia, often prepared as a vegan side dish or enhanced with meat in variations like gomen be siga. Its preparation is straightforward: greens are chopped, sautéed with niter kibbeh, and slow-cooked to absorb earthy flavors. Influenced by Ethiopia's agrarian heritage, gomen reflects the nation's history of farming, dating back to pre-Aksumite times when crops like teff and vegetables sustained rural populations. In regions like Oromia and Amhara, where smallholder farmers dominate, gomen is ubiquitous. Variations abound: Gurage communities might serve gomen kitfo, a raw minced version, while others incorporate cabbage in tikil gomen with potatoes and carrots. This dish is often shared communally on injera platters or as part of a vegetarian sampler known as Yetsom Beyaynetu. Yet, in the turbulent years of 2015–2018, gomen transcended the table, becoming a metaphor for the very land under threat during Ethiopia's seismic protests.

The Oromo protests erupted in late 2014, ignited by opposition to the Addis Ababa Integrated Development Master Plan, a government initiative to expand the capital's boundaries into surrounding Oromia farmland. Oromia, home to Ethiopia's largest ethnic group, the Oromo, comprising about 35% of the population, has long been a breadbasket, its rich soils yielding crops that feed the nation. But the plan was perceived as a land grab, displacing Oromo farmers to make way for urban development and elite investors. Initial sparks flew on April 25, 2014, with university students in Ambo and other towns demonstrating against the proposal, facing swift police crackdowns that killed dozens. The movement went underground but resurfaced explosively in November 2015 in Ginchi, a small town 80 kilometers from Addis Ababa, where students protested the sale of a local school forest to private developers. This act symbolized broader grievances: economic marginalization, cultural suppression, and the erosion of Oromo identity under the Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) coalition, dominated by the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) since 1991.

As protests spread across Oromia, youth, organized through social media and clandestine networks like the Qeerroo (Oromo youth), led chants for justice, land rights, and political inclusion. Farmers, whose livelihoods depended on the soil, joined in, blocking roads and staging strikes. Gomen, stewed from greens plucked from those same fields, mirrored their plight: a dish born of the earth, now threatened by evictions that severed people from their roots. Protesters evoked this bond, drawing parallels between the nourishing greens and the land's role in sustaining Oromo heritage. Government forces responded with brutality; by January 2016, Human Rights Watch reported at least 140 deaths from live ammunition and mass arrests. A state of emergency in October 2016 curtailed freedoms, but the movement persisted, evolving into calls for systemic change. Factories and flower farms, symbols of foreign investment on grabbed land, were targeted, echoing the resentment of peasants toiling on estates that once were theirs.

By mid-2016, the unrest leaped to the Amhara region, Ethiopia's second-largest ethnic group at about 27% of the population. Starting in Gondar in July 2016, protests stemmed from a territorial dispute over Welkait, a district Amharas claimed was annexed by Tigray in the 1990s, but quickly encompassed land grabs, arbitrary arrests, and perceived TPLF favoritism. Amhara farmers, much like their Oromo counterparts, faced displacement from fertile lands redistributed to investors or political allies. The Fano youth militia organized rallies, drawing on historical Amhara pride as empire-builders. In August 2016, security forces killed seven unarmed Amhara youth in Bahir Dar, fueling nationwide outrage. The convergence of Oromo and Amhara grievances marked a turning point: historically divided ethnic groups united against a common oppressor, chanting slogans that bridged their causes. Gomen, a shared staple in both regions' diets, underscored this alliance, its earthy essence representing the communal soil that bound them, now commodified and contested.

The protests intensified through 2017, with general strikes paralyzing Oromia and Amhara. Over 500 deaths were admitted by the government, though estimates ran higher, with thousands imprisoned. In Oromia, attacks on Somali communities in July 2018 highlighted ethnic tensions exacerbated by land disputes. Yet, the movement's staying power, fueled by diaspora support and online coordination, exposed the EPRDF's fragility. Protesters, rising at dawn to march, shared gomen from family pots, its warmth fueling their opposition to policies that uprooted them. The dish's simplicity echoed the protesters' demands: basic rights to land, dignity, and self-determination.

By early 2018, the pressure proved insurmountable. Prime Minister Hailemariam Desalegn, in power since 2012 after Meles Zenawi's death, faced unrelenting unrest despite prisoner releases and reform promises. On February 15, 2018, he resigned, citing the need for "sustainable peace and strong democracy." A state of emergency followed, but it couldn't stem the tide. In April 2018, Abiy Ahmed, an Oromo and former intelligence officer, was appointed prime minister, ushering in a new era. Abiy lifted the emergency, freed political prisoners, and pursued ethnic reconciliation, including peace with Eritrea in July 2018. Land reforms were promised, though implementation lagged, addressing core grievances like grabs that had displaced thousands. Still, they proved the power of a people united.

Gomen, that stew born from the soil, endures as a meal and a symbol of the peasantry. The movement's legacy is messy, ethnic conflicts persist, and full democracy remains elusive, but it birthed hope. Ethiopia's path forward draws strength from its earthy foundations, promising a more equitable harvest for all.

This are not like any sauteed greens you’ve had. The dish simply pops with flavor.

Gomen

Gomen, or Gomen Wat, is a simple Ethiopian spiced greens dish, typically made with collard greens but adaptable with kale and spinach.

Ingredients

• 200 grams curly kale, chopped

• 100-200 grams spinach, chopped (fresh was used but if using frozen, be sure to squeeze out excess water)

• 1/2 to 1 teaspoon nigella seeds, optional

• 1 tablespoon garlic-infused olive oil

• 1/2 tablespoon berbere (the provided version) or to taste (this is supposed to be a milder dish than the doro wat or misir wat)

• 1 tablespoon grated ginger

• Salt to taste

Instructions

1. Very briefly fry the berbere, nigella seeds and ginger in the garlic-infused olive oil, then add the greens.

2. Cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally, until kale and spinach are soft.

3. Add salt to taste.