It was a surprisingly evocative taste of homespun Ethiopian cooking for Rittenhouse Square. But I couldn't help wondering why it wasn't the main event here, rather than the breakfast-and-latte trade of an ordinary cafe. It's a cautious business decision, perhaps. But the split personality seems to be typical of many of Philadelphia's Ethiopian restaurants.
One of the longtime stalwarts, Dahlak, shares its kitchen with an Indian restaurant, Desi Village, at its branch on Germantown Avenue. And even in University City, where the Ethiopian community first found its local footing in the mid-'80s, the food still often feels like a secondary affair.
It was at the corner of 45th and Locust two decades ago in a restaurant called Red Sea that Philadelphians had one of their first encounters with Ethiopian cuisine, where wide rounds of spongy injera flatbreads made from fermented teff flour serve as both plate and utensil for scooping up fingerfuls of spicy lentil stews and stir-fried meats. However, Abyssinia, the current resident there, is somewhat overshadowed by a hipster bar called Fiume on the second floor, where the patchouli-scented crowds pile in for live bluegrass concerts and craft beer. From the smudged-wall look of Abyssinia's scruffy downstairs dining room, it hasn't been touched up in years. But at least the food was still soulful and genuine.
I wish the opposite were true for nearby Gojjo, which has essentially become a polished college bar with Ethiopian food as an afterthought. It has the flat-screen TVs, pool table, breezy back deck, and mozzarella sticks down pat. But the Ethiopian cooking at a recent lunch was underwhelming, with rubbery bits of beef for the "tibs," a bland mound of undercooked red lentils and dull green beans.
