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Los Angeles has one of
the most ethnically diverse populations in the United States. I’ve heard
that classes in the school system are taught in over 80 different
languages. The huge majority of the ESL
people speak Spanish, and come from one of the nations south of the Rio
Grande. But there are large groups of other ethnic backgrounds, too,
many of them not Christian, or only partly so.
Koreatown is vast, and you can drive for blocks and see hardly any
signs in English. There is
Chinatown, and the post-concentration-camp remnants of
Little Tokyo. There’s
Filipinotown. We live in
Thai Town, on the northern edge of
Little Armenia.
 Both last year and this one, we weren’t getting together with family,
and thus were on our own for Christmas dinner. And like last year, we’d
done the Thanksgiving feast only a month ago and weren’t in the mood for
all that cooking in December, so we decided to sample some of the other
Christmas possibilities.
In
2006 we celebrated a Jewish Christmas, at Hollywood’s least
kosher deli,
Canter’s on Fairfax.
Bacon, ham, pork, and shrimp are all on the menu; also some of the best
pastrami in Los Angeles. We ordered the traditional turkey, stuffing,
sweet potatoes dinner, though you could get
matzoh ball soup
or gefilte fish as a side
dish. I’m sorry to say it was only so-so. When you go to Canter’s, stick
to the traditional Jewish fare.
This year we struck out even deeper into unexplored territory. There is
an area of Fairfax that, since the ‘90s, has come to be called
Little Ethiopia. There are about a dozen restaurants there, and
other Ethiopian businesses. Technically
Ethiopia is a
majority Christian state, but the Muslim population is 30 or 40%,
depending on whose figures you believe. So I thought of this as our
“Islamic Christmas.”
 About half the restaurants on the street were closed, including
Messob, which looks to be the best.
We’d already eaten at
Rosalind’s, so we tried the one right next door,
Merkato, which means
“market.” Inside it was elaborately decorated, with umbrellas hanging
from the ceiling. (Signifying what, I wondered? Ethiopia is a dry
country. Catching the rain?) At the front were some big basketry tables
with what looked like small saddles instead of chairs.
 They were pretty,
and exotic, but no one was sitting at these, and I prefer to lean back,
so I was glad when we were shown to a more conventional table. We
ordered spicy (and at these places, spicy can mean really
spicy!) beef tibbs, and a veggie plate of lentils, collard greens,
cabbage, and a few other things. While we waited we visited the
connecting shop, where
English/Amharic dictionaries were on sale, along with many Ethiopian
products and souvenirs. Under a glass case was an assortment of blown
glass pipes. Haile
Selassie is the patron saint of the
Jamaican
Rastafarians; do the Ethiopians love their
ganja, too? I didn’t ask.
Everybody was speaking Amharic.
 The
food arrived, all together on a vast plate, covered by a vast round of
injera, a spongy bread
that is to this cuisine as the tortilla is to Mexican food … and even
more, as food is served on it, and a plateful is served alongside. You
tear off bits (it’s moist and almost rubbery) and use them to pick up
the morsels of food. It was all good, hot but not too hot, and amazingly
cheap. The bill came to $15, and the two of us could only eat about half
of what was served. Plus, we didn’t have to listen to Christmas carols.
Instead, they played Ethiopian traditional music … jazz!
December 28, 2007 |
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