Situated almost inconspicuously, amongst various other food stores (promising a wide variety – fried chicken, falafel, and burritos) and close to various barbershops, is a gem, Addis Cafe. The name of the eatery is written in blocky bold white text against a maroon red background. Next to the text are two smiling faces, heads tilted against the backdrop of a wisp of the Ethiopian flag – bright green, yellow, and red. Written below the English sign, the cafe’s name is written in Amharic, in white text situated against a walnut brown background.

Frank and I approach eagerly, extraordinarily hungry after taking the Bakerloo line all the way east and spending an hour at the Dominican barbershop. Sitting relaxed outside of the restaurant, in a small wooden chair, is a kind-faced 50 something year old Ethiopian man. He gets up to greet us warmly, and gestures for us to enter the cozy cafe, with a beautiful contrast of rich tones – walnut wood floors, white painted brick walls, and colorful glass bottle lights hanging from the ceiling in the front window. There is an easeful energy about this man, a sense of youthfulness in his demeanor and gait despite his maturity. 

He leads us inside and we sit at a 2-person table. There is a middle-aged woman beside us, sipping water and picking up a to-go order. As she leaves, our host beckons us to sit down at the larger 4-person table closer to where the middle-aged woman had been sitting. “More comfortable,” he assures us. I’m struck by the warmth that I do not find so easily in some other eateries in London. 

I sit on the same side as Frank, on the comfy fabric bench. Sitting beside him instead of facing him always feels more natural to me, anyway. This also means we can share the food more easily, and we have a view looking out at the counter,  behind which are adorned funny messages such as “give me the coffee and no one gets hurt,” “relax, everyone’s crazy here,” and “there’s no wifi here, pretend it’s 1996. Talk to each other.” When I go to wash my hands in the bathroom, I find a framed article about the first aeroplane flight in Addis Ababa.

The cafe is snug, and it is as if we are transported into someone’s home kitchen rather than a restaurant.  When Frank asks the kind man how long this has been their restaurant, we begin to understand exactly why this is what the decorative comfortable interior invokes. He recounts that this space became the cafe it is today during the COVID-19 pandemic years. But, he says, he and his wife have had businesses on this property for many years, and the space has been through many iterations: it was an electronics store most recently and before that a repair shop. He reflects that what the couple realized they wanted after the pandemic was something more easeful, more in line with running a business based on passion and comfort rather than pure necessity.

“The restaurant is only open 5 hours each day. It’s all food that we eat ourselves, anyway.” 

The owner tells us he has been vegan for 30 years. Frank, attentive and inquisitive, knows what question he wants to ask. “Why did you first become vegan?” he inquires.

 The man begins to tell a vivid story. He states that 30 years ago, he was a student in Sweden. He recounts going to a local market for his goods, produce, and perishables often. One day, he reports that he saw an abnormally large cow, being paraded around the market square. He recalls feeling uneasy, seeing how grotesquely large this cow was. He asked the man parading around the animal, “how old is this cow?” The owner of the cafe tells us he was rightfully shocked after he was told that the cow was only a year old. He realized this – that the cow had been gorged, made fat simply to fill pockets and line stomachs with quick glutinous satisfaction – but at a cost to the animal’s health. “That is no life,” the man tells us now. From that moment on, our owner declined to eat meat or animal products any longer. We both begin to wonder at whether this man’s diet has contributed to his youthful glow.

A woman, also in her 50s, also with a vibrant energy and warm smile, emerges from the kitchen. We realize she must be his wife. She comes over to bring us water with fresh herbs and we order the mouth-watering sounding dish which is a selection of all their specialties on a base of injera with extra on the side. There is so much care evident in every meticulous detail of this cafe. As we wait for the food, I continue to take in all the sights around us, and relish being at a cafe where the food is made with intention, not superfluously. 

When she arrives with our food, our eyes become round saucers. The fresh vegetables (cabbage, carrots, kale) melt in our mouths, as do the legumes and potatoes, rich and yet delicately laden with spices against our tongues. The injera is spongy, rich, with a delicious tang. There are mountains of this mouth-watering delicacy, and we almost finish it all, but save a little to eat later, eager to have something of this experience to take home with us. We marvel at the taste of the injera, and the owner asks us, “had either of you eaten Ethiopian food before?” I had, I muse, and I think back to the restaurant friends and I had frequented several times in Middletown, Connecticut, tasting the memory of the sweet honey wine we drank on my tongue. I had forgotten how delicious Ethiopian cuisine was, how much I had missed out all these years without having it. Frank had not tried the food before, but I knew that he was now, definitively, going to be a regular eater of Ethiopian fare. Our owner brings us over the miniscule injera grain, showing us how small it is, how you have to look so closely, otherwise it disappears into his palm.

I am so grateful to have found this hidden gem. 

We promise to return soon, and I cannot wait.