Food is an essential part of any culture. I remember waking up some mornings, to the familiar aroma of foul mudammas being made. My mouth would water as I’d drag myself out of bed and scurry (as fast as possible while still half asleep, mind you) to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. As the water would clean away the previous night’s rest, I’d become more alive and my excitement for what laid in store for breakfast would heighten. I’d say a quick “morning” to the family and find my place at the table. I’d pour myself something to drink, and look at the spread presented before me. No matter what other dishes laid before me, my gaze always rested on the foul mudammas. The savory combinations of favabeans, peppers, tomatoes, onion (which I’d pay for later but didn’t care) a splash of lemon and oil, always gave me a sense of comfort.
That’s what I loved about growing up in a habesha household: sitting together and eating familiar foods that, not only brought us together, but also would place joy and comfort in our #hearts. That may seem outlandish to some but to those that can relate: *fist*
It’s because of these moments that I treated myself to a nostalgic lunch. Yum!! Eritrea: A culture not defined by its food, but certainly enhanced by it.
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