In many ways I’ve been drunk with bloodlust since I tried the tire siga at Selam Ethiopian Kitchen earlier this spring. Those are the first sized chunk of raw beef you whittle at with steak knives, dredging the scraps through a potent spice blend known as mitmita, or berbere-spiked awaze sauce, or the sinus-scouring mustard called senafitch. Its good way to engage with your primal forbears, such an elemental way of eating that it leaves you craving more as if you’re some kind of hungry creature, like I dunno, a wolf that stands on two feet. Yeah, a wolfman. Ok, a wolfperson.
What’s in name anyway? Well plenty if you’re eating in East Africa
