By: Maya Barillas Mohan, Staff Writer

Situated a block away from Commercial-Broadway, I enjoyed a fashionable late lunch at Harambe. The restaurant has a long facade, fitting about 20 tables between jewel-toned walls adorned with art. There was one server working at 4:00 p.m. (when it opens on weekdays), and I noticed a distinct lack of sharp edges in the interior design. The doorways had been softened into sloping arches, and the tabletops matched. A series of low-slung lamps with large shades are poised over each table and frame the bar in the northwest corner of the restaurant. Each free ledge housed a floral arrangement bursting with tropical flowers; I saw white moth orchids, birds of paradise, and some sort of allium variety.

I took a table for one by the window facing the street. I noticed the offerings included vegetarian and gluten-free options, but I still wasn’t sure just what to try. After introducing myself to the server, she recommended the “one-person chef’s combination,” so I could try a little bit of everything. “You’ll love it,” the server beamed as she took away my menu.

While I stalked around the restaurant taking photos of the décor (and realized I needed to see an optometrist, none of them were in focus) my platter landed on the table. There was yebeg wot (stewed lamb), doro wot (stewed chicken), and alicha wot (stewed beef), accompanied by kik alicha wot (split lentil), and tekil gomen (cabbage). Alongside it was a generous basket of rolled injera, an Ethiopian soft bread that has a sharper tang than sourdough but the airy texture of a Swiss roulade. 

All the juices from the meat and vegetables soaked up nicely into the injera unrolled on the plate. Alicha wot, a mild beef curry with some chew to it, was my favourite. The atakilt component has cabbage’s signature slippery mouthfeel, but also a smooth, almost creamy texture while chewing. When the server returns to refill my water, she tells me her favourite is the doro wot, or maybe the gored gored: fried beef cubes. “I’ll try that next time I visit,” I reflected.

I don’t dine alone often, but found the experience enticing at Harambe because the place was almost entirely empty during the gap between lunch and dinner, and the traditional Ethiopian wedding music was voluble as it filled the space. Ethiopian food doesn’t come with a fork because it’s meant to be shared by hand. I would agree that most food and new experiences taste better with someone you love, but I didn’t feel alone in the brightly decorated restaurant. As the sun set outside and the restaurant lights enlivened, it felt transportive; Harambe felt like a cocoon away from the grime and bustle of Commercial Drive. 

Only $25 lighter, I left Harambe completely sated, and educated.