We use essential cookies to make the site work. We would also like to set analytics cookies and advertising cookies, but only if you agree. You can choose each one separately. Read our cookie policy
Loading
Recipes
Browse the archive by country, course and cooking time.
Shiro wat is ground chickpea stew, and it is among the most eaten dishes in Ethiopia and Eritrea. Onion, garlic, tomato and berbere are cooked down in oil, chickpea flour is whisked in, and the result thickens to something between a thick gravy and a puree, smooth enough to spread and eaten with injera.
Its position has a great deal to do with the religious calendar. Ethiopian Orthodox practice includes a very large number of fasting days, on which no meat, eggs or dairy are eaten, and shiro contains none of them. It is standard on Wednesdays and Fridays, through the eight weeks of Tsom, the Great Lent, and it is eaten during Ramadan by Ethiopian and Eritrean Muslims too. That is a dish serving two religions in one country without modification.
It is also cheap and quick, which explains the rest of its reach. Shiro powder, sold ready mixed with the spices already in it, is available across Ethiopia and increasingly abroad, in two kinds: mitten shiro, which is red and carries berbere, and netch shiro, which is white and mild. The dish takes different forms by consistency and name: shiro fessess is runny and served over injera with chillies, shiro tegamino is thick and cooked in an earthenware pot until it bubbles and caramelises at the base, and shiro fit fit shreds injera through it for breakfast.
Kac kac, also written ka'ka, are Somali fried sweets: crisp on the outside, soft within, and cut into diamonds or squares rather than shaped into rings. They are closer to a biscuit than to a raised doughnut, because they use baking powder rather than yeast and the dough is rolled and cut rather than proved.
Their setting is tea. Kac kac go with shaah caddeeys, the spiced milk tea that anchors Somali hospitality, and the pairing is fixed enough that one implies the other. They are sold in the maqaayo Soomaali, the traditional restaurants of Mogadishu and other Somali cities, where they are made in large batches in the morning and generally sold out well before the day is over.
They also belong to Ramadan. A dense, sweet, portable fried thing that keeps for days is exactly what is wanted for iftar, and kac kac appear on Somali tables through the month in quantity. The marking on the surface, a light score with a knife before frying, is not decoration alone: it helps them cook through evenly and gives the piece its characteristic look. Somali communities across the diaspora have carried them intact, and they are among the first things a Somali household abroad will make for visitors.
The rolex has nothing to do with watches. The name compresses rolled eggs into one word, and that is exactly what it is: an omelette with vegetables rolled inside a chapati, made to order at a roadside stand and handed over in paper.
It is the street food of Kampala and now of the whole country. Vendors work from small stalls with a hot plate and a stack of chapatis, and the whole transaction takes a couple of minutes. Its rise is generally placed in Kampala among university students, who wanted something filling and cheap, and it spread from there across Uganda and into the country's international reputation.
The chapati underneath it is itself a piece of history. Flatbread of this kind came to East Africa with Indian migration, particularly the labourers and traders who arrived under British colonial administration, and it has been fully absorbed into Ugandan and Kenyan eating. What Uganda did was wrap an omelette in it. That is a small innovation and it produced a national dish, which is roughly how street food has always worked: someone puts two cheap things together and the city decides it is right.
Brochettes are skewered grilled meat, and in Rwanda they are the food most reliably present wherever people gather in the evening. Goat is the usual choice, threaded onto skewers with onion, grilled over charcoal, and eaten standing at a bar, sitting in a restaurant, or bought from a street vendor on the way somewhere else.
The word is French, meaning skewer, and its presence in Rwandan usage is a plain marker of the colonial period. What the word describes is entirely Rwandan: a particular cut, a particular char, and a particular way of eating, with grilled or fried plantain, potatoes and a fresh salad alongside.
They are not heavily spiced, which distinguishes them sharply from the grilled meat traditions further west. Where Nigerian suya is built on a dry spice coating and West African peppered goat is aggressively hot, a Rwandan brochette is seasoned simply and relies on the meat and the fire. Heat, when it is wanted, arrives separately at the table as akabanga, the thin orange Rwandan chilli oil that is sold in small bottles and used a drop at a time. That separation of meat and heat is a matter of preference in Rwanda rather than an absence of one.