It was 1984 when news of the famines in Ethiopia broke in the UK; I was 4 years old. Antsokia valley was one of the worst affected areas, and I’ve been there for the past 3 days, visiting people who lived through it, and learning about how the area has changed and learned to support itself, with the help of the aid organization World Vision.

Four million people were affected by the famine, and there were 15-20 deaths each day. I met the man who informed the government of the situation at the time, Girma Wondafrash. A community leader, he told the authorities that people were starving, initiating the relief effort. He spoke about how he mobilised a community to build an airport in Antsokia, overnight, in order for emergency aid to be delivered. A remarkable story. I think about Live Aid and Bob Geldof and all those images of desperate people on the telly, as I’m hearing the story from the man who actually started the whole thing, sat right in front of me.

Girma Wondafrash.

We’ve been travelling out to World Vision’s ‘area development programmes’, along dusty roads where women and children walk, carrying water, bags of onions and sugar cane; men herd cattle or tug lines of camels bearing wood or straw, scarves piled on their heads to shield the sun. Donkeys plod relentlessly with burdens of rocks. The landscape changed as we arrived here from Addis Ababa; what were once patchwork shades of brown change to green as crops flourish. Red onions are a major source of income, a variety called ‘Bombay’ which can be harvested 3 times a year; some are exported but most are consumed by Ethiopians. The fields in which they grow are now irrigated, and we walk along irrigation streams to a fruit farm. I find out just how effective the system is by plunging my foot into a puddle of sloppy mud.

Onion farming.

Irrigation.

World Vision’s development programs run in 3 phases: the emergency relief phase, which is what we saw with emergency feeding programmes during the famine, rehabilitation, and then development. After the emergency feeding ended, the Ethiopian land and its people were in such dire need that a lot of work had to be done in preparation before rehabilitation could even start. The people didn’t know the capacity of the land; where previously they’d been growing simple grains, now they grow vegetables and fruits – avocados, mango, papayas, bananas, oranges and limes. 

Bananas on the tree with magnificent flower.

Papayas.

Oranges and avocado.

At another farm we meet a man called Abebe Aragaw who survived the famine and now runs a flourishing fruit business. Trees groan with the weight of huge papayas and mangoes, the latter being a good example of how the seedlings have been modified in research centres to ensure better rewards for the farmers; the new trees yield much more fruit, more often. At another farm we see modified trees that are smaller, meaning women are able to harvest the mangoes. This seedling development is clearly a major boost for the farmers.

Abebe on his farm. Ethiopians are smart dressers; clothes may be threadbare, but they still turn out in suits.

Abebe with his lunch box, made from animal hide.

Desta Aragaw, a member of a farmers’ association, on his farm in Antsokia Valley.

Ripe apple mangoes on the tree.

We also see fresh coffee beans; coffee is one of Ethiopia’s major exports and is crucial to the economy. Aside from that, it’s incredibly good. I’m a hardcore tea drinker, and yet I’ve stuffed several pouches of coffee in my rucksack to bring home.

Coffee beans.

Abebe shows us around his farm with pride, and describes how he has plans for the next ten years, including setting up his own shop. Every Ethiopian we meet seems to have a clear goal for the future, not a single person faltering at the question. They have developed strength and self sufficiency and the will to keep moving forward is strong. The lush farms, buzzing with insects and bird song, seem so far away from the images of planes dropping emergency rations on parched soil. It’s hard to believe it ever really happened.

Today I spent time with a group of women who have received support from World Vision to set up their own injera making business. All of the women were identified as particularly in need of help, living below the poverty line for various reasons. Some are HIV positive and were previously uneducated about living with it or were unaware they even had it, while some were unable to earn a living for other reasons, such as being dependent on a husband who died.

Lemlem Tesjay (above) is effectively the manager of the injera group, of which there are about half a dozen members. Aside from earning the women enough money to do things like cover the expenses of their children going off to university and of course, a salary for themselves, they have the benefit of companionship; they are friends and can discuss family issues, financial issues, womens’ issues, together every day. They also have the benefit of a work space which they rent from the government – this would not have been available to a single person.

A member of the group, Letay Naezgi, took us through the entire process of injera making. She was stuggling to make ends meet after her husband died, travelling out of Addis Ababa to buy goods which she then attempted to sell for a higher price in the capital. It simply wasn’t enough. Now she is able to take a regular salary each month, make sure her children are well nourished, and was even able to pay for herself to visit relatives in the North of the country.

Injera is made from teff, a grain which grows in Ethiopia. The women take it to the local mill where it is ground to a powder.

Teff before grinding

The teff is sifted 3 times

Then mixed with water and some of the yeasted mixture from the previous batch

This then goes into the bucket to ferment for 3 days

After this time, water is boiled and combined with some of the teff mixture from the bucket. It is heated again until boiling, then cooked for 5 minutes. It’s now ready to become injera.

Letay expertly making injera

Fuel for the injera pans

The injera are cooked on massive, floor standing hot plates, which are sprinkled with ‘something like cabbage seed’ – this looked a bit like polenta and I’m sure is used for the same purpose as the latter serves when sprinkled under pizza dough. Once on the plate, they’re covered with a giant hat and cooked for about 10 minutes before being shimmied onto a sort of flat basket and transported over to a different work top to cool.

Letay of course makes the injera cooking look incredibly easy; they produce a minimum of 100 a day, but can produce up to 500, depending on orders. They ask if I want to have a go, which of course, I do. My injera and those of my fellow novices spark fits of giggles amongst the women. They’re all sort of thick, wonky and craggy rather than thin and even as they should be. ‘YOURS HAS A FACE!’ I helpfully inform Jo.

With our ‘finished’ injera

They might not be much to look at but we’re rather proud nonetheless. They still taste like injera and we gobble them up with a mound of chilli powder for dipping.

The World Vision development program here has been of such vital importance to these women. When once they could barely afford to survive, now they’re self sufficient and supporting their families. The benefits are not purely financial however. The women who are HIV positive have received education in living with the virus. They have received small business training. Importantly though, there’s a sense of empowerment. We ask Lemlem how she has changed since her involvement in the project and she describes how she tells people, ‘anyone who is strong enough to work has the power to change their lives’ – she particularly wants other women and their children to know this. I decide to ask her how the men in Ethiopia feel about women becoming more empowered and she smiles and answers that although they are aware this is now ‘a thing’, some of them choose not to really acknowledge it. Times are gradually moving on.

This is such a powerful collaboration, and it starts me thinking about the power of people working together for change, the essence of the Enough Food For Everyone IF campaign that I’m here to highlight. What could we do to help change our approach to food and make it less wasteful? More sustainable? How about sharing an allotment or garden with friends or neighbours? Perhaps your mates don’t have the time to maintain that garden all by themselves, but would like to see it used more effectively. Or how about office lunching? A group of colleagues clubbing together with one person bringing a simple lunch for everyone each day, instead of feeding money into the hands of big companies with questionable sourcing of ingredients, not to mention interesting approaches to paying tax. 

The idea of this campaign is not not make everyone feel guilty, but to address the root of the problem, which lies in the way food is grown and distributed. If we can all make a small change at a local level, the knock on effects could be very powerful indeed.

I am currently in – you’ve guessed it – Ethiopia. As we descended into Addis Ababa this morning on an overnight flight, the ground looked like an undulating patchwork quilt of browns and greens, snaked through with curly rivers and the odd road. It looked pretty much how I’d imagined it.

What do you think of when you think of Ethiopia? For most it has an image that’s stuck in the 80′s – small children crying, malnourished, with distended bellies and big pleading eyes. There is still poverty here of course, but now Ethiopia has the fifth fastest growing economy in the world, the second in Africa. The country has changed at a staggering rate in the past 20-30 years and that’s why I’m here, to learn about what’s changed, and also what still needs to be done.

The charity who have organised the trip are called World Vision, and the campaign I’m here to write about is called Enough Food For Everyone IF. It’s a collaboration between many charities and organisations, who are working together with the aim of ending the global hunger crisis. As they put it, ‘the world produces enough food for everyone, but not everyone has enough food’.

As I said, this is a collaborative effort, and in order for the campaign to be a success it needs action on the part of millions of people around the world. If we can all do one small thing to change the way we buy our food or consume it, then the collective effect could be immense. I’ll be coming back to this in later posts.

So what will I be doing out here? Well I’ll be travelling to visit World Vision projects, such as a group of HIV positive women who are making injera, something I am very excited about. If you’re not familiar, injera is a staple flatbread, like a giant bubbly crumpet, made from a fermented teff or wheat flour mixture. All food is served on top of it and indeed eaten with it as pieces are torn off and used to scoop up food with the hands. It’s eaten at least twice a day here. As much as I’m excited about the injera however, I’m also keen to learn about some of the other foods Ethiopians eat; I visit Ethiopian/Eritrean restaurants regularly in the UK, but beyond the staples, I’m clueless. I expect many of you are too.

I’ll also be visiting World Vision health and agricultural projects, learning about how the country has developed since the famines in the 80s. There’s going to be a huge amount to think about. I’m excited and also kind of nervous. How will I feel seeing everything I’m about to see? Slightly guilty perhaps? Inspired? Sad? Elated? Shocked? I think it’s going to be a huge emotional merry go round.

Tomorrow is the first day of our adventure, and I’m the keenest of beans to get started. I just hope my words can do it justice.

Diet? January? Pah! I’m sorry but we need insulation during this snowy month and I’m all about blubbering up. Okay I’m actually going to join the gym as soon as I get paid. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks eating things like langos, an Italian feast and my own bodyweight in melted cheese at Forza Winter. Oh and after Forza Winter I ordered a pizza at 2am. And then finished it for breakfast. And then and then and then and theeeeen. So you see I need to cut down on the cheese intake and up it on the veg side of things, which is how this cauli tagine came about.

The cauli is one of my favourite vegetables, and the once poor, unloved brassica is now apparently back in favour. I’ve wanted to steam one whole for ages and it seemed perfect for the tagine; it would cook gently inside, picking up all the spiced aromas over and hour or so. It would also look pretty snazzy on zee table.

I streaked the top of the brain-like cauli with saffron steeped in water; a flavour I used to hate with a passion. I found it soapy and unpleasant. The most expensive spice in the world? Didn’t get it. Well, I did; it’s very laborious to harvest of course but still. I’ve come to like it through cooking Iranian food and although I still wouldn’t count it among my favourite flavours, it sure does look purdy and I find it fragrant when used with appropriate modesty.

The cauli was cooked in a rich, thick sauce of onions, garlic, tomatoes and a few dried apricots, with a dried lime for a sour note; dried limes are amazing, when plucked from the bag they smell like lime sherbet. Spices went in, whole and ground; the onions taking on a beautiful amber hue from the turmeric.

It took rather longer to cook than I’d imagined, which has been my experience with the tagine thus far. I predicted an hour – it was more like one and a half. We ate it with a minty cous cous and a yoghurty drizzle effort which was basically yog mixed with diced pickled lemon and some garlic, briefly simmered to take the fiery edge off.

A seriously satisfying dish and, all importantly, insulating. I felt sufficiently sleepy, particularly when curled up with a glass of red and some Attenborough on the laptop. In bed by half past nine. Result.

Whole Cauli Tagine (serves 4, I’d say)

1 whole cauliflower
2 tins chopped tomatoes
2 large onions, thickly sliced
4 cloves garlic, peeled
1 cinnamon stick
6 cardamom pods (I like cardamom, a lot)
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1 scant teaspoon ground turmeric
1 dried red chilli
Pinch saffron (optional and like, totally not necessary)
1 dried lime
Handful dried apricots (preferably Persian)

Start by heating up the tagine slowly. Add some oil, then sling in the onions. Let them cook slowly for about 10 minutes. Toast the cumin and coriander seeds in a dry pan until fragrant, then crush in a pestle and mortar with the dried chilli. Add to the tagine with the other spices and the garlic. Continue cooking for a further 10 minutes or so. Add the tomatoes and dried lime, plus the apricots. Let the sauce cook down for 20-30 minutes until it’s starting to look all thick and gooey and lush. Season the sauce with salt and pepper.

Remove all the leaves from the cauliflower then trim down the base so it’s all nice and neat. Place the cauli on top of the sauce. If you want to use the saffron, steep it in a little boiling water for 5 minutes then steak across the top of the cauli. Put the lid on and cook on a gentle heat for about 1 hour to 1.5 hours, depending on the size of your cauli. When it’s tender, it’s cooked.

Serve with herby cous cous (I used mint and parsley) and yoghurt with chopped preserved lemons and garlic which has been simmered to take the edge off, then crushed.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t spend all my time eating jerk pork and barbecuing things in the rain. I do other stuff, okay? No really. Here’s some things I cooked, ate and felt happy about in the past couple of weeks.

Firstly, a little tooting on my own trumpet as I point you in the direction of The Independent’s ’50 Best Food Websites’ article. They said nice things about Food Stories and 49 other sites, including blogs, online suppliers and all-round giants like Chowhound. I’m flattered to be included.

And while we’re talking about ME, I’ll take a moment to point you once again, this time in the direction of my recipe column at AoL Lifestyle. The latest recipe is a very easy smoked mackerel ‘pâté’.

I’ve been out on the town too, as per. Sometimes a woman has to step outside of Peckham you know. Last weekend I made what was frankly a humongous schlep up to the wild wilderness of Seven Sisters to the Akhaya Cookery School, for a Nigerian cookery class. What with Peckham being ‘little Africa’ and all, I wanted to find out more about the ingredients I see in local shops every day. During the 3 hour class we made egusi (a soup thickened with melon seeds), jollof rice (rice cooked in a spicy tomato stew) and akara (black eye bean fritters). The akara were my favourite; very light, savoury fritters, which are incredibly easy to make. I’ll be experimenting with those so expect a recipe soon. The classes cost £75 per person, you cook 3 dishes per class and take home more than enough food for 2 people. Here are some pics:

The bright and airy classroom.

 Very familiar ingredients for the Peckhamite; dried shrimp; chilli flakes; black eye beans; palm oil.

Egusi soup. The white stuff is the egusi (ground melon seeds), mixed to a paste with water then added to the soup. The green dried stuff is afang (a dried leaf which is a little like Spinach). 

Fried plantain chips. You can’t hear a thing when you’re eating them – that crunchy.

I’ve been eating out too. Last night I perched very happily for several hours around the bar of the Maille Mustard Pop-Up in Spitalfields Market. They kindly invited me down to try the ‘mustard menu’ cooked by Kerstin Marmite Loving Rodgers. I had rather too much fun; the market was buzzing, the wine was flowing and the food was great. It’s on tonight and Sunday too. Here’s the lowdown in pics:

If it’s mustard you’re after…

A ‘Mustardy Mary’  = the best ever bloody Mary. I can’t ever drink one again unless it has wholegrain mustard in it. A brilliant idea.

Steamed artichoke with mustard mayonnaise.

Smoked haddock with mustard and cheese and Asian mustard greens. The fish was umami-packed and delicious. The name of the yellow flower in the middle escapes me but Kerstin picked them from her garden; they surprised everyone by tasting incredibly sweet and delicious. A flower actually worth eating.

Amazing cheese board featuring Langres, Moustardier, Charollais and Comté surrounded by palmiers.

Mostarda tutti frutti ice cream with berries, mint sugar and mustard candy floss. Kerstin and I are both of the opinion that tutti frutti ice cream should be BROUGHT BACK IMMEDIATELY.

And in between all that, I’ve been rapidly expanding outwards due to my extremely close proximity to The Rye pub, which is serving Meatwagon food for the summer. In addition to my favourite chilli burger I’ve been packing away the following, at least 3 times a week.

Smoked pork sandwich

Pulled pork sandwich

Baby back ribs with slaw and deep fried okra. I will be deep frying okra very, very soon.

Smoked buffalo wings with blue cheese dip.

What can I say, get yourself down there.

The Rye
31 Peckham Rye
SE15 3NX

So there we go. Ooof. I think I need to go and exercise now.

Do you know why I was able to resort to using flash so I could show you this food? Because there was no-one else in the restaurant, that’s why. This didn’t bode well.

We were actually in the area looking for a Turkish place. As you know, I’m not really one for tramping around up norf but I’ve sploshed up and down the Essex Road twice recently (both times: raining), because I  just can’t resist a budget recommendation. That, and the fact it was an excuse to visit The Mucky Pup, a damn fine boozer and home of my Chilli Cook Off victory (very modest, me). I met The Restaurant Recommender at a food event a few months ago, a food event which did not have much going for it in the way of food. So it happened that polite chit-chat turned into a frenzied slobbering quest to find grilled meat. I was sceptical (I mean, it’s in Islington. We’re talking cheap. This is Islington?) but I remained open-minded, for the first half hour. By the time my canvas pumps were sodden and my hair a frizzed shock, we decided to give it up and go home. I won’t tell you what I ended up eating that night.

This time we knew the location but forgot the occasion – Ramadan. The place is shut for a month. Right next door though was Zigni House, which ticked all the boxes what with it being a) open and b) serving food. Zigni is an Eritrean and East African restaurant. My only previous experience of the cuisine had been at Asmara in Brixton, which was fun but not exciting enough for a return visit.

With every table in the place to choose from, it had to be the funnel-lidded example with woven wicker chairs. Five minutes of creaking and fidgeting put paid to the idea of that being any fun; we moved swiftly across to something more practical. If you’ve never eaten East African food, you should know that what happens is they bring out an injera, which is this brilliant huge pancake full of bubbles like a giant flat crumpet. The batter has an addictive sour taste, which comes from fermentation for a couple of days at room temperature. It’s made with yeast, but you wouldn’t know it because the mix is runny, which allows it to be spread thin during cooking. It’s like a skinny sourdough crepe. In Africa it’s traditionally made with a small grain called teff but in other countries often replaced partly or entirely with wheat flour.

Dishes are served on top of the injera and everyone rips in, using each piece to scoop at the various stews. While you are eating, the juices from each dish are soaking  through the porous surface, making everything tastier as you work inwards; the final, gut-busting stages are the most precious; we’re talking crispy chips at the bottom of the packet stuff here. It’s every woman for herself.

We ordered a variety of meat and side dishes and it fast became apparent that this place was better than Asmara, its South London counterpart (sniffle). Dulet was a ballsy tripe dish, mysteriously fusty but freshened with yoghurt and herbs. More yoghurt arrived as a side dish, strained of excess liquid and whipped; a perfect contrast to dishes like Quanta-Fit-Fit (dried beef and injera pieces in hot ‘Zigni chilli sauce’). The almost biltong-like Zil Zil brought a welcome texture break from saucy stews, its spice rub as addictive as crack. It came with Ajbo Hamli, chopped spinach, cheese and butter. Nice. Other vegetarian dishes were great too; our starter of Timtomo Rolls was injera filled with richly spiced lentils. Kategna was – you’ve guessed it – injera, this time fried, dusted with chilli and slicked with ghee.

At Asmara, everything was a bit samey, like an Indian curry house that uses the same sauce for every dish, adding more or less chilli powder and calling it a different name; at Zigni each dish was bold and surprising. Even the injera was better (more sour) which makes them on to a winner considering it pops up in every other dish.

Why the place was empty I do not know. Okay, so it was Tuesday night and pissing with rain but the reverse-snobbed SE Londoner in me wants to think it’s because the well-to-do people of Islington were all wolfing down meringues in the gorgeous but pricey Ottolenghi then stopping for a cupcake on the way home. This is probably rubbish. I hope for the sake of the owner, Tsige Haile that the place was just a victim of a rainy Tuesday because the food at Zigni is satisfying, unusual and cheap. Did I mention cheap? People of Islington, hear me now! Cupcakes are all style and no substance and anyway, who wants icing on the seat of the 3-wheeler buggy when you can let the precious ones work it out of their systems by pawing at the mighty injera? Deep down, everyone wants to eat with their hands – child or not.

330 Essex Road
London
N1 3PB
Tel: 020 7226 7418
http://www.zignihouse.com