Bekelech changed my mind: How this Ethiopian came to love kitfo

With additional reporting by Rebecca Tewodros in Addis Ababa

“If I don’t eat injera at least once a day, I don’t feel like I’ve eaten,” Ethiopians say about their love for their staple food.

Injera, that large, soft tangy flatbread that is almost literally the foundation of Ethiopia’s vast cuisine, the surface on which heaps of delicious stews, curries and meats are arranged and the vessel diners use to scoop food up. It is not a dish, it is an identity marker for Ethiopians.

Injera features in the foods eaten every day, including feast days and holidays; cherished guests are served these dishes at home or taken out to eat them in a restaurant. One of the most famous of these dishes is kitfo.

Originating in the central Gurage region, about an hour and a half southwest of Addis Ababa, kitfo is finely chopped – or minced – beef that is massaged with niter kibbeh, a clarified butter infused with herbs and spices, and marinated in mitmita, a chilli powder-based spice blend.

In a country obsessed with raw meat, this dish was a sure hit once it left its small home state.

Kitfo has established itself in the hearts of many Ethiopians who eat it on special and not-so-special occasions at home or out in a favourite spot. A spot like Addis Ababa’s Bekelech Kitfo, founded, owned and run for more than 50 years by the undisputed champion of kitfo, the indomitable octogenarian Bekelech Bere-Wak.

Sadly, I was never one of them.

“Let’s eat kitfo” is an invitation I turned down often, countering with other options. I never had anything to contribute to conversations about the best kitfo joints in Addis. I never understood the passion, the love, people had for the dish.

I had come to terms with kitfo not being my type of anything.

So when an opportunity came to cover Ethiopia’s rich food heritage for Al Jazeera and I decided to profile a long-serving restaurant in Addis, the fact that I ended up choosing a kitfo place confused even me.

As a news reporter, it is my duty to separate my views and opinions from my reporting. Writing news articles for nearly five years, I have embodied this principle to the point where I worry when asked what my opinion is.

The nature of this piece required me to go deep into my personal experience and rely on my observation to guide the reader, something quite unfamiliar and scary for me.

Then there was my dislike for kitfo. Am I the right person to write about it? Will my distaste for it make me biased? Or is this a chance to learn to love kitfo and become one of them?

But being a reporter also means that I know every story has its own exciting lessons and the most difficult stories are the most rewarding in the end. Besides, kitfo is emblematic of Ethiopia, and the story of the famous matriarch in Addis who has been making it for more than 50 years was much bigger than me, I couldn’t just walk away.

With all my reservations in hand, I set out to get to know kitfo and its undisputed champion.

Our team – me, Rebecca, and our photographer Girma – arrived at Bekelech on a Saturday morning at about 10, excited to see this “go-to place”. We had heard that Bekelech herself still has to approve everything before it is served, and that is why it is as good now as it was 50 years ago when she was starting out.

“I started by thinking of what if I were to sell kitfo, because it didn’t have a market back then,” she told me. “I even got my business licence certificate under food sales because a kitfo restaurant was unheard of.”

The first thing we noticed is that Bekelech Kitfo does not look like a typical kitfo joint, which is often a round thatched-roof hut and goes for a “traditional” look with Gurage decorations. Instead, it sits in an eponymous three-star hotel that she built herself 10 years ago when city planners told her she could not just renovate her old restaurant because the zoning specified a hotel. Modern and sleek, this five-storey building’s lobby boasts crisp, white interiors and sparkly chandeliers, hardly what we expected.

At the entrance, we were greeted by a smiling Tesfaye Sima, 58, Bekelech’s relative who was, in his words, excited to be with us to “document history” and to make sure we saw everything that went into making Bekelech’s craft as unique as it is. The actor and director, who recently returned to Ethiopia from the United States, had old-worldly manners and a welcoming presence that assured us we were in the best of hands as he started with the history of the restaurant.

The first Bekelech Kitfo opened up in Addis back in 1965, in the Kazanchis neighbourhood, one of the few commercial districts at the time. Two years later, it moved to its current location near Hayahulet Mazoriya, an area with not much going on except for a state corporation, a driving practice track, and a market. The kitfo quickly became famous among all the employees and people doing business there.

Tesfaye, who grew up at the restaurant and considers Bekelech his mother, recalls: “There used to be a line of 150 customers waiting their turn, even though the first order wasn’t even served yet.”

Kitfo comes mounded in a clay vessel with a side of gomen – Ethiopian-style collard greens – some ayib – a fresh, soft cheese akin to cottage cheese – and a bit more mitmita.

There is also always injera and kocho. The more famous injera is made with teff, a grain native to Ethiopia that has been grown here for at least 2,000 years. The teff batter is fermented and then cooked on large round clay griddles to make a large, soft pancake known for its slightly sour taste. Kocho is a thick, hearty flatbread made from ensete, or false banana.

But kitfo is, first and foremost, about the meat. Only the “neqel” (the back leg muscle of the ox) and the “mehal ageda” (the centrepiece section of the ox) can be used – only the reddest meat. Bekelech has meat brought in daily from several suppliers to get enough neqel and mehal ageda.

When the meat is brought to the restaurant, it goes first to the “lekema” room where all the fat and tendons are removed, leaving the meat completely and purely red. Then, it is ground to send to the chefs.

Elfenesh Gebremariam, an experienced and welcoming lekema specialist who attributes all her knowledge to Bekelech, is responsible for the purity of the meat. She has worked in the small rectangular room, with its clean, white-tiled walls, for 14 years. Standing in front of mounds of red meat on a chopping block, she starts to work. “Because it has to be fresh, we do this every day,” she says, wielding the special hooked lekema knife.

Elfenesh starts her day at 8am by cleaning her workspaces again and putting on her uniform. Her average day involves cleaning and processing 25 to 30 kilogrammes (55-66 pounds) of meat. She will work till 3pm or 4pm, depending on how busy the restaurant is.

The other magic of kitfo is the niter kibbeh, the warm, seasoned clarified butter that makes for a wholly unique flavour experience. The niter kibbeh should be warm enough to infuse the meat with its flavours, but not so hot that it begins to cook the beef.

The chef also needs mitmita, Ethiopia’s second-most popular spice blend after berbere, to season the kitfo to perfection.

Made from hot peppers that are stronger than those used in berbere, mitmita is traditionally a rubbing spice to season ingredients before cooking and a condiment to add heat and flavour to finished dishes.

Bekelech has the peppers bought in from the Merkato in Addis, Africa’s biggest open market, as well as cities like Buta Jira. When they arrive, they are set out in the sun to dry, then picked over carefully to remove any impurities. Bekelech checks again, just to make sure, then the team adds korerima (Ethiopian cardamom seeds), tikur azmud (black nigella seed), neche azmud (ajwain or ajowan), and salt, and grinds it all into a fine powder.

As Tesfaye led us through the various sections of the restaurant, we asked about the lunch rush, which did not seem to have started. The increasing cost of living, along with the emergence of many new kitfo joints, has led to a decline in customers, Tesfaye said matter-of-factly, adding that now the daily revenue from renting the hotel’s 40 rooms far exceeds the income from kitfo sales.

I was surprised at how minimally equipped the kitchen was: three medium-sized stoves, a refrigerator, a shelf for utensils, and containers for spices were arranged along the walls and counters, leaving a large open space for the chefs to move around freely.

Tesfaye, who noticed my surprise, said: “Kitfo preparation doesn’t require a state-of-the-art kitchen. This is all you need.”

In the kitchen was Beharia Jemal, another chef who started her kitfo culinary journey at Bekelech. She was waiting for the processed meat, mitmita and kibbeh ready to go.

After 10 years of working at Bekelech, Beharia knows instinctively how it is done. Kitfo comes in three preparations, the standard is raw, the next level of doneness is a medium-rare “lebleb”, and then comes well-done “yebesele” kitfo.

Even raw kitfo spends a few minutes in a pan, massaged constantly over low heat with niter kibbeh, mitmita and dried coriander until it has that unique buttery taste people love. If the chef’s hands stop for a few seconds, the meat will be overdone and they will have to start again. For the other levels of doneness, the meat spends longer in the pan, until it reaches the right cook temperature.

Beharia then plates – mounding the kitfo in a bowl, and setting it on a tray with injera, kocho, gomen kitfo, ayib, and mitmita.

The kocho, the ensete flatbread, is made by Menteha Hussain who let us watch her clean and filter ensete pulp before cooking it with salted water and making the dough by adding bula powder, which also comes from the false banana tree.

Her skilled hands flattened out the dough and layered it in “koba”, false banana leaves, to cook on the stove. Bekelech herself is the one who slices up the kocho to serve to the customers, who sometimes ask for it to be toasted a bit extra, giving it more of a crunch.

Bekelech was in a room at the back of the restaurant when we were brought to see her. It was perfect timing as a coffee ceremony was about to begin. The traditional Ethiopian jebena (coffee pot) and rekebot (tray) were already laid out and we took our seats in her presence.

Now more than 80 years old, Bekelech still rules her kingdom the same way she did when it began. She told us proudly that she has more than a dozen grandchildren, but her “child” who seems to need the most attention is still the business.

“I never expect anyone to give me anything. I have worked for everything I have. I love my work,” she said.

“Nothing gets done through wishes. You have to plan and work for it.”

A young staff member was making the coffee as Bekelech spoke to us about her life. She occasionally addressed passing workers in a commanding yet loving manner, making sure things were getting done.

As her guests, we could sit, participate in the coffee ceremony, and listen to her. The scene was familiar, reminiscent of our mothers drinking coffee when we were children, and we were taken back to our homes instantly.

Bekelech, she told us, was born to the Sodo Gurage, a subgroup of the Gurage people who inhabit the south-central part of Ethiopia. Her father passed away shortly after she was born and she grew up with her mother and three older half-siblings. The Gurage people are known in Ethiopia for their celebration of hard work and entrepreneurial spirit.

At 14, she was married off to her first husband but even at that age, she had the drive to work and earn her own money. Her husband was a butcher, and she would get meat from his shop and sell meat stew.

But her husband was angry at her efforts to make money for herself and would beat her whenever he saw what she was up to. So, to keep her money safe, she stored it in a tin can she buried in a safe place.

At 19, she took her money and two children, one of whom was just five months old, and moved back to Sodo, leaving her husband. Sadly, she said abruptly, her baby died soon after she got there. She stayed there for four years and made a living selling food and tella, a fermented alcoholic beverage.

She then moved to Jimma in southwest Ethiopia and remarried but that marriage lasted only four years, and she went back to work, earning a living by selling – injera cut up and mixed with tomato stew. She left Jimma a year later and moved to Addis Ababa, where she sold injera, 12 pieces for one birr.

“I just work as much as possible … I don’t buy dresses or shoes. I just put it back into my work,” she said proudly. And it was this work ethic that allowed her to open the Kazanchis location and then to move here.

Bekelech has known kitfo her whole life as the special food made for Meskel, a holiday commemorating the finding of the Cross on September 27, and for other holidays and special guests.

However, it was never really commercialised before Bekelech decided to get into it.

Why did she decide to stick to only kitfo all these years?

“What else!?” She exclaimed.

“The kitfo business grew and became good and loved by people. If it is done properly, it grows. It takes knowledge and this is where my speciality is,” she added.

Today, Bekelech’s menu still only has kitfo and its sides as an option. Even when the hotel’s grand hall is used for weddings and conferences, unless requested otherwise, Bekelech serves only kitfo.

A decision like that is a huge commitment in Ethiopia, where an estimated 44 percent of the population adheres to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, which has 250 fasting days a year. During fasts, devotees abstain from all animal products, eating only vegan foods. During the fasts, Bekelech’s customers significantly dwindle, but that has not made her consider putting other dishes on the menu.

And customers who have become family, like Million Mulugeta who has been coming to eat at Bekelech’s for more than 30 years, love the menu just as it is.

“The kitfo’s authenticity is amazing. I think she is a very gifted person. The food is consistent, and you’re never disappointed,” he told us as he tucked into his meal in the back room where he had been sitting with Bekelech when we came in.

So close is the relationship between them that he had his daughter’s wedding here in April. Guests were so thrilled that they would be having that legendary kitfo that, in fact, he had 24 wedding crashers, on top of the 300 invited guests.

As we finished our chat, it was time for us to leave Bekelech’s presence and try the kitfo, and for me to face my demons. Tesfaye sat down with us in the restaurant as servers set down beautiful clay taba bowls of kitfo, ayib, gomen kitfo, mitmita, kocho, and injera – what a spread.

Girma set up to take photos of the food, with Tesfaye urging us to start eating before the kitfo cooled and the kibbeh hardened, which would ruin the experience, he said.

Finally, the photos were taken and I took a moment to clear my mind after the tour and interview, focusing on experiencing kitfo.

“It’s now or never,” I thought to myself as I gazed at this dish that was looking more tempting with each passing minute.

I took my first bite with a bit of hesitation. But that disappeared immediately. Bekelceh’s kitfo was nothing like the kitfo I knew. It was such a harmonious blend of tender beef and bold spices that I felt warmth and pleasure spread through my body. The soft ground beef, marinated in the spice-rich kibbeh and mitmita, immediately jumps out at you with the soft burn of the chilli as soon as it enters your mouth.

The gomen kitfo and ayib, which is perfect for contrasting the heat of the kitfo, are prepared by Bekelech herself, Tesfaye pointed out as he encouraged us to “eat, eat”. Not one to take shortcuts, Bekelech apparently presses the fresh ayib under heavy stones to reach her preferred consistency that works so well to balance the kitfo.

“The kitfo that gets served today has the same taste as the ones being served 50 years ago,” Tesfaye said, noting our smiles all around.

The one thing that has not stayed consistent, however, is the price, he continued. When Bekelech started to serve kitfo, a portion cost 50 santim and now it is 800 birrotch (about $15).

That kitfo, the soft but slowly building flavour of the kibbeh builds on your tongue until the mix reaches a crescendo with the beef melting in your mouth almost like tender caramel. It was the perfect symphony of a dish.

Bekelech prepares that magical niter kibbeh herself, and she says it “should look like a tea, a light golden colour”. To get that, she puts 200kg (440 pounds) of kibbeh into a huge pot and heats it gently for nearly five hours.

As the kibbeh simmers, the milk solids settle and the fat rises. This is when spices are added: koseret (a bright, citrusy Ethiopian herb similar to lemon verbena or Mexican oregano) and a blend of korerima, tosegne (Breckland thyme), black caraway seed, and ajowan caraway.

As I ate and savoured that kibbeh flavour, I thought back to all the times I had kitfo and did not like it. Something must have gone wrong there because this … this kitfo proved that the dish is not meant to be hated and avoided.

But seeing how much Bekelech cared for her process, I could guess what had gone wrong with my past kitfo experiences.

Kitfo is a delicacy, a culinary art that shows the skills, dedication and mastery of the chef. The meat should be uncompromisingly red, fresh, and well minced.

All the ingredients should be seasoned just right.

The niter kibbeh and mitmita have to be of the highest quality, and when the kitfo is served, it has to be eaten while it is warm.

Without all these magical conditions being met, it would be hard to understand the love we Ethiopians – yes, now including me – have for kitfo.