Ethiopia, 02138-Style

Tell someone you’re going out for Ethiopian food, and odds are they’ll respond with a crack along the lines of, “What are you ordering—nothing?”

Feel free to join in while they cackle—the joke deserves a smug smile if only because, in addition to being culturally ignorant, it’s laughably inaccurate.

After all, an Ethiopian-Eritrean meal at homey Asmara in the heart of Central Square is a feast in its own right. Hidden under a green-and-white striped awning on Mass Ave., the restaurant is warmly lit and cozy. Couples huddle close over low woven tables (called mosobs) while owner Lettensa Afeworki bustles about maternally, checking in eagerly to see if you’re making progress.

You probably won’t be. Massive three-foot-long platters arrive, filled with daunting heaps of steaming meat and vegetables. The stew-like dishes, called wots, are all mounded atop injera, the traditional flat bread of East African cuisine. More folded-up pieces of injera are nestled alongside the entrees. It’s an astonishing amount of food, and all you can do is wipe off your fingers, say a prayer that your stomach will hold out and dig in.

Fans of finger food, you’re in luck—there are no utensils involved. Instead, you tear off pieces of the spongy injera and use them to scoop up each of the different meals in turn. Rip and go for the begeeh mloukhiya, tender pieces of lamb in a red pepper sauce that’s faintly reminiscent of a sloppy joe. Rotate the platter for asmara tibsy, one of the house specialties. The small sautéed cubes of beef melt in your mouth amid a swirl of onions, green peppers, chilies and unidentifiable spices. Spin it again for some alitcha ahmilti, a brightly-colored vegetable stew in yellow curry-esque sauce, or for chicken marinated in garlic and herbs and bathed in a flavorful red pepper stew.

While the main dishes are satisfactorily pungent and filling, it’s the injera that’s most memorable. The flat bread is best described as an overgrown porous tortilla with a bit of a bounce, and it’s primarily responsible for the loosening of your belt by the end of the evening. Made with t’eff, a protein- and calcium-heavy grain, the injera serves as both eating utensil and serving dish. Suffice to say there’s a lot of it, and even if you’re full to bursting, you’ll find it hard to keep from tearing off piece after springy piece.

Asmara’s meals are made for sharing, and it’s best to let Afeworki help you pick out as many entrees as there are people dining so you have a suitably varied combination. (Admittedly, you take your life in your own hands when you swap saliva with your friends during flu season. Try not to think about it.) Each dish weighs in at around $15 apiece, which can push towards the high end of the student budget. Fortunately, you won’t have to worry about desserts—there are no sweet dishes in traditional Ethiopian cuisine, not that you could pack them in if you wanted.

Asmara sells beer and wine, as well as mes, a traditional honey wine that tastes like thin fermented honey. The mes is a little intense on top of the heavy stews—opt instead for a fresh squeezed juice. Mango, strawberry, kiwi, papaya or banana juices are blended with ice and served in tall tumblers, providing the perfect cool antithesis to the salty meats.

By the time Afeworki totes away the inevitably still-loaded platter, the food coma will have set in and that walk back up Mass Ave. will start to sound like a lot more physical exertion than it’s worth.

Still, you’ll have another excuse for not joining in the misinformed laughter when you tell people why you skipped the dining hall that night. Any attempt to chuckle could be severely dangerous to your overloaded stomach—after a dinner at Asmara, a secret, satisfied smirk is a much safer way to go.