itinerant foodies

Prior to the hundreds of hours I spent volunteering for the Obama campaign in the Linden area, I was ignorant of the pockets of Columbus—the parts of the city that hug Cleveland Avenue, the parts of the city that are often forgotten or avoided when it’s not a crucial election year—that house large communities of our immigrants. For this, I am ashamed. After every visit to see Maya in Brooklyn, I’d come back a little sad that Columbus lacks the diversity and liveliness I’d see in her neighborhood and in Prospect Park. I had no idea. After the election, I vowed not to be a stranger to these areas.

There are more than 45,000 Somali in Columbus, making this city home to one of the largest communities of its kind in the United States (Minneapolis and St. Paul and Washington D.C. also boast large populations.) During the 2008 election, I felt as if I had met or worked alongside at least half of these 45,000 neighbors. The community – though many of them could not vote – offered their businesses, their resources and their sons to help us get out the vote. Their role in the whole process was impressive; I was, am grateful.

This past week, another election week, brought Baseball Boy and me to Sambusa, a restaurant off of Cleveland Avenue that we’d visited last year, the day after the election. Although it had new ownership and a new name, the place had the same feel and decor as it did during our first visit: checkered tablecloths, mismatched plates and fake plastic plants, as well as a variety of paintings that I assume are representations of Somalia.

The restaurant seemed to be run by one man, Hassan, the owner. He played hostess, server and chef as we ate our way through Somali cuisine. In between courses and phone calls, we talked with him, asking questions.

Our first course was goat soup served with a banana. Hassan told us that a banana is crucial, and that if a restaurant does not serve a banana with a meal, some Somalis refuse to eat. (Why? I have no idea, but I’ve made it my goal to find out.) The soup was a rich goats meat broth with small bits of goat, tomato and onion. The broth was seasoned with cinnamon, curry, cayenne and garlic. When BB did not finish his immediately, Hassan worried that he didn’t like it. We kept the soup on the table to be finished throughout the rest of the meal, as not to offend our host.

BB ordered Salmon Fish on Rice. This dish came to the table on a full platter that could be used to hold a roasted chicken. The slow-cooked rice was to die for. Kissed with curry, onion and a myriad of spices, it was a grand platform for the salmon and sautéed onions and peppers that were assembled atop.

I ordered Beef Stew on Angela (which may – if I’m correct – be more popularly known as anjera). Heavily spiced beef, green peppers and tomatoes were served with an ample portion of angela, a bread used both as a tool (for eating with hands) and a complement to the stew. Upon Hassan’s suggestion, I decided to eat with my hands. Of course, of course, my first bite was with my left hand (my dominant hand) and I stopped, remembering that my travels have taught me that anything sanitary is done with the right. (The left hand is saved for the unmentionable.)

Pictured is the lovely angela. Sweetened with a bit of sugar and milk, these were so good that we asked for an order to go. It turns out that both these and the restaurant’s namesake, sambusas, are regular to-go orders in the Somali community. Before the restaurant opens, people from as far as Hilliard line up outside the door to take their breakfast home.

My favorite part of the experience was speaking with Hassan. His family (two daughters, a son and his wife) came in to visit and do homework. The girls stared at us – we were white folks in their papa’s restaurant – and he had them say hello to us in English. He was proud of his children and grateful for the opportunities provided to them by our country. The family has been in Columbus for five years; he bought the restaurant in May. “In Somalia,” he said, “We don’t have your constitution. A good man could work hard and it would all be taken away. Here, a good man will work hard and he can make something of himself. And here, when you have an election, you vote. It’s not already decided before the election like it is in Somalia. It’s fair.” Of course I teared up. Like the outcomes or not, our free elections do represent what we, the people, want. And our constitution does protect “we, the people.”

Before we left, he gave us two sambusas for free. Samosa-shaped triangles, the fried dough contained a delightful combination of ground beef, spices and onions. Our total meal (including the carryout and a giant salad with a mild vinaigrette and a cup of Somali Tea – a chai-like drink) was $16.50, an amazing deal.

Spending an evening at Sambusa, though, is more than a bargain. The opportunity to connect with another culture, to meet my neighbors and be reminded of why my country—and my city—is so great, is priceless.

Sambusa Restaurant
4191 Cleveland Ave.
Columbus, Ohio
614.473.9219
614.843.4514