There was good news and bad news on a recent Saturday night at Addis Ababa, the new Ethiopian restaurant on Thompson Lane. The bad news was that the Ethiopian New Year celebration the night before our visit had wiped out about half of the selections on the already concise menu. The good news is that there is enough of an Ethiopian population here (estimated at about 1,500) to open and support a restaurant serving their native foods, further expanding Nashville’s cultural and culinary horizons. Our table of thirty- and fortysomething Americans was further excited to know that just by walking in the door, we lopped seven years off our age. In Ethiopia, it is just 1991.

Not only can you time-travel simply by visiting Addis Ababa, owned by Gizachew Tesfaye and Esayase Abebe, you will be introduced to Ethiopian food, customs, music, and people without ever leaving town. But even veteran travelers read up on unfamiliar territory before embarking on a journey. Consider this a guide.

First, forget about dining American-style. There are no appetizers, no salads, no soups, and no desserts. Ethiopian cuisine is quite simple, with a spongy, crepe-like bread called injera at the core. It is made of teff (a high-fiber grain rather hard to come by here), water, and corn meal, then cooked on a skillet. Main dishes are variations of two types of stew—wat, which is spicy, and alicha, which is not. Then there are tibbs, chunks of meat that are cooked first, then sauced. There is always a vegetarian platter.

Addis Ababa may not be the place to go for a first date unless you want to skip those silly preliminaries and move on to a higher level of intimacy. Eating Ethiopian is a very sociable experience for two reasons: much of the food is meant for sharing—and there are no utensils.

Here is what you’ll likely encounter at Addis Ababa, a white-painted concrete-block building located next door to that landmark middle-aged men’s softball team post-game hangout, Twin Kegs. Inside are two small, low-ceiling rooms hung with travel-style posters of Ethiopian people and places. Tables and chairs are of standard used restaurant-supply issue. Threadbare carpeting is on the floor and lighting is quite low. On one side of the room is a small platform with an electric piano, a mic, and an amp. There is live music on Friday and Saturday nights; otherwise, you’ll become familiar with Ethiopian music on the CD player.

Everyone who worked there was hospitable and welcoming, and we immediately felt comfortable. There are just six items on the menu. We were sorry they had run out of the yebeg alicha and that we couldn’t sample the lamb cooked with turmeric, onions, and garlic. We were also deprived of the kitfo, minced meat seasoned with herbed butter and hot red pepper.

If one of your selections is the vegetarian entrée, you’ll probably get that first. A large round of injera covers the entire platter. Around the perimeter of the platter are separate small mounds of stewed kale or turnip greens; crumbled, mild white cheese; and mesir wat, which consists of red and yellow lentils cooked with berbere, the red-pepper spice blend that gives the wats their heat.

Tear off pieces of the injera, then use it to scoop up mouth-sized portions of the foods. The beef tibbs (chunks of meat in a brown sauce with crunchy green peppers and white onion) and the chicken wat (stewed chicken legs and a whole hard-boiled egg in a red sauce) are brought in bowls with side plates of folded injera. It’s easier to share the chicken leg, so tender the meat falls away from the bone, than it is to divvy up the hard-boiled egg. But you’ll find a way.

Domestic and imported beers are available from the bar; we also brought in a few bottles of wine. Our check for eight was just $65, a real deal for such exotica. If your American parochialism still insists on dessert, don’t worry; there’s a Krispy Kreme with a flashing Hot-Hot-Hot sign directly across the street. If that’s not enough to jolt you smack back to Nashville, I don’t know what is.

Addis Ababa is at 415 Thompson Lane, 332-0710. No credit cards. Open noon-11:30 p.m. on weekdays; noon to at least midnight on Friday and Saturday.

Market report

It’s official. Jim and Emily Frith have signed the lease on the space formerly occupied by Bradley Drugs immediately next door to their Corner Market, adding about 4,000 square feet to their current 3,600. That is good news for the 10-year-old specialty market and restaurant’s loyal customers, who can barely pass one another side by side through the narrow aisles, and who knock knees and elbows at the small group of tables. The Friths take possession on Oct. 1 and will immediately begin work on the space. No construction will take place on the current site until after the holidays, and there will be no disruption of service.

The expansion will mean more seating—which could eventually mean a wine license, an espresso bar, more space for perishable and prepared food cases, and room for a dishwasher, which would allow them to use real plates rather than paper. The long-range plan calls for a brick oven and the addition of gourmet pizzas to their repertoire.

Taste bud

Taste-treat-of-the-week award goes to Corner Market chef Ken Kovall and his crawfish maque chou, a Louisiana dish that has been making intermittent appearances in the store’s carry-out department.

Literally translated, maque chou is mock cream. Right now, many Louisianans are taking the last of the summer corn, cutting it off the cob, and cooking it up with tomato, onion, bell pepper, and the milk from the cob. Then they put it in a sealed jar and save it for fall and winter eating. (Pasteurizing is another option, but too lengthy for details here.)

Kovall takes his maque chou and combines it with Soubise (a classic sauce made of cooked onions and rice pureed together, used here as a thickener); shelled crawfish; a small amount of cream (one cup per 10 pounds of crawfish); and some cayenne. While I simply stood and ate my crawfish maque chou right out of the bowl, Kovall says there are many ways to employ it. Toss it with some pasta, put it in ravioli, or layer it for lasagna. Thin it down a little for soup, or thicken it up and use it as a stuffing for baked fish or acorn squash. Call ahead (352-6772) to see if it’s in the case, or special order it with 48 hours’ notice.

Stamps collection

Martha Stamps, a chef and cooking instructor at The Corner Market for nearly six years, has taken off her toque and entered the business world. She leaves us, however, with a tasty souvenir. Her cookbook, The New Southern Basics (Cumberland House Publishing, $20.95), collects traditional Southern dishes and gives them a fresh approach and a new identity. I especially like the first chapter, “The Pantry,” which includes recipes for classics like chili sauce, chow chow, watermelon pickles, and spiced peaches. Stamps provides luscious incentives to lure people back to the kitchen and to get them cooking from scratch; her book celebrates the connection between the earth and the table.