Popcorn for dessert in far west Kansas
Part 4 of Everlands, scenes from a pandemic road trip, 2020
Teklom plays the drum in the interior of Selam East Africa Restaurant, in Garden City Kansas. All videos and photos by Stephen.
As I drove, an oily sensation from the leftovers of last night’s shekla wafted up from a container on the passenger seat. Since losing most of my smell and taste to the coronavirus, my food experiences were pretty much limited to the flavors of fat, charred meat, hot peppers and salt. Half and half won the allegiance of my taste buds. Soft, chewy textures were good, for some reason. I knew the shekla had much more to offer a normal person than those plebeian sensations, just not for me, not now.
I’d eaten this roasted lamb and green chile dish at Selam East Africa, a cheerful place in a tiny strip mall in Garden City, Kansas. The restaurant had only recently reopened for indoor dining, with sanitizer at the door and plastic screens around the cash register. After eating, I hung out with the Eritrean owners of the restaurant. Binyam Teklom and his wife, Aster Ruossom, described the excitement of immigrating to America and then comped me ginger flavored Eritrean coffee, and popcorn for dessert.
Binyam had a heavy accent and stood six feet, six inches tall, husky, with a wild head of hair and very dark skin. He would have been an improbable character in the Kansas I grew up in. He arrived years ago after hearing that a person could work in the Kansas meatpacking plants without knowing one word of English. In two years, he saved enough money to bring his wife, a pharmacist in Eritrea, over. Now they had two kids, a home, a truck. They ate garlic to ward off the coronavirus.
He’d quit his job in the local meatpacking plant before it became a hot spot for the spread of covid. Now that the lockdown had ended, he and Aster were giving the restaurant another shot. While Binyam said he took the virus very seriously, he also insisted on shaking my hand when we said goodby — the first of many Kansas men, but no women, who insisted on this formality even in the midst of a pandemic. I hesitated, and then went ahead and shook anyway. It was deeply ingrained male behavior.
Growing up, I’d always felt out of place around men. Awkward. Soft. Clueless. There weren’t a lot of men in my life, other than my two brothers. But I knew that being soft was dangerous. So, I applied myself to the study of how to be a man. It proved to be a quite simple equation. When you curse, say it like you mean it — no middle ground. Look people straight in their eyes even when you’re being friendly. Stay calm, even when threatened. Never back down, even when pummeled. And shake hands solidly, but without show.
“I come with no weapons. I honor your presence,” the handshake said. Except when it was a rough and punishing handshake that said, “I don’t honor you at all.” In this case, Binyam was just a friendly dude.
Despite feeling immune, I used a big squeeze of sanitizer when I left Selam East Africa with my leftovers. That food nourished me as I headed north into tornado country the next day.
They seem like a very nice couple I wish them the best