Habesha

Immigration would seem to be the staple diet of certain tabloid newspapers,keeping the great swathe of barely educated middle England fuelled with their daily bile. I loved to poke a stick at their prejudice by telling them that their beloved fish and chips was historically a mixture of Jewish and French cooking brought on the tide of 19th century immigration. And you will have noticed that this very blog is built on the continuing flood of welcome immigrants, the latest hailing from Ethiopia.
Pal Lucia and I had a pre-movie lunch at Habesha, an Ethiopian eatery on Sackville Street. We had Chicken Firfir, a lamb dish called Derek Tibs (which I half expected to say 'they call me Mr Tibs') on a bed of spongy Injera bread and, in another moment of nationalistic irony, washed down with an Ethopian beer called 'St George'.


Fully fed, we strolled down to the Cornerhouse to digest 'The Vistor', a sensitive and thoughtful essay on Immigration and post-9/11 America. I know that food is only part of a culture but bring me your poor huddled masses as they can only add to the wealth of nations.