Seeking Ancient Secrets to Making Ethiopian Injera
My journey was often filled with mistakes and failed attempts, and now it’s almost an obsession to try and make an authentic injera from two ingredients.
It was 7 pm on an early March evening. The skies were dark, but I could see the faintest light still hovering over the western horizon. I felt hopeful - spring was on the way.
Longer daylight hours normally inspire me to do more in my kitchen, so I checked the fermenting injera batter I started three days earlier. I heard a gentle tapping on the door as I reached for the batter-filled glass bowl. I knew instantly that kind of hesitating knock could only originate from one source.
When I opened the door, the mood in my flat quickly changed. The two girls, aged 3 and 5, burst through the doorway, their infectious enthusiasm clashing with the relative quiet my wife and I were cherishing seconds earlier. Almost apologetically, their mother stood in the doorway with a radiant smile and shrugged her shoulders as if to acknowledge the sudden intrusion.
I eased back into the kitchen, feeling the need to protect my zone from curious little hands grabbing at everything unfamiliar. “Hey,” I exclaimed to the tolerant mother still standing at the doorway. “I’m making injera. I think it’s nearly finished. Come in and have a look - what do you think?” I didn’t wait for an answer - I just began to instinctively whisk the separated batter.
My cheffy confidence in commanding everything in my kitchen zone lifted me above the clamor of two little girls trying to tell my wife something I couldn’t - and didn’t - want to understand. I could see the batter coming back together. It felt right. Then I heard the mother, who remained in the doorway, shriek, “The separated water shouldn’t be mixed into the batter - it should be poured out.” I could feel my delicate ego pop like a balloon floating into a thorny rose bush at that moment.
Feeling slightly confused and eager to regain my chef’s confidence, I asked, “Why?”
“We never use the water that separates—it’s not good. If you want to learn, we can make injera together.”
I wanted to understand more, so I allowed that non-answer to slide and jumped at the chance to learn how to make authentic injera passed down by generations of Ethiopian women. I was eager to uncover some of the unwritten ancient secrets to making this soft and spongy flatbread covered in tiny holes. Suddenly, my ego was repaired. I felt eager to learn from my Ethiopian neighbor everything that her mother had passed along many years earlier.
The Backstory
My first attempts at making injera started during the sourdough craze that infected the world in 2020, when people were limited in where to go and shop.
Locating teff flour was more problematic than I thought. Roughly ninety percent of the world’s teff production comes from Ethiopia, and the government there has severely restricted exports of raw teff since 2015 to protect against domestic shortages – a massive problem encountered by some South American countries as a result of the wild quinoa craze in Europe and the US. With an expanding worldwide appetite for teff, the problem of finding this unique flour to make injera intensified. Fortunately, teff is now grown in some areas of Europe and the US, and the Ethiopian government has started to ease export bans, making finding teff flour much more accessible in recent years.
Teff is a grass primarily cultivated for its tiny seeds. It is one of the oldest domesticated plants and remains a crucial staple in Ethiopian and Eritrean diets. The minute size of the seeds restricts its use in grinding into flour, although it is occasionally made into teff porridge in Ethiopia and is used as an ingredient in making gluten-free beer.
Because teff is tolerant to droughts, grows well in arid conditions with relatively poor-quality soil, and provides much-needed straw to feed animals, its importance as an environmentally friendly grain is growing. Teff is also naturally gluten-free—another bonus for marketing in today’s world.
There are many varieties of teff – some produce white seeds, while others produce red seeds. Teff flour comes in both colors, although it is far more likely that anything produced outside Ethiopia will be white rather than red.
My early attempts at making injera were made using white teff flour.
A quick search on the internet for how to make injera might leave your head spinning. It seems everyone became an instant expert on how to make this fermented bread. Most relied on letting the flour and water sit out for a night...maybe two nights. Then, the ‘fermented’ batter is mixed with lemon juice (to provide the acidity) and baking soda (to create tiny bubbles) before being cooked like a crêpe in a pan.
It's a fast process that creates an interesting crêpe but not injera.
I was looking for a more sourdough feel in my early versions of injera. Luckily, I had a lot of sourdough discard during that period, so I worked a bit into my injera batter, making sure to use only rye flour discard and teff flour to make injera.
It seemed like a good idea then, but again, this was not injera.
About 18 months after my initial experiments, I finally had the opportunity to taste ‘authentic’ injera...and it was a revelation.
My neighbor presented us with a giant, round, spongy flatbread. It was thicker than a crêpe but equally malleable. This injera was made in Ethiopia using red teff flour, which yielded a chocolate brown color. One side was completely smooth, while the other was filled with evenly spaced holes produced from the expanding gases in the batter. It was simple for me to imagine tearing off a large piece and scooping up a mouthful of spicy lentils, but instead, I wanted to experience a virgin bite of authentic injera.
I was shocked at the amount of acid in the injera. It wasn’t shy – it produced a kind of puckering generally reserved for when one bites into a raw lemon. I was skeptical...until I grabbed a mouthful of rich and spicy lentils. Now, the acid made sense. Of course, no one eats injera like a slice of bread. This is a flatbread that must be eaten with rich and saucy foods.
But how did it acquire so much acid...especially when made with two ingredients: teff flour and water? That’s the secret I wanted to learn.
Learning to Make Authentic Injera
My lesson in making authentic injera began one day after I received the offer to make injera together with my neighbor. I think she was equally as excited to show me the traditions as I was to soak up her knowledge.
We chatted briefly about injera and how people make it in Ethiopia. I discovered that this process eternally moves from one cycle to the next.
Making the Starter – Step One
The fermentation (called ersho) takes approximately 3 days to complete. It is not a complex process.
We mixed one part of teff flour with two parts of lukewarm water. The flour and water were whisked until there were no clumps of flour – just a thin layer of foam on the surface. Once mixed, the starter was placed into a sealed glass container and left to do its fermenting thing. I was instructed that there would be no need to touch the starter or disturb it in any way for at least two days. Ideally, the starter should be left in a darkish location at about 21° C (70° F) – like most ferments, the warmer the room, the faster the ferment.
I opened the container after 3 days. I was pleased to see a foamy film on the surface with a layer of murky-looking water above the settled flour. “Give the container a slight nudge,” said my neighbor. “You should see little air pockets rising to the top – this indicates the starter is at its highest activity level.” My neighbor carefully poured out and discarded the murky water layer and top foam, then stirred the starter well. “It is now ready to use,” declared my enthusiastic neighbor.
I wondered why the murky water was discarded. “Surely there must be a use for that water,” I asked. With a perplexed look, my neighbor told me, “The water is no good; no one uses it.” I wasn’t convinced, but I wasn’t prepared to challenge her further.
Get a printable version of the recipe I wrote, based on ingredient amounts we used to produce about 15 injera, roughly 30 cm wide (12 inches). I’ve also included a helpful Tips & Tricks section after each of the four major steps in making injera.
Making the Dough – Step Two
Mixing the starter with more teff flour and water creates a dough (leet) that will require another 1-3 days to ferment and develop the desired level of sourness. This seemed simple...until we started.
Like most cooks from this part of the world, ingredients are rarely measured. There’s a bit of this and a bit of that until the soul is created. That’s how she put it, and that’s how I remember my Moroccan mother cooking—and there’s something very genuine about this style of cooking. Giving a ‘soul’ to the food you’re cooking—that feels right.
But I still insisted on measuring the flour, water, and starter so I could repeat the process despite my eager instructor’s perplexed look.
She placed the flour into a large plastic bowl and then poured a portion of the starter into the flour. “That should be enough,” she exclaimed while plunging her hands into the bowl before I could figure out how much starter she used. She began mixing the dough, and after a few quick scoops and turns with her hands, she asked me to pour some water into the dough...water from the open liter of sparkling water on her counter. “Why sparkling water?” I inquired. “Because in Ethiopia, the water is naturally carbonized. Here, the water is hard and full of chemicals,” she replied while simultaneously turning on the water cooker.
She continued to mix the dough by hand while gradually adding what seemed like a liter of water – partly sparkling and partly hot. At this point, the dough looked more like a cake batter than an actual dough. She told me, “You have to be patient with the dough. It needs to be thicker...and smoother.”
I continued to watch while she kept fiddling with adding a bit of water, then kneading and mixing, then adding more water, and a bit more kneading. Finally, after roughly 15 minutes, she declared the dough ready. It still looked like a cake batter – perhaps slightly thicker than chocolate cake batter but still thinner than brownie batter.
After leveling the batter to form a relatively smooth surface, she poured sparkling water directly onto the surface of the dough...enough water to create a 2 cm (one inch) layer above the dough. She carefully wiped the sides of the bowl with a paper towel, using a bit of water to clean the sides. Then she put the lid on the bowl, closed it, and told me to put it somewhere warm.
I had questions.
The water topping surprised me. I had never seen this before, so I asked why she added water to the dough at the end. “Basically, the water protects the dough—it keeps mold from growing,” she explained. She added that the dough would absorb some water during the next couple of days, so the doughy batter should be kept thick.
To me, the dough still felt more batter-like than dough-like.
I took the container next door and waited a couple of days. The surface turned foamy...and the aromas were noticeably sour. This was an active dough – it felt ready.
Gelatinizing the Starches – Step Three
The next step (absit) is critical in creating the right texture and bubble formation (eyes). It involves gelatinizing some of the starch in the dough, and it’s a bit tricky. This step also rarely appears in any injera recipe on the internet, and that felt good to me—this was precisely the type of secret step I was searching for.
After carefully discarding most of the top water that formed on the dough (a ladle is helpful here), she mixed it thoroughly. I could tell it was active because even after mixing, small bubbles quickly formed along the dough’s edge. At this point, I judged the consistency to be sort of pancake batter-like.
She removed roughly one cup of the dough, then brought about 1/2 liter (2 cups) of water to a boil. She turned the heat to medium-low, moved the pot to the side of the burner, and added the batter to the water while vigorously whisking. She said, “It’s important to work fast and keep whisking so no clumps form.” She moved the pot back onto the heat and adjusted the temperature up a notch while whisking. “You have to keep whisking until you see bubbles, then take the pot off the heat and add water,” she instructed. I gauged she added about 250 ml (one cup) of water; then she poured everything back into the dough. She mixed the dough well, then said, “The dough should just coat the spoon lightly. See, you should still be able to see the spoon through the light coating.”
After closing the bowl with the lid, she told me the dough would be ready in 2-4 hours. “The dough should have many small bubbles on the surface and look alive.” She explained that if the dough sat too long, it would begin to deflate, and the eyes wouldn’t form on the injera.
Meanwhile, I wondered why only one cup of dough was used in the gelatinization process. That seemed odd, and I still don’t fully grasp it. My neighbor told me, “If you use too much absit, the injera will be too soft and fall apart.”
I later confirmed this fact while making injera on my own. Too much absit does, in fact, make the injera too soft, and it falls apart while cooking.
Cooking the Injera – Step Four
After six days of fermentation and some relatively simple tasks, we were finally ready to begin cooking the injera.
I was excited. My neighbor was bubbling with enthusiasm. Clearly, this cultural connection meant a great deal to her. She was thrilled to share this moment and her knowledge with me. I also sensed she was looking forward to sending a photo to her mother in Ethiopia.
The batter was alive. It was full of bubbles and almost dancing in the bowl. My neighbor exclaimed, “This is perfect.” She quickly mixed the dough and said, “Let’s begin.”
We heated a non-stick pan – one that’s roughly 27 cm wide (11 inches). Like making a crêpe, I lifted the pan with my right hand and poured about 1 to 1 1/2 cups directly into the center of the pan while simultaneously swirling it with my right hand. I wanted an even layer of batter to coat the pan. I placed the pan back onto the heat and watched. Within seconds, little ‘eyes’ began forming on the injera. This was good. My neighbor looked on with equal parts enthusiasm and anticipation.
When 80% of the injera developed eyes, I placed a makeshift lid over the pan, a splatter screen covered with parchment paper. And then we waited until steam began to escape from the sides. I lifted the lid to see what was going on. The chocolate-brown injera in the pan looked great – the holes were closely aligned and evenly distributed. The edges were beginning to curl. It was time to get the injera out of the pan, so I did what I always do when cooking a crêpe – I just turned it onto a clean towel. My neighbor was shocked. “Injera must be scooped out of the pan and placed onto the towel. Turning it over smashes the little holes and changes the texture,” she instructed me.
Oops. I guess my enthusiasm got the best of me.
We started the next injera. After roughly 2 minutes, it was ready to come out of the pan. This time, I stood to the side and watched as my neighbor delicately lifted one side of the injera, slid a woven mat under it, lifted it out of the pan, and gently placed it on the towel. “This is what we use in Ethiopia to remove the injera,” she explained.
I was convinced...plus, I scored the action high on coolness points. Now, it was my turn for injera number three. In went the batter. The eyes quickly developed. I placed the lid onto the pan. I waited until I saw the steam. I removed the pan from the heat and lifted a part of the curled edge. I slid the mat under the injera, and...ouch. I allowed my finger to hit the pan's edge, which burned. I tried again, and this time, the injera caught in the middle of the pan and tore. I felt deflated.
After removing the injera and wiping the pan with a moist towel, my neighbor suggested we coat the pan with salt, heat it, swirl the salt for a few minutes, and then wipe it clean again. I knew this was a good idea—it is a common practice to ‘season’ pans. A few minutes later, we were ready for our fourth injera.
The injera was perfect this time, and we were on a roll—alternating turns until we produced 18 injera.
Someone once said, “You haven’t perfected a recipe until you make it 1,000 times.” I think there is some truth in that statement, but I think it is also perfectly reasonable to expect a high degree of success after making a recipe a dozen or so times.
I’ve now made this authentic version of injera about a dozen times. Most of my efforts have been successful, although I have run into some difficulties – mainly relating to getting the right consistency in the batter and cooking the injera without having them stick to the pan. Consequently, I’ve learned a few tips and tricks to pass along – those can be found in the recipe (which is also printable and available to all paying subscribers).
I’m not claiming expert status in my injera-making skills, but I think the version I learned from my neighbor is very close to authentic Ethiopian injera. And that is very satisfying to me.
Ethiopian Yellow Split Pea Stew (Kik Alicha)
This recipe is a variation of another one my Ethiopian neighbor shared. It is simple to make and, extremely satisfying…and perfect with injera.
https://veganweekly.substack.com/p/ethiopian-yellow-split-pea-stew-kik
Anyone can look at the index of my published recipes, but the links are restricted to those who support my work through a paid subscription. Please consider subscribing or updating your current subscription…or contact me if you want to organize a free trial.
Previously in this series about Alternative Grains…
Subscribe now to ensure you get my recipe ideas delivered to you...or viewable and printable in my Recipe Index (recipes are only accessible to paid supporters).
Share Your Thoughts…
I always appreciate hearing from my readers, so feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts about injera or any other traditional food you proudly made.
Share as much or as little as you want…
There are lots of ways to join the conversation and offer your thoughts. Jump onto Substack Notes and comment or restack this article (or even a portion)…or hit the button below and leave a comment at the bottom of this article.
Social Media
Catch up with me on social media…
Facebook ¦ Instagram ¦ LinkedIn ¦
Wow. I'm so impressed with your patience and determination to perfect recipes, Jack. You inspire me to apply those same qualities to my own cooking and gardening attempts... I'm far too willing to bail!
Very much interesting!