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Out of Africa
MINORITY BUSINESS OF THE YEAR
How the brothers Ghebreyesus built a thriving business by broadening New Haven's palate with East African fare
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Business New Haven
1/24/2000
By: Michael Gomez
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Juxtaposing the phrases “staying power” and the “restaurant business” in one sentence conjures up the classic definition of an oxymoron (just as, the wags say, do corporate social responsibility, jumbo shrimp and martial music).
The failure rate of restaurants has always been high. Bistros go belly-up at a rate of 100 per every 10,000, as opposed to 88 per 10,000 for other types of businesses, according to Dun & Bradstreet's most recent business-failure scorecard. And one out of six eateries fail to make it much past their third birthdays.
So entering an eighth year of culinary commerce - plus feeling full of yourself enough to take your foodie concept down the road to the dining capital of the world, Manhattan - surely count as hallmarks of success.
That's what the brothers Ghebreyesus have cooked up with their downtown restaurant, Caffé Adulis, a popular eatery in the theater district which offers diners a rare taste of East Africa.
Because of their consistent success since opening their doors in October 1992, plus the inspiration they have provided to other chefs/businessmen and -women who have followed them into the Elm City, Gideon, Ficre and Sahle Ghebreyesus have earned Business New Haven's 2000 Minority business of the Year Award.
Life is good for the brothers. Now.
Escape from a War-Torn Homeland
But it didn't start out that way 20-odd years ago, when they were boys and teenagers.
Caught in a 30-year struggle for independence from Ethiopia, the breakaway province of Eritrea won its sovereignty in 1993. It is now a country of almost four million people, on land the size of Pennsylvania that hugs the Red Sea.
But it was a battleground for survival in the late 1970s. (As it has again become, with border skirmishes between Eritrea and Ethiopia flaring up just months ago.)
Gideon Ghebreyesus, now 38, fled to the Sudan, and eventually arrived in New York under the auspices of a sister. He came north to New Haven in the '80s to attend Southern Connecticut State University, and began working in the kitchens of New Haven's then-trendy restaurants, such as Gentree Ltd. and Scoozzi Trattoria & Wine Bar. After college, Gideon stayed in the business and managed operations at Scoozzi as well as then-corporate siblings Bruxelles and 368 Orange Street. Brother Ficre, 36, also worked in city restaurants, as a cook.
In 1992, amid the depths of a harsh New England recession, the two decided it was “time to venture out,” says Gideon. Ficre was working as a chef in New York, and younger brother Sahle, 28, had recently arrived in New Haven. Gideon, who acts as the family business' managing partner, noticed that quality ethnic restaurants, especially in New York City, tended to have a sturdier survival rate than most restaurants do.
Daring to be Different
They knew that a restaurant on the fringes of Yale University could dare to be different if it appealed to the extended Eli family's self-claimed cosmopolitan tastes. “We researched what the void in restaurants was,” Gideon recalls.
With a buttoned-down business plan and a love for their homeland, the idea of Caffé Adulis was born. Then they hit the payment to drum up financial support for the bricks-and-mortar reality.
Amassing a $60,000 grubstake from family and friends, the brothers opened their restaurant in the fall of 1992. It was an immediate hit.
“It was clear sailing from the git-go,” claims Gideon, a handsome, charming and confident man, who surely has mastered American idiom as well as standard business precepts. “When you combine good business sense and emotion - our love for Eritrea and our native cuisine - and they synchronize well, then the explosion you get is unbelievable,” he adds.
Restaurants that fail, he believes, are operated by people who have no restaurant experience. “We're not in the restaurant business,” Gideon says. “We're in the manufacturing business. We take a raw material - beef, lamb, vegetables - and make it into a product. What makes us a success is that we do the basics, but we apply a twist to give it that edge.”
From the beginning, in a renovated brownstone opposite the Shubert performing Arts Center on College Street, the brothers worked hard. They established a conservative business plan, figuring they needed to sell 50 meals a day to break even.
Their initial menu included American staples - steaks and lamb chops, for example - for diners with picky palates. But within months, the menu changed to all Eritrean, with a smattering of Ethiopian and North African dishes. By eschewing salaries and plowing all profits back into the restaurant, the brothers were able to pay off their debts to their backers within six months.
The restaurant beckons a visitor. Its 1,900 square feet covers two floors of flowing rooms of exposed brick, white walls, tasteful paintings and mesmerizing photographs of African children. Tables, which can accommodate up to 120 diners, are adorned with crisp white linens covered with white butcher paper.
The setting is sumptuous, for a reason. “People don't come out to eat because they're hungry,” Gideon stresses. “They come to be in good company, for good food, for a pleasant ambiance, for a nice experience.”
But it obviously helps if the food lives up to the ambiance. (While this article is no restaurant review, your correspondent has dined at Adulis, albeit some time ago. The memory remains filling, as was the food.)
Seeking the Spices of Life
At the heart of Eritrean fare is injera, a spongy pancake-like bread made from teff, an East African grain. The grain is ground and made into watery dough that then ferments for a couple of days before it is fried or baked. The injera then becomes the foundation - literally - of the meal.
Covering most of a dining table, the injera hosts a stew, called zigni, which is typically made of meat or fish, vegetables, or a combination of the two. The stew is ladled onto soury, pancake-like bread, and diners pull off chunks of injera to scoop up the concoction. (Eating utensils are available for the pristinely clad and/or self-conscious.)
The dining experience evokes enthusiasm and fun. And who among us doesn't smile when remembering eating with our hands? “Food is meant to be celebrated,” Gideon says. Coming from a family of seven, his dining hour was a center for discussion and connection.
Because Eritrea was a colony of Italy from 1890 to the 1940s, the Italian influence of tomatoes in the cooking separates Eritrean food from Ethiopian cuisine. As a coastal country, fresh fish also is more commonly featured in Eritrean food.
And indigenous spices and peppers add zest to the food. Brother Ficre, the chef, gets the restaurant's spices from home. A sister in Kenya arranges regular shipments.
Caffé Adulis' immediate success was noted by other restaurant wannabes. A variety of ethnic eateries have since cropped up in downtown New Haven. Broadening the taste beyond New Haven's traditional Italian aroma does good things for downtown, according to Matthew Nemerson, president of the Greater New Haven Chamber of Commerce.
“New Haven has always had a reputation for good food, especially good Italian food,” says Nemerson. “Gideon has created something very exotic [with Caffé Adulis]. He's a great showman and a great businessperson, who has made eating a fun experience.”
Now New Haven is earning a reputation for offering a multinational multiplicity to visitors, Nemerson adds. '“And in doing so, he has been a mentor to other minority businesses.”
“Yes,” acknowledges Gideon. “We have become a part of the community, a sort of cultural center. [Yale] kids who are studying - this is where they call.” The brothers often hit area schools to talk to children about Eritrea, and about their food, which they share eagerly.
Expansion in the Works
With its proximity to Yale, and serving as employer to countless classes of Yale and SCSU student waiters and busboys and -girls, Caffé Adulis has forged a reputation beyond New Haven.
Diners frequently come from Manhattan to mop up the injera stew and other Eritrean delicacies. That's why the brothers are opening a second restaurant, next month, on East 19th Street, between Park and Broadway.
“This is a natural move for us,” Gideon says. Brother Sahle will supervise the new place on-site, while Gideon and Ficre will flit back and forth to make sure Caffé Adulis II continues to satisfy. BNH
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