If you grab your atlas of Africa (I believe it’s holding your television stand upright) and look on the eastern coast, you can drag your finger around the countries of Sudan, Somalia, Eritrea, and Ethiopia using just the slightest movement. Djibouti, too, if you can find it. These countries make up the most eastern tip of the continent, the cragged horn that juts out into the Indian Ocean and thins out the waterway to form the Red Sea to the north.

If you grab your map of Portland, Maine (check next to your atlas of Africa) and check out 51 Oak Street, Portland, you can see some of those countries as well. Sudan was well represented by Ezo, the spot’s first African experiment. Earlier this year, Ezo gave way to the flavor of Somalia, manifested in the well-intentioned but scrappy Safari African restaurant. A couple of months ago, the merry-go-round continued, and the newest sign on the door read "Asmara." Eritrea, welcome to Portland.

Eritrea gained independence from Ethiopia in 1993; thus the flavors and presentations of those cuisines run in parallel. The differences are there, but subtle. Both rely on the soft and spongy flatbread Injera — made from teff, a drought-resistant Ethiopian grain — to act as platter, utensil, and ingredient, and both serve rich stews and sauces spiced with berebere. This spice mixture is as impossible to categorize as curry; there are as many types as there are cooks in Africa. The unique features of Eritrea’s cuisine lie in the Italian occupation from 1885 through 1941. We could see this in our appetizer, a lettuce and tomato salad tossed with oil, salt, and strips of injera, and most certainly in the coffee ceremony available for larger parties.

Fully aware that Asmara is the first restaurant of its kind to hit the streets of Portland, owners Asmerat Teklu and Asgedet Ghebreyesus do their best to explain away any hesitancy a first-time diner might have. The menu is prefaced with a welcome, directions on how to eat Eritrean food, terms and definitions, and each menu item is described in full. For your benefit, I have included a brief glossary:

Mosseb — a traditional woven-basket table

Tsebhi — sauces and stews

Keyi tsebhi — firey

Alit’cha tsebhi — milder

Unguuuch — the sound you make after eating too much of the tsebhi on the mosseb

Except for the above-mentioned salad, which was served on a dish with spoons, most of the meal is eaten with your hands. The flat injera covers the entire dish, in the middle of which is piled your choice of entrée and sides. The two main types of sauces — red pepper and yellow — are the same as in Ethiopian cuisine. On one of our plates was Alitcha Beghie (lamb stew) with a side of cabbage, carrots, and potatoes in a yellow sauce; on the other was Tsebhi Derho (chicken stew) with a side of lentil puree.

Everything on the plate is eaten by tearing off strips of injera, using it to pick up a piece of meat or vegetable, and then eating the whole package. Pulling the chicken off the bone with the bread soon got a bit messy, however, but rather than resorting to the embarrassment of utensils (none were provided anyway, thank goodness), I just ended up picking up the drumstick and stripping it down with my fingers. The chunks of lamb in the richly spiced red sauce were much easier to manage, and were quickly determined the table favorite.

Unfortunately, the kitchen had run out of the two appetizers we had decided on, the Fried Cauliflower and Ajibio Berebere (seasoned cottage cheese with injera), but we were dining later on a Sunday night. As to the hours listed in the accompanying box, they seem to be only guidelines. We attempted to go one day during "normal" business hours and the place was closed tight, even with a confirming call a few days earlier.

All in all, though, when we finally got in, the atmosphere was pleasant. The décor is almost exactly the same as Safari African, it was hot as the dickens due to the proximity of the kitchen to the dining room — this should prove nice in the upcoming deep freeze — and I was even teased a bit by our friendly server. I was concerned about the voluminous quantity of honey wine I received, since some have referred to it as the "mind eraser," but she just laughed.

"It’s not strong! You think it’s strong? Ha-ha!"

It would be nice if this were a final, long-standing manifestation of East African cuisine in Portland, especially given the population of immigrants living in the city. I hate to think this one will close down, and with some decent organization and press it could do all right. I’ll tell you one thing, though: If something bad does happen, I’m not sure how much information I can dig up on Djiboutian food.

Andy King can be reached at dinnerwithandy@yahoo.com