You wouldn’t know it was there unless you were looking. A row of low, unassuming buildings off a main thoroughfare on the north side—just off Main Street—where the strip mall feels more like a cluster of neighbours than a commercial hub. But inside, Hana Ethiopian Cafe & Take-Out hums with heat and soul.

I got off the bus and walked the last stretch, 10 minutes or so past quiet side streets and low-slung signage. When I stepped through the door, I was met with the sounds of lively Ethiopian music and the smell of something good. Behind the counter was Hana, who greeted me right away—warm, welcoming, and ready to talk food. I told her I’d just arrived in town and that I was a fan of misr wat and tibs. She let me know there weren’t any tibs today, but she could make lentils—and I trusted she knew what I meant.

The space is modest—half a dozen tables, spotless floors, photos of Ethiopian coffee ceremonies on the walls. A small group across the room, clearly regulars, were digging into a shared platter, tearing off pieces of enjera with their hands and laughing between bites. It smelled incredible. Someone behind me stood up to pay and told Hana, “I haven’t had properly spicy stuff like that before. It was perfect.” I hadn’t even eaten yet and already knew I’d made a good choice.

It didn’t take long. Less than 10 minutes later, Hana brought over a trio combo: chicken stew, lentils, and kale, all tucked into a soft, spongy canvas of enjera. Just over $15. For what I got, it felt like a gift.

The kale was first—tender but not limp, almost sweet, like collard greens with a little sun in them. The lentils were exactly what I’d hoped for: tangy and rich, swimming in a tomato-forward sauce with just the right acidity. But the chicken? That’s the one you save for last. The sauce is deep and complex, warm with spice but not overwhelming. There’s a richness that coats your tongue without being heavy, and just enough heat to remind you it’s there. If this is what her beef dishes taste like too, you’re not going to go wrong either way.

Hana’s been cooking for as long as she can remember. “Since I was a little girl,” she told me. Raised in Addis Ababa, with family roots in the Tigray region, she brought her love of food with her when she moved to Canada. She started at the north side farmers’ market, where she cooked for nearly eight years before opening this brick-and-mortar spot about five years ago. These days, it’s a family affair—she runs the restaurant with her kids, and makes everything herself, including the enjera. Nothing prepackaged. Nothing rushed.

“I cook the food the way I want to eat it," she says. If I enjoy eating it then I will serve it.”

The regular menu offers combo plates with rice or enjera, but there are off-menu options too. You can get a full family-style platter for around $40, depending on how many mouths you’re feeding. Or just double up on combos and share like the folks across from me did. Either way, you’re walking away full and happy.

Hana says customers come from all over—Moncton, Saint John, Halifax—sometimes making the trip just for a big order to take back home. “Financially, so far so good,” she says. “I don’t want to increase the price. I want people to come in here and afford. Because if they can afford my food, they can bring other people and eat.”

That spirit runs through everything here. It’s a small place doing something special—quietly, consistently, and without compromise.

Fredericton’s not overflowing with Ethiopian restaurants. But even if it were, Hana would still stand out. There’s something about her cooking that hits deeper than just spice or seasoning. It’s comfort food at its most honest—handmade, heart-forward, and completely unforgettable.

You can taste the care in every bite. Come for the lentils. Stay for the chicken. Then come back again.