So much to explain: The Merkato is a large marketplace in Addis Ababa, the capital city of Ethiopia. Now along comes Merkato 55, a large restaurant in Manhattan's meatpacking district—to me more alien than Addis Ababa.

Marcus Samuelsson, the most famous Ethiopian ever raised in Sweden, popularized Swedish-style cooking at Aquavit. He's now out to do the same for African-style cooking at Merkato 55—the "55" refers to the address of the restaurant, not the number of questions I had to ask in order to understand the food here.

A friend summed up the unusual culinary challenges when he looked at the menu and said, "How often do you see goat in a pot?"

I was tempted, but the waitress told me something I didn't want to hear: The dish contained peanut butter. Skippy, in fact, which she said is the favorite of West Africa.

I switched to lamb meatballs in a pot. No peanut butter, but lots of other stuff: couscous studded with fruit, red sauce, and a fried egg. Her instructions: Stir it up. Before I did, I tasted each component: superb, particularly the smooth meatballs, rich in lamb flavor. After mushing, a mess.

My advice is to minimize the mixing and mashing. The peanut butter (the otherwise luscious chicken soup has it, too) tastes lovely when spread on benne, which is like a sesame bagel. The fried egg goes beautifully with meali, a sensational cumin-scented corn bread. There's another bread, za'atar, made with a spice mix and smelling strongly of sumac. All three cost $6 and are worth the price.

As you might expect from a restaurant representing an entire continent, there's plenty to like: duck with wonderfully crunchy, sweet skin, superior to Peking duck. Skewers containing venison, onion, pork belly, and apricot—I suggest pairing up the venison with the onion, and the pork belly with the fruit, not munching all four at once. The best dessert is the espresso pudding with espresso-almond crumble.

The cooking at Merkato 55 is refined, and the dishes consistently well-prepared. The knowledgeable waitresses are a blessing. The restaurant is on two floors—we were seated downstairs, in the less-attractive adjunct to the bar. The décor is mostly brown and black, sort of Serengeti Chic, and the dark, grainy tables downstairs have inlays that our waitress said represented African food poems.

Ours, she said, read, "When God cooks, there is no smoke."

Here's my version: "When God cooks, there is no peanut butter."

55 Gansevoort Street, New York, NY; 212-255-8555; merkato55.com