When the cook is called “mom” by the denizens, you can bet that the food she cranks out is nothing short of a labor of love.

Enter Muzita, an Ethiopian restaurant that recently splashed onto the University Heights dining scene in what appears (and tastes) like a homecoming of exotic, eat-with-your-fingers dishes, which paradoxically, are about as alien to these necks as Saskatchewan cuisine.

The difference, however, is that tens of San Diegans have actually sunk their hands into Ethiopian food and pondered its indescribable spices. For those who haven’t, Muzita seems a natural place to start, as the owner and his mother bring to the table an array of meals they grew up on before emigrating from the homeland some 20 years ago.

Muzita feels like somebody’s house. And it probably was in the days when “California-style” bungalows were part of the architectural variance that lined our streets. Here, that charm is largely preserved. Basic hardwood flooring flows from front to back. Tea lights dot the ledges of paned windows. And bare, dark wooden tables match the scheme. Although an imposing granite-top bar in the front dining room, backed by a flat TV screen playing a reality show, struck me as distracting.

Hospitality runs high from the moment you walk in. There is much to be explained about the food, and many questions asked, thus the extra chatter.

“Is this your first time here?” our waitress asked us. The same question was launched repeatedly to an influx of ensuing customers. And then asked again by the very friendly owner, Abel Woldemichael, who wanders among guests to discuss the dishes while sporadically offering samples of Ethiopia’s famous honey wine, called Tej. It’s good stuff, although notes of honey were surprisingly stronger and more melodic in an Ethiopian lager we tried afterwards.

About 90 percent of the menu items will leave first-timers tongue tied and puzzled. But an expertly informed wait staff breaks the culinary code along with a small glossary of interpretations seen on the menu.

Birsn Korosho, for instance, is a silky and addicting dip of pureed red lentils spiked with garlic and onions. You’ll swear that cream is lurking, but it isn’t. The dip is served with crispy injera, the Ethiopian crepe-like bread served otherwise soft for scooping everything else that you eat.

Here, it’s rolled up like small washcloths, opposed to the flat forms I’ve seen at other Ethiopian eateries, which I must admit, haven’t been many. My dining companion on this outing flaunted more experience with Ethiopian food, ranking Muzita’s recipes as fuller flavored overall, with the exception of hamli – sautéed spinach and collard greens that tasted spiceless.

Sambusas on the starter menu are available with three different fillings: hamli, stewed vegetables or chicken. The pastry casings are made in-house, a tad on the thick side but complimentary to their fillings – especially the chicken, which sang of cumin and ginger.

Another first course, seared hangar steak, probably isn’t on the tables of most Ethiopian households, as least not when it’s cut in to substantial julienne strips like these. But the dish keeps a leg in tradition. The meat is served with braised veggies that include potatoes, and it’s kissed by awaze, a rather fiery paste of chili peppers that clung to the edges of the meat ever so agreeably. A touch of preserved lemon in the format imparted a bewitching sourness.

“Homey” and “deeply flavored” best describe tsebhi dorho, a bone-in chicken entrée served with soft-boiled eggs and bathed in berbere sauce. This was my second encounter with berbere in two weeks, the first being a contemporary version used with beef at Kitchen 1540 (reviewed in our last issue). The sauce at Muzita is multi-dimensional in comparison, as you can better taste the bouquet of chili peppers and fascinating spice blends that go into it. A portion of the spices used here are sent from Ethiopia by family members, leaving me to trust that this berbere is the real deal.

Ethiopian food is vegan and vegetarian friendly. All of Muzita’s side dishes are meatless, as are five different entrees that pull in everything from seasonal greens and rice to chickpeas and tofu. The owner recommended kantisha kilwa, a medley of mushrooms, zucchini, tomatoes and chilies. The unique player in the dish is tesmi, the term for strained butter flavored with garlic, ginger, cardamom and coriander. Though pleasing, we added heat by spooning in a little awaze sauce brought to our table.

A sense of culinary discovery pervades the restaurant, which means that it gets a little noisy from sheer excitability, for me over the fact that this isn’t another Asian kitchen or small-plates joint.

And before leaving, you’ll learn that in Ethiopia it is not customary to follow a meal with sugary desserts. Since that doesn’t fly in America, crème brulee and tiramisu appear, striking an incongruous finish to cuisine that is packed with deliciously obscure flavors and a whole lotta heart.