I ate my first falafel in college. I know, it's a big shock that small-town Western New York wasn't rocking the crunch patties and flavor sauce back in the day, but it's true. I was a sophomore, at an accepted student event (where you could frequently find me, considering that I was both an indentured servant to the Admissions Office and a fan of free food). At the buffet, there were these little crispy things that a friend swore were delicious, so I tried one. Sweet merciful kittens, it was terrible. Dry and flavorless, I was concerned that I had somehow screwed up and was eating it incorrectly, because I couldn't fathom why my friend would steer me to try something this bad.
Fast forward several years. By this point, I had gone vegetarian, and The Husband (then The Boyfriend) insisted that I try falafel again. He offered to make me some, and we acquired a falafel mix. While these weren't nearly as dry as I remembered, they still weren't good. The Husband insisted that a well-made falafel was good, and that I would probably enjoy one, given how much I enjoy hummus and tzatziki. I assumed he was lying, though I did agree to try falafel a few more times, even though I was consistently disappointed. What can I say: I'm an eternal optimist. (Ha.)
Fast forward another couple of years. We had moved to the desert and were leaving the farmers' market, when we noticed a stall selling Middle Eastern food. We decided to get pita wraps for dinner, but to my horror, the only vegetarian option was falafel. However, the falafels didn't look like the ones I was used to; they weren't deep-fried to the point of carbonization, but instead just lightly browned. Plus, I was really hungry. So I knuckled down and bought one. It was a revelation. I'm pretty sure we had each finished ours before we made it the four blocks home (and if you know The Husband and the speed at which he eats, that's saying something).
Having discovered that falafel need not be dry and boring, I decided that I should probably learn how to make them. My method is a bit of an amalgam of various recipes, supplemented with my natural predilection for making things up as I go along. I am a firm believer in using fava beans, as I think they provide a more complex flavor than the straight-chickpea route. I also add bulgur, which according to my (very brief internet) research means they are Israeli, even though the addition the favas sort of negates that. Consider this falafel as a food without a country.
While everything comes together relatively quickly once all the ingredients are present and accounted for, you will need to plan at least 24 hours ahead (to allow the beans time to soak). You can also make the falafel mix in advance, but don't cook the patties until just before you plan to eat, as they tend to dry out.
To make your falafel, put a half-cup each of dried fava beans and dried chickpeas into separate medium bowls. Fill the bowls with enough water to cover the beans by an inch or so, then leave to soak overnight. The beans should roughly double in size.
Next is the most tedious part of falafeling: shelling the favas. Fava beans are shell beans. When found in the wild (or at the store), they need to be removed from the pod (much like peas); unlike peas, the individual beans must also be shelled. The same holds true for dried favas.
Some of the favas may have split during the soak, but for those that haven't, shelling is easy: using a small, sharp knife, make a shallow cut along the end of the bean opposite the little black line (originally the point where the bean was attached to its pod), then peel off the shell. If the beans are well soaked, the skin should come off without much fuss. You can also purchase already-shelled dry fava beans, but they are more expensive and a bit tougher to find and where's the fun in that?
Once the favas are peeled, drain the chickpeas, give both sets of beans a good rinse, and add them to the bowl of your food processor. Roughly chop half an onion and toss that in, along with a few cloves of garlic. A pinch or two of cumin and some chili powder (I like Aleppo) won't go amiss, nor will a handful of raw coarse bulgur. Tear up a handful each of parsley and cilantro, and add to the bowl. Salt and pepper generously, then whiz the whole lovely mess until it's good and mixed. Aim for a medium grind; if you find everything is a little dry, you can add a drizzle of olive oil or a tiny bit of water, but not too much — you don't want it to be too wet or turn into a puree — the liquid from the soaking should be enough. The resulting batter should be sticky enough that you can easily form a patty, but dry enough to maintain its shape.
Once the mix is ready, heat a tablespoon or two of grapeseed (or similar) oil in a large pan over medium heat; I like one with sloping sides, to help with the flipping. When the oil is hot, add the falafel patties one at the time, making sure not to crowd the pan. Let them cook until brown on the bottom, maybe five minutes, then flip. Cook until the other side is also browned and crispy, and serve. This recipe should make a dozen or so small falafel patties.
We usually make our falafel pitas with homemade hummus, tzatziki, and cucumber-feta-tomato salad; last time, I added some broccoli slaw for a bit of crunch. Any number of toppings could work: baba ghanoush, tahini, harissa (for some kick), Greek dressing, a squeeze of lemon, spinach, plain yogurt, pickles, relishes... You could also crumble the falafel into a salad, or make larger patties and grill them like a burger.
THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS.
Fast forward several years. By this point, I had gone vegetarian, and The Husband (then The Boyfriend) insisted that I try falafel again. He offered to make me some, and we acquired a falafel mix. While these weren't nearly as dry as I remembered, they still weren't good. The Husband insisted that a well-made falafel was good, and that I would probably enjoy one, given how much I enjoy hummus and tzatziki. I assumed he was lying, though I did agree to try falafel a few more times, even though I was consistently disappointed. What can I say: I'm an eternal optimist. (Ha.)
Fast forward another couple of years. We had moved to the desert and were leaving the farmers' market, when we noticed a stall selling Middle Eastern food. We decided to get pita wraps for dinner, but to my horror, the only vegetarian option was falafel. However, the falafels didn't look like the ones I was used to; they weren't deep-fried to the point of carbonization, but instead just lightly browned. Plus, I was really hungry. So I knuckled down and bought one. It was a revelation. I'm pretty sure we had each finished ours before we made it the four blocks home (and if you know The Husband and the speed at which he eats, that's saying something).
Having discovered that falafel need not be dry and boring, I decided that I should probably learn how to make them. My method is a bit of an amalgam of various recipes, supplemented with my natural predilection for making things up as I go along. I am a firm believer in using fava beans, as I think they provide a more complex flavor than the straight-chickpea route. I also add bulgur, which according to my (very brief internet) research means they are Israeli, even though the addition the favas sort of negates that. Consider this falafel as a food without a country.
While everything comes together relatively quickly once all the ingredients are present and accounted for, you will need to plan at least 24 hours ahead (to allow the beans time to soak). You can also make the falafel mix in advance, but don't cook the patties until just before you plan to eat, as they tend to dry out.
To make your falafel, put a half-cup each of dried fava beans and dried chickpeas into separate medium bowls. Fill the bowls with enough water to cover the beans by an inch or so, then leave to soak overnight. The beans should roughly double in size.
Next is the most tedious part of falafeling: shelling the favas. Fava beans are shell beans. When found in the wild (or at the store), they need to be removed from the pod (much like peas); unlike peas, the individual beans must also be shelled. The same holds true for dried favas.
 |
| To the left: unshelled. On the right: totally nude. |
Some of the favas may have split during the soak, but for those that haven't, shelling is easy: using a small, sharp knife, make a shallow cut along the end of the bean opposite the little black line (originally the point where the bean was attached to its pod), then peel off the shell. If the beans are well soaked, the skin should come off without much fuss. You can also purchase already-shelled dry fava beans, but they are more expensive and a bit tougher to find and where's the fun in that?
Once the favas are peeled, drain the chickpeas, give both sets of beans a good rinse, and add them to the bowl of your food processor. Roughly chop half an onion and toss that in, along with a few cloves of garlic. A pinch or two of cumin and some chili powder (I like Aleppo) won't go amiss, nor will a handful of raw coarse bulgur. Tear up a handful each of parsley and cilantro, and add to the bowl. Salt and pepper generously, then whiz the whole lovely mess until it's good and mixed. Aim for a medium grind; if you find everything is a little dry, you can add a drizzle of olive oil or a tiny bit of water, but not too much — you don't want it to be too wet or turn into a puree — the liquid from the soaking should be enough. The resulting batter should be sticky enough that you can easily form a patty, but dry enough to maintain its shape.
Once the mix is ready, heat a tablespoon or two of grapeseed (or similar) oil in a large pan over medium heat; I like one with sloping sides, to help with the flipping. When the oil is hot, add the falafel patties one at the time, making sure not to crowd the pan. Let them cook until brown on the bottom, maybe five minutes, then flip. Cook until the other side is also browned and crispy, and serve. This recipe should make a dozen or so small falafel patties.
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| Two competing schools of falafel construction: the manageable (mine, below), and the chaos-in-a-pita (The Husband's) |
We usually make our falafel pitas with homemade hummus, tzatziki, and cucumber-feta-tomato salad; last time, I added some broccoli slaw for a bit of crunch. Any number of toppings could work: baba ghanoush, tahini, harissa (for some kick), Greek dressing, a squeeze of lemon, spinach, plain yogurt, pickles, relishes... You could also crumble the falafel into a salad, or make larger patties and grill them like a burger.
THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS.
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