I have always enjoyed the smooth texture of a good hummus. Give me some chick-pea, olive oil, tahini, garlic, salt, lemon, paprika and a few pita and I'm a happy girl. The only other girl I know who loves hummus more than anyone I know, though, is my sweet sister -in-law, Beth. She eats it for breakfast. True story. She also enjoys a good falafel, which is a deep-fried patty of chick peas, spices, and a whole lotta love. My sister Lauren has made some for me several times, so this weekend Beth and I decided to make some of our own! We embarked on this adventure armed with just a few ingredients. Beth had a recipe she wanted to use, so I was on board! Some simple chick peas, onion, garlic, fresh cilantro, sea salt, paprika, coriander and just a little (palms FULL of) cumin.
We chopped, smashed, and processed everything and kept tasting for seasoning. Beth turned her back...I dumped more salt in there (cause that's how I roll). I turned my back...she dumped cumin in there (cause she's exotic like that). After all of the renegade seasoning I took one final taste and shouted "OH man! That's good!" in my loudest, most congratulatory manner. I have a hard time not thinking of her as 15 years old...I was so proud of her. This exclamation was genuine. (Picture this in the style of "good girl!" like you would say to your puppy...or two year old...Beth, however is 28.) She looked at me puzzled, as if to say "Wow!? That was serious!?" And, oh, the laughter that ensued. You have to know Beth in order to know what "laughter" means....I never knew what the word meant until I met her. Its' a mix between a hyena and all of the tropical birds in the world yelling at the same time. It's joy, personified. I wish I could bottle it. That mess would make millions.
We mixed in an egg to bind the mixture and "assembly lined" the rest of the falafel. She made the patties, floured them, and I lowered them gently into some 350 degree oil. We figured it was 350 degrees. We threw some water in there and it sizzled so we called it good. We're soul fryers. Who needs a thermometer? (In hindsight I can admit this could have been the reason why they were "slightly" underdone...but still...I like my falafel "al dente", so chew on that. Literally.) We fried, we drained, we repeated. And, in the end we really did have some yummy tasting patties of goodness. We served them up with a simple cucumber, yogurt, dill dipping sauce. I like to think the flavor was enjoyed by all who partook. But, in any case...we liked them. I put my head to bed that night knowing that we could build upon that already delicious recipe next time! I wish I took a picture of the finished product, but I didn't intend on blogging about it. Boy, was I wrong...the chick pea would not be ignored, apparently, because he rolled his way into my subconscious and got to work!
Last night I had a dream about falafel. (If I had a nickel for every time I heard that one...) It was a short, but powerful dream. Beth and I were in my kitchen and we were mixing up our falafel but we decided to add cheese and spinach. They were seasoned to perfection, cooked perfectly, and when they came out of the fryer they were oozing with melted goodness. In my dream, it was some sort of manchego (or equally gooey) cheese that transformed this falafel from fabulous to falafel-icious. I awoke wondering if this creation actually exists! I knew I could ask my friend and fellow foodie, Logan at Eat A Duck. And, while he wasn't sure if this specific breed of falafel exists in real life, he suggested modifying my imaginary recipe by adding halloumi cheese and kale. He also suggested adding lemon next time, which would definitely brighten it up.
I'm excited to try this! I'm thinking up all sorts of varieties of stuffed falafel now. It's like a big, old Mediterranean door has swung open. It's a falafa-palooza! The possibilities are endless! And, that, my friends, is the wonderful thing about the humble chick-pea. He's versatile. He's adaptable. He's there when I need him. He's healthy, filling, and downright adorable. You can soak him, blend him, smash him, fry him and in the end he will still make his way into your dreams, and gently suggest that you try again.
My garbanzo bean partner in crime and I.
