Dish Deep Dive: Falafel

Falafels. They’re delicious, cheap, widely accessible and – no matter what your dietary preference is – it’s pretty likely that you can eat them. It’s not hard to see why falafels have become such a beloved street food in so many cities across the world. They’re just that good. I, like many others, love them – there’s nothing quite like breaking past the outer crust of a piping hot falafel to reveal its emerald interior, releasing a blast of lip-scalding steam and the intoxicating smell of fresh herbs. Actually, it’s more than love. If I could, I would genuinely eat them every single day for the rest of my life and, for that reason, I chose to dive head first into the world of falafel to create what I think is my ride or die fritter for this month’s Dish Deep Dive.

Falafels have a complicated and controversial history. Everyone claims them as their own so it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where falafel comes from, however, most people seem to agree that these morsels of goodness originated in Egypt around the 19th century. They were, and still are, made with fava beans in Egypt, where they’re known as “ta’ameya” – a beautiful turn of phrase which translates to mean “a little taste”. As they travelled northwards towards the Levant, Iraq, Bahrain, and a slew of other countries across the Middle East, chickpeas replaced fava beans as the go-to pulse. It’s that squat, round version of a chickpea fritter which most closely resembles the street food we know of as falafel in the West.

The fritters themselves have stayed more or less consistent over the years. A traditional falafel recipe starts with a legume base followed by some kind of allium and a medley of spices and herbs. The types of spices used in a falafel can vary depending on the country, region, or even the person making it. Geographical and personal preferences aside, though, the main culprits are usually: cumin, coriander (fresh and/or ground), dill, parsley, mint, onion or leek, garlic, and chilli. The quantities of each change, too – some falafel are so herby that they become bright green while some more closely resemble the colour of straw.

My goal was to create something which was reminiscent of a Palestinian falafel but still paid homage to the OG Egyptian ta’ameya. A crunchy outer shell and fluffy interior were essential components to nail. I wanted to make sure my falafel was packed with plenty of herbs to make it a vibrant green on the inside while still being perfectly fragrant and seasoned. Easy? God, no. But I like to think I’ve had a decent stab at making the perfect falafel.

I, like many others, mainly eat falafels that are made with a chickpea base, but – for the love of science – I fried all sorts of different combinations and landed on a fava bean and chickpea blend. The split fava beans make the falafel a little lighter while also helping the mixture stay together better. This is especially helpful if it’s your first time making them. Both legumes start off dried and they get soaked overnight in simple plain water (no canned beans, please and thank you). Some call for soaking with bicarb to help with texture, but I found that it didn't make any significant difference.

The goal here is to pack in as much flavour as possible, without making the mixture too soggy or changing the texture of the final falafel. As a coriander hater, I really tried my best to boot it out, but sadly, it had to stay in. Of all the falafels I fried, the one with coriander, parsley,and dill was the winner: the fritter was vibrant green and singing with flavour. I added some ground cumin, green chilli, three different alliums and some sesame seeds to that mixture – earthy, green, nutty. Woof!

Once the flavour was nailed, I needed to work on texture. The split fava beans already helped make them lighter, but I needed it to be more fluffy – the polar opposite texture to the crispy crunchy outside.

Two things have to happen to make that happen: one, you need to add a leavener and finely process the legumes. Some falafel mixtures are super finely ground, while others keep larger bits of the legume in for textural variance – I personally didn’t love the bigger chunks of bean, so I processed mine until it was finely ground and added sesame into the batter for little pops of crunch. As for the leavener, the choice was either bicarbonate of soda or baking powder. Bicarb is usually added where an acid is present whereas baking powder works better with heat. Not a huge shock here, but baking powder was the better option.

Falafels. They’re delicious. We've come up with the ultimate falafel recipe here that you can make at home. It's well worth the effort.

Now, I can’t make falafels and not make a sandwich, can I? So here we go, another round of research to make my ultimate falafel sandwich.

I had three kinds in mind: Khobez, pita and aish baladi. Khobez is amazing stuff, and perfect for a wrap, but I wanted to stuff my falafel into a bread pocket. Fluffy stuffed pitas are just not my thing as they make for a super filling and heavy sandwich, the type of sarnie where you need to take a nap after. That’s not what I was going for with this. Instead, aish baladi took the crown – it’s an Egyptian flatbread made with wholemeal flour, resulting in a pliable, flavourful base for my sandwich.

No veggies, only pickles. More specifically: turnip and green chilli pickles. It needs two sauces as well. Some sort of chilli sauce and a creamier one, too. For each iteration, I looked at three different options.

Iraqi amba, Palestinian shatta and Yemenite zhoug all battled for the position as my chilli sauce of choice, but the Zhoug won out. It uses the same herbs as in the falafel, but through the frying process, they get gently tamed. The zhoug compliments the falafels by bringing out their herbiness as well as giving the whole sandwich a little kick.

The three creamy components I pitted against each other were garlic tahina, hummus and Lebanese toum – as delicious as they all are, garlic tahina was the winner by a country mile, keeping things simple and light and extremely eatable. In my research, I came across a Kenji Alt-Lopez article where he uses a method shared by Michael Solomonov where you blend unpeeled garlic to infuse tahina. It’s one of the best hacks I’ve come across and the best way to get a mellow garlic sauce without the usual pungency.

This spicy bright green sauce is an essential component in a variety of dishes. This is our take on Yemenite zhoug.

This garlicky tahini sauce is incredibly addictive. You can drizzle this on just about anything, Mob.

To finish it all off, throw a few sprigs of fresh parsley into your aish baladi. And that’s my ultimate falafel sarnie.

After countless falafel mixtures made and fried, chilli sauces tested, and myriad creamy sauces slathered, I found my perfect variation of the falafel. It’s a sandwich that hopefully borrows and celebrates from different people, cultures, regions and countries.