Falafel

I’m the farthest you can get from a picky eater but I’ve never been a fan of falafel. I’ve stared many a falafel square in the eye (I always blink first) but am always more contented with a pita stuffed with an array of eggplant salads, coleslaws, pickled veggies, grilled veggies, hummus, tahina and hot sauces. You can imagine my surprise when I ate that falafel in Amman. … [tangent/flashback begins]


… In the summer of 2005, while waiting on foot at the Israeli-Jordanian border on what I had thought was to be a 3 day excursion to Petra, I met and tagged along with an Israeli off-road jeep tour that did take me to Petra, but also all over the Arabian desert, Wadi Rum, Aqaba and Amman. What an incredible trip. When I think of my time in Jordan, I always think of the listless, silent and smouldering sand dunes of the Arabian desert and the contrasting bustle and vitality of downtown Amman.


The food, on the other hand, is one of the last things to come to mind … with the exception of the goat brain (and the falafel, of course). The goat brain can be chalked up to the fact that I’m not one to shy away from eating something new and maybe more so that I could not say no to the exuberant and friendly restauranteur at what appeared to be the only restaurant in the world, planted somewhere in a seemingly endless desert. I always think of the goat brain. Not because I liked it but because I didn’t. It was the texture. If you are interested in preparing goat brain at home then I suggest you google a recipe as this gal is not inspired to recreate that experience. …


… That 25 cent Amman falafel sandwich was hands-down my most delicious meal in Jordan (I already feel guilty writing this I mean I DID eat other decent meals it wasn’t like I was nauseated left right and centre just nothing other than the goat and the falafel really wowed me – for different reasons - and maybe I was eating in the wrong places, who knows). I remember my surprise at how delicious the falafel was, which by then I had been consciously avoiding for probably 15 years. Thinking back, the spice blend must have been impeccable and the chickpeas fresh (or at least freshly fried) but at the time I could only attribute the agreeableness of the flavour to its un-constant variable - the fried onion centre of each falafel ball.


My Amman experience gave me renewed faith in that great Middle Eastern street food. While falafel is pretty abundant in Toronto (to grossly understate its presence), I have never since had falafel that I liked as much and have continually made sense of this as the absence of the fried-onion centre. … [foreshadowing].


I therefore set out to recreate my perfect falafel, stuffed with fried onion. Along the way, I decided to make the pita, babaganoush and tahina that you see in the picture too. I've adding another very similar photo to the one above to break up the post.

Making falafel was easier than I had expected. Other than soaking the chickpeas overnight, the dough took little time to prepare. The only unpleasant part of the experience was the frying. For some reason the oil kept detonating and splattering everywhere which is scary. It was only when all the balls were ready to meet their certain death in that pot of crackling and blistering oil that I realized that I had totally forgotten about the fried onions. In an adrenalin-induced reaction, the kind reserved for executing extraordinary physical feats in the face of mortal danger, I chopping some red onion and stuffed it, raw, into the centre of some of the balls. After all of my efforts, it wasn’t going to be like in Jordan at all.


The happy ending is that I had been wrong! The secret was not in the fried onion! The symbiosis of the garlic, the parsley, the savoury spices along with the sweetness of the chickpeas was an absolute success. The falafel was completely delicious. I’ll be making them again but next time in the oven. The pita, babaganoush and tahina were not nearly as treacherous.



Falafel

Ingredients

• 1 cup dried chickpeas
• ½ large onion
• 2 tablespoons parsley
• 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon chilli pepper flakes
• 4 cloves garlic
• 1 teaspoon cumin
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 6 tablespoons flour
• Soybean or vegetable oil

Directions

1. Put chickpeas in bowl and cover with cold water. Soak 12-24 hours and drain. (You can also use canned chickpeas).

2. In food processor, blend (not puree) chickpeas, onion, parsley, cilantro, salt, chilli flakes, garlic and cumin.

3. Add baking powder and flour and blend. Dough should not stick to your hands. Add more flour if need be. Cover and refrigerate for a few hours.

4. Form dough into small balls.

5. Heat 3 inches of oil to 375 degrees in a deep pot or wok. Fry balls in batches - a few minutes on each side until golden brown. Drain on paper towels.

Pita
Ingredients
• 1 1/8 cups warm water
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 1 ½ teaspoons white sugar
• 1 ½ teaspoons active dry yeast

Directions
1. Mix ingredients together and let rise 2 hours (or if you are like me, add way more active dry yeast and let it rise for ten minutes)
2. On a floured surface, divide dough into 8 balls.
3. Roll each ball into a 6 to 7 inch circle. On a floured surface, cover with a towel and let rise about 30 minutes until slightly puffy.
4. Preheat oven to 500 F. Place 2 or 3 pitas on a wire cake rack directly on oven rack. Bake 4 to 5 minutes until puffed and tops begin to brown.
5. Remove from oven and immediately cover with a damp kitchen towel until soft.

Babaganoush

Ingredients
• 3 eggplants (small)
• Olive oil (for brushing eggplants)
• Salt and pepper
• Red chilli flakes (to taste)
• 2 tbsp cilantro
• 2 tbsp oregano (fresh)
• 1 garlic clove
• 3 tbsp lemon juice
• 4 tbsp olive oil
• Sea salt
• Ground pepper

Directions
1. Preheat oven to 450 F.
2. cut the eggplants length-wise into halves, brush with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper
3. Bake for 15-20 minutes until eggplants are completely soft
4. Blend the eggplants with the chilli flakes, cilantro, oregano, garlic, lemon juice and olive oil in the food processor.
5. Season to taste

Tahina
Ingredients
• 1 cup water
• 1 cup tahina paste
• ½ cup fresh lemon juice
• 2 garlic cloves, crushed
• 1 tsp salt

Directions

Mix ingredients together in a bowl. Got it?

Sunflower Seed Pesto

A few days ago I was craving a caprese salad with mozzarella di buffola. I’m going to be painfully cautious (and hopefully not insulting) in saying that caprese anything is a combination of tomatoes, fresh mozzarella (think soft, mild, buttery, succulent) and basil. Mozzarella di buffola is buffalo mozzarella in Italian (I am still committed to providing all translations).

Now it is definitely the time of year for abundant fresh and cheap basil. Since I don’t have my balcony garden set up yet (and even when I have had basil plants they are always picked clean to a morbid and grotesque extent) and since I live in the grocery wasteland of Queen West, I try to take advantage of groceries when I see them. This can be as practical as stopping in Kensington on my ride home from work or as ill-thought-through as buying a baguette on my way to the bar. In a tireless quest to perfect the practical, I stopped at the green grocer at the corner of Manning and Bloor on my way home from work the other day. The Manning Market is one of those places where I do what I like to call my carpe diem produce shops. So long as you’re not stock-piling veggies for some unforeseen natural disaster, which you can’t really do anyway, the Manning Market is the place to buy. In stark contradiction, though, there was that one disturbing time when my sister and I road-tripped to Upstate New York, bought a head of lettuce, came back to Canada with the lettuce, which I then proceeded to forget about, and rediscovered it 4 months later, pristine, in my veggie crisper. To clarify, the road-trip wasn’t disturbing, it was great, and the trip wasn’t for the purpose of buying the lettuce. That was just incidental. The very important and eerie message about certain American produce however needs no further explanation.


You may, or may not, be wondering why there are no photos of the caprese or at the very least basil, and why, conversely, I’ve posted a photo of a bowl with what looks to be 7 pieces of rigatoni in it. Well, I’ve done so because today’s post is actually about the by-product of that caprese: the pesto I made with the loads of remaining, and rapidly aging, basil.


Traditional Genoese pesto is made from basil, olive oil, pine nuts, parmigiano reggiano and garlic. In 2007, I spent 10 hedonistic days in northern Italy visiting friends on Lago di Como. Northern Italy is breathtaking and on top of that I ate well. The food at gas stations in Italy (please don’t ask me why I know this) was without a doubt better than many restaurant meals in Toronto and after only 10 days away, eating at home seemed lacklustre and depressing for weeks.

Unlike that of my Genoese soul mates, this evening’s pesto was made by throwing basil, olive oil, sunflower seeds, hemp seeds, flax seeds and small amounts of both parmigiano reggiano and cave-aged gruyere into the food processor. No salt necessary since parmigiano gets the job done. The other photo is of an arugula, toasted pine nut, jalapeno oil (homemade) pesto which I made another night. We’ll call it Pesto 2. I added the photo of Pesto 2 in an attempt to compensate for the photo of Pesto 1.


Pesto 1 (and Pesto 2 for that matter) did not disappoint. Flavourful, colourful, creamy, fresh, simple food.


If you’ve come to the well-reasoned conclusion that I forgot to photograph the meal before eating it, ergo the photo of 7 noodles, I’m not going to sugar-coat it, you’re wrong. The sensational truth is that I made the pesto on the tail of the caprese in that foreboding and pointless attempt to outfox Father Time. I wasn’t hungry, but was also not comfortable with the idea of not trying the pesto while it was fresh. While hunger is typically not something I take into consideration when deciding whether to eat, today I boiled a scant few noodles, enjoyed the pesto, and froze the rest for another day. Cryogenics. Brilliant.