The first falafel I tried was from the hands of my mother-in-law to be. The small hot ball that emerged from a pan of peacefully sputtering oil revealed the big flavor of earthy cumin, bright herbs and nutty beans. I still wonder if it was the moment I took a bite when I decided that woman would become my mother-in-law.
“What is it?” I begged to know as if as my life depended on that knowledge. Aware of the effect her food made on me, she replied, “Falafel”. Mom was surely proud to showcase the Middle Eastern culinary heritage of her family, little known in this country outside of the South Eastern Turkey. This is how I met falafel: it was not a by-the-way packed with a lot of condiments in a pita pocket and shoveled up to satiate my appetite. Instead, it appreared a jewel from the treasure chest of the culinary tradition I started exploring with my sinking heart and watering mouth.
However it took me over five years to attempt my own falafel. No idea why so long. The way to my own falafel was paved with intentions to find the common culinary ground with my husband. Özgür would eat anything while I am a convinced pescetarian with occasional vegan and gluten-free tendencies. It was easy to ignore these differences during the first two years of our marriage when my husband spent most of the time in Sapanca where his mom rules the kitchen while I was staying in Istanbul for at least of half of the time eating and cooking what I pleased.
As we moved in, the summer before leaving for Alaçatı, I enthusiastically delved into testing the menu ideas for our restaurant to be. I learned to butcher a chicken, produced meatballs of various styles and fearlessly turned one Ottoman style lamb stews after another. I enjoyed cooking meat dishes (even though I admit they require way more cleanup) knowing that I was following an important tradition and that my husband enjoyed eating them.
My summer and early autumn cooking routine included making a few meze for us to share and a meat main for Ozgur. Meze may be starters for somebody, but they become a full-fledged meal for a lot of vegetarians. We laughed hard with my friend Ulli when she mentioned that her visiting vegan friends were better catered with an array of delicious plant-based small plates at our favorite fish restaurant than they might have been at any vegetarian eatery in Istanbul. True story! For centuries meze have been gathering people around many tables to share food and conversation. No wonder that meze equates a vegan, a gluten-allergic or a hard-core carnivore because everyone can find something to their liking from the extensive offering of small plates. As you can sense, I worship meze. After all my whole marriage depends on them.
As we moved to Alaçatı, it became little harder to source meat. I have not seen much organic chicken around, and the butcher that sells good beef and lamb rather than the high society fuss is a drive away. We do eat fish, but the prospect of battling with the established fish restaurants at the auction to get a batch for your modest domestic consumption sometimes kills any desire to deal with the seafood. Overwhelmed with the paperwork for permissions, the unruly builders and overall settling down at a new place, I found myself going down the easy path of plant-based cooking path.
I probably went too far as I realized on the New Year night when I served vegetarian dinner to our guests and visiting family. As the majority at the table was vegetarian anyway, I figured I would not bother with any meat dishes. That night my husband reportedly sneaked to the neighbor bar that fixed “best hotdogs in town” as the door sign ensured to get the said hotdog while the rest of us were savoring the ample selection of meze at the festive table. He did not touch the meze.
Next day my visiting mother got on a mission to save her daughter’s marriage. As we walked the dogs, she lectured me on the importance of nourishing my husband, made me stop by the nearest butcher for the minced meat and set on making Russian dumplings to rescue my plant-overloaded husband. “How many?” she asked Özgür as she finished making the first batch. He requested half a dozen. Mom shrugged her shoulders and cooked the said amount. A few minutes later my husband asked if he could have a dozen more. Mom left with a light heart knowing that the kids will be fine, at least until the dumplings in the freezer last.
I am still figuring this out, through trial and error. If you follow me on Instagram, you might have seen the #vegetarianmarriescarnivore meals. Sometimes it is centered around meze, sometimes the same dish with and without meat, but more often than not - two completely different dishes. I treasure the days when we can eat the same thing and be equally happy. Once at lunch after finishing his meatballs, Özgür reached out for the Indian-style red lentil stew with greens I made for myself and confessed he loved it. Figuring out, both of us.
Back to the hotdog incident though. As I think of it, it was not necessarily a rebel against vegetables. It is about the appeal of something as playful and if you wish a bit obscene, culinary speaking, like a hotdog versus something way too decent, wholesome and home-cooked.
This is when I recalled falafel, the epitome of Middle Eastern street food. I thought I would serve it street-stile with tahini sauce, pickles and flat bread to make a dürüm, wrap in Turkish. With a few adjustments, of course. I decided to bake it in the high oven instead of deep-frying it. I sprouted the chickpeas to make them easier to digest and sneaked in a notable quantity of nettles. I rejected the idea of any eggs or flour in the falafel dough: it does not really need extra binders. I also made the thin griddle bread lavaş (think Indian roti / chapati) out of 100% whole wheat. Here is your street-style food cooked thoughtfully. My obscenely wholesome falafel. Win-win!
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Chickpeas Forever:
Spiced Chickpea and Purslane Salad
My Kind of Chickpea Bread
5 Secrets to Perfect Hummus
Moroccan-Inspired Chickpea Stew
Eating Spring Weeds:
Two Irresistible Nettle Soups
Homemade Nettle Pasta
Warm Salad of Poppy Greens
Aegean Skillet Greens
Obscenely Wholesome Baked Falafel with Sprouted Chickpeas + Nettles
Some traditional (noteworthy - Egyptian and hence my mother-in-law’s) falafel recipes include both Middle Eastern darlings - fava beans (broad beans) and chickpeas. I figured that fava beans lend a softer texture to falafel. Yet this recipe is a hymn to chickpeas as they have my unconditional love.
I am going with the tradition and using uncooked, pre-soaked chickpeas. To make them easier to digest I also sprout them (see the how-to below).
You can experiment with the greens, herbs and spices in your falafel. I include nettles because it is in season and I love the fragrant sweetness of this nutritious wild green. I use the nettle leaves along with the tender upper parts of the stems discarding the thicker harder segments. Most cannot imagine falafel without coriander, both fresh leaves and ground seeds. I substitute coriander in this recipe for everybody who is, like my husband, averse to this herb.
Finally, I bake my falafel as I have never been friends with deep-frying. The falafel hangs out in the oven for only a short period of time and at a rather high temperature. As I brush the falafel balls with olive oil, they brown faster, retain the soft crumb and quickly develop the signature falafel crust.
Source: Inspired by Jerusalem (Yotam Ottolenghi & Sami Tamimi) and Olives, Lemon and Za’atar (Rawia Bishara)
Prep Time: 20 Min
Cook Time: 15 Min
Total Time: 35 Min
Serves: 4
Ingredients
- 1 cup dry chickpeas, sprouted (see the how-to below)
- 1/2 large onion (100 g)
- 3 cloves garlic
- 1/2 cup finely chopped nettle leaves
- 1 1/2 tbsp finely chopped parsley
- 1 1/2 tbsp finely chopped mint
- 1 tsp ground cumin
- 1/2 tsp ground hot red pepper flakes
- 1/4 tsp ground allspice
- 1 tsp fine sea salt
- 1/2 tsp baking soda
- 1/2 tsp lemon juice
- 2 tbsp olive oil and more for brushing
Directions
- Preheat the oven to 210C/410F and line a large baking tray with parchment paper.
- Prepare falafel dough: Blitz the sprouted chickpeas in the food processor. Our goal is finely ground beans, but not a paste: we are making falafel not hummus! Don’t obsess with uniform grind and let the occasional coarse pieces be. Work in batches if needed. Transfer the ground chickpeas into a large mixing bowl. Next, pulse the garlic cloves. Then add the cut into 5-6 chunks onion and blitz it to the uniform mince; pause often to make sure you are not ending up with the onion puree. Transfer the garlic-onion mixture to the chickpeas. Next stir in the finely chopped nettles, parsley, mint, spices and salt. In a large spoon combine baking soda and lemon juice, then add to the falafel dough mix. Finally, stir in the olive oil. The falafel dough should look coherent while sounding and feeling moist. If you have time, you can leave the dough in the fridge for 30 min or up to an hour: it does not make shaping falafels easier as many claim, but surely helps the flavors infuse.
- Shape falafel: Take a heaped tablespoon of the dough, the size of a large walnut or a medium apricot. Be gentle and primarily rely on your fingertips to shape the dough into a neat ball. These falafels will hold their shape excellently once baked, but you need to be gentle with them while shaping: don’t squeeze them or roll them between your palms. Place the shaped falafel on the prepared baking tray 2.5 cm / 1 inch apart. Gently (as you see gently is a key word when dealing with this obscenely wholesome falafel) pat each falafel ball with your fingertips once to flatten slightly and then generously brush with additional olive oil.
- Bake falafel: Bake falafel for 10 minutes. Then take out the tray and check the bottom of the falafel balls: they should be nice and brown by now. Gently flip the falafel balls to the other side with the tongs. Return to the oven for 5 more minutes to let the other side brown. Serve immediately with tahini sauce, pickles or fermented vegetables, flat bread of any nationality and abundant greens.
- Store falafel: The baked falafel keeps in the fridge 3-4 days. Reheat on the hot dry non-stick pan, 1-2 minutes on each side.
How to Sprout Chickpeas
Sprouting chickpeas renders them easier to digest and makes their nutrients more available to us. That happens as soaking and then sprouting significantly reduce the amount of phytic acid, a natural substance in beans, nuts and seeds that binds nutrients and digestive enzymes.
Source: Olga Irez
Ingredients
- 1 cup dry chickpeas
Directions
- Place the dry beans on a tray and pick through to remove any foreign objects such as stones or any beans that don’t look healthy - broken, broken, chipped off; there is no way those could sprout. Give the chickpeas a good rinse, transfer to a large bowl and cover with plenty of warm drinking water, at least 2.5 cups to 1 cup beans. Leave in a warm environment for at least 12 hours.
- Next, drain the beans and give them a good rinse. Transfer to a colander and place over a bowl on your counter top. You may cover the colander with a clean cheesecloth or a thin kitchen towel if you wish. Generously sprinkle drinking water over the chickpeas 2-3 times a day to keep the beans moist. In 2-3 days you will notice small white tails, the sprouts, coming out. Ideally, sprout the chickpeas for at least 5 days.
- You can refrigerate the sprouted chickpeas in the sealed container for 3-4 days or use them right away to make sprouted chickpeas falafel or create seasonal salads.
I loved your hot dog and pelmeni stories. Pelmeni for my family has never ceased to win over all the men and most of the ladies. I would happily eat your falafel. Falafel became very popular here in the States when I was in college and for some time afterwards. I must try your home version and baking seems a better alternative to frying.