I actually stood there for a second like:
“Is this legal? Should I call someone? 911? My mom?”
Anyway, I caved. Ordered it. Ate it. And I swear to you—it tasted like sadness and cumin. And not even the good cumin. You know when cumin tastes like it’s been open since the Bush administration? That.
That was the moment I snapped. I told myself, Niraj, enough. You’re going home and making the best damn falafel recipe known to mankind.
I don’t usually talk to myself in third person, but sometimes you gotta deliver a motivational speech.
Why This Falafel Recipe Basically Changed My Life
I mean… I’m not saying this falafel could fix your credit score… but I’m also not not saying it.
It’s crunchy on the outside.
Soft but not mushy inside.
Herby like a spring picnic.
Smells like you just walked into a Middle Eastern grandma’s kitchen and she immediately decided to adopt you.
And the best part? It will ruin store-bought falafel for you. Like permanently. Rip to all those sad frozen boxes.
Side note: store-bought falafel has betrayed me so many times that if it were a person, I’d block them everywhere—including LinkedIn.
A Short, Slightly Embarrassing Flashback
When I was in 8th grade, I once wore two completely different sneakers to school. Not ironically. Not as a fashion statement. Just full-on Monday-morning confusion.
Why am I telling you this?
Because the same chaotic energy showed up the first time I tried making falafel. I dumped in like… every spice I owned. Cinnamon? Why not. Oregano? Sure. Paprika? My hand slipped. It was basically a hopeful green paste of desperation.
It tasted like betrayal.
Then, after destroying a whole bag of chickpeas and nearly melting my mom’s mini blender (sorry, Ma), I realized:
You DO NOT use cooked chickpeas for falafel.
Life-changing moment.
Right up there with discovering online bill pay.
Falafel
I promise this isn’t a lecture. This is more like me waving my arms dramatically in your kitchen yelling:
“Put the canned chickpeas down.”
Use dried chickpeas.
Soak them overnight.
Let them live their best life in that bowl of water.
When you blend soaked—but uncooked—chickpeas, the texture becomes that perfect, crumbly, airy miracle that fries like a dream. Cooked chickpeas just give you hummus patties. And listen… those have their place. But that place is not here.
Use LOTS of herbs
Parsley
Cilantro
A little dill if you’re feeling unhinged (in a good way)
You want your mixture looking like it could start photosynthesis.
Don’t over-blend
Pulse. Don’t purée.
We’re making falafel, not baby food.
Chill the mixture
It helps it firm up so it doesn’t fall apart like my hopes and dreams post-holiday season.
⭐ Ingredients (don’t panic, it’s not that many)
- 1 ½ cups dried chickpeas (not canned, I’m begging)
- 1 cup fresh parsley
- 1 cup fresh cilantro
- 1 small onion, chopped
- 5–6 garlic cloves (listen… life is too short for mild garlic)
- 1 ½ tsp cumin
- 1 tsp coriander
- ½–1 tsp red chili flakes (optional but honestly, add it)
- 1 tsp salt (then taste and adjust)
- 1 tsp baking powder
- 3–4 tbsp flour (as needed)
- Oil for frying (don’t use olive oil, use something neutral like peanut or canola)
⭐ Overnight Prep
- Put your dried chickpeas in a bowl.
- Cover them with LOTS of water. They expand like crazy—like me after Diwali.
- Leave them overnight. Or like 10–12 hours.
If you forget about them for 18 hours… don’t panic. They’ll be fine. Happens to the best of us.
The Method
1. Drain the chickpeas
And dry them really well. You want them to be slightly damp, not auditioning for a swimming competition.
2. Into the food processor
Add: chickpeas, herbs, onion, garlic, spices.
Pulse.
Scrape.
Pulse again.
Talk to it. Threaten it lovingly. Whatever works.
You want a crumbly mixture—no big chunks, no purée.
3. Chill
Transfer to a bowl, add baking powder, add flour if needed.
Cover.
Fridge it for an hour.
This is where I usually forget about it and go watch YouTube videos on how to fold fitted sheets (I still can’t).
4. Shape
Scoops, balls, patties—whatever shape makes you happy. I use a cookie scoop because it makes me feel like an organized adult.
5. Fry
Hot oil.
Carefully drop them in.
Fry till golden brown, crispy, and smelling like happiness.
And PLEASE don’t overcrowd the pot. Every time you overcrowd a frying pot, a grandmother somewhere sighs heavily.
Serving Ideas That Will Turn You Into “That Person Who Always Makes Amazing Food”
People will actually text you like,
“Hey… are you making that thing again?”
and it’ll be both flattering and mildly annoying.
Here’s what to serve with your falafel:
- Warm pita (or naan if you wanna get weird with it)
- Tahini sauce (don’t skip)
- Garlic yogurt
- Pickled red onions
- Chopped salad (tomato, cucumber, parsley, lemon)
- Hummus on the side because… why not
- French fries inside the wrap because we’re not cowards
And if you’re feeling extremely Queens-core: throw some chili sauce on top and eat it standing over the sink while checking WhatsApp messages from relatives asking why you haven’t visited in so long.
A Tiny Tangent (but important)
Can we talk about how autocorrect always changes “falafel” to “fateful”?
Every time I write this recipe in my notes, it becomes:
“Fateful balls—add garlic.”
Which honestly makes them sound mythical.
When I Served This Falafel Recipe to My Family
My wife took one bite and said:
“Wait… YOU made this?”
My daughter asked why the kitchen smelled “like a herb garden exploded.”
My son asked if there were more.
(There were. He still took mine.)
And that, honestly, is the highest compliment.
How It Will Completely Ruin Store-Bought (I warned you)
Once you taste falafel that’s crunchy, green, fragrant, made with your actual hands—you will never ever look at those sad boxed mixes the same way again.
You’ll walk past them in the grocery store like:
“I’ve grown. I’m different now.”
You might even become slightly judgmental. (Happens.)
🌐 Outbound Link Suggestions
- A hilarious foodie story blog I like: https://www.emmymade.com (light, fun chaos energy)
- A great Middle Eastern cooking reference: https://www.maureenabood.com
Final Thoughts (not a conclusion, don’t worry)
If you try this falafel recipe and hate it, I’ll… honestly be shocked. Like stagger-back-into-the-fridge shocked.
But if you love it—which you probably will—you’ll join the club of people who accidentally became falafel snobs.
