Okay, so here’s the thing.
I wasn’t trying to make falafel.
I was actually trying to make hummus. Which is, you know, in the chickpea family. Like a soft-spoken cousin of falafel that went to therapy early.

But then I got cocky.

I had this whole bag of dried chickpeas (who even buys dried chickpeas unless they’re in a midlife crisis or going through a “from scratch” phase?). And I thought—I should try making falafel. Like, the real deal. Not the sad, crumbly kind from the freezer aisle that tastes like seasoned drywall.

Spoiler: I messed up the first batch.
Double spoiler: By batch #3, I might have reached falafel enlightenment.

And now, my falafel recipe is lowkey a personality trait.

The Night I Tried Making Falafel for a Date (Mistake? Possibly.)

So there was this guy.
We’d been texting for weeks. He said he “loved food” which I now realize is the most vague red flag ever.

Anyway, I told him I’d cook something vegetarian. (I panicked and said it. I’m a people pleaser with commitment issues, okay?)

So I decided on falafel. Felt fancy but not pretentious. Plus I’d seen like five YouTube videos that week and was feeling wildly confident.

Cut to me—mid-kitchen disaster:

  • Blender smoking
  • Parsley stuck to my sock
  • Me yelling “WHY ARE YOU SO WET” at chickpeas

He showed up. I smelled like cumin and failure.
But then—he took one bite and literally said, “This is better than the falafel truck downtown.”

Reader… I did not marry that man, but I will always remember that night.

Here’s My Go-To Falafel Recipe (Finally, right?)

This is what I’ve landed on after trial, error, and one very scary oil splatter incident:

🟢 Ingredients

  • 1 cup dried chickpeas (NOT canned, I swear)
  • 1 small onion, roughly chopped
  • 4 cloves garlic
  • 1 cup fresh parsley (or a mix of parsley & cilantro—go wild)
  • 1 tsp ground cumin
  • 1 tsp ground coriander
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • Salt to taste (I do like 1.5 tsp?)
  • 1–2 tbsp flour or chickpea flour
  • Neutral oil for frying (vegetable, canola, etc.)

🔄 Optional Add-Ins (AKA Chaos Mode)

  • A pinch of cayenne if you like heat
  • Sesame seeds mixed in for crunch
  • Lemon zest—sounds weird but it’s vibey

🌊 Step-by-Step (aka: how not to mess it up like I did)

Soak Your Chickpeas Overnight

Seriously. Don’t skip this. Don’t microwave and Don’t pressure cook. Just soak them in a big bowl of water (they’ll triple in size so go big).

Drain & Blend

Drain them completely. Throw the chickpeas, onion, garlic, herbs, and spices into a food processor. Blend till it’s gritty and kinda green but holds together when you squish it.

If it’s too wet—add flour. Too dry? Add a tiny splash of water. Be Goldilocks.

Chill It

Like, literally. Refrigerate the mixture for 30 minutes to firm it up. Use that time to overthink your life or make tahini sauce (or both).

Form & Fry

Shape the mix into small balls or discs. Heat oil till it’s hot (like… 350°F, if you’re fancy with a thermometer). Fry in batches till golden brown. Drain on paper towels.

Try not to eat half before serving. (Good luck.)

Weird Stuff I’ve Learned About Falafel

  • Falafel hates moisture. It’s like a gremlin. Keep your herbs and onions relatively dry.
  • You can bake them, but it’s… fine. They end up sad and chewy. Fry ’em if you can.
  • They freeze well! I make a double batch and freeze uncooked patties. Fry from frozen like a rebel.

What to Eat It With (a.k.a. Why My Fridge Always Smells Like Garlic)

  • Warm pita or flatbread
  • Chopped salad (tomato, cucumber, onion, lemon juice, olive oil, salt)
  • Tahini sauce: Just tahini + lemon juice + water + garlic + salt
  • Pickles—especially those angry-looking pink turnip ones
  • Hot sauce, if you’re chaotic good

Also yes, you can make a falafel bowl, but let’s be real: we’re all just pretending we’re not gonna stuff it into a wrap anyway.

Why I’ll Keep Making This Falafel Recipe Forever

It’s not just about food. (Though yeah—hello, food.)

It’s about feeling like I made something from scratch that didn’t involve a box, a barcode, or a fake cheese packet. It’s about the crunch you hear when you bite in. The steam. The smell. The “Ohhh my god” your roommate says mid-bite.

It’s also kinda meditative. Like, when I make falafel, I have to slow down. I have to plan. Soak. Chop. Chill. It feels… grounding.

Also, it makes me feel like I know what I’m doing in life. Even if I’m 90% winging it.

Wanna Try It?

If you do make it, tag me or send pics. I wanna see your glorious green chickpea pucks. I wanna hear if your blender cried like mine did. Or if your mom ate one and said, “Wait… you made this?”

And if it fails the first time? Welcome to the club. The falafel fails are just part of the journey. Burnt edges, soggy middles, flavorless flops—we’ve all been there. Keep going.

Because when it’s good?
It’s really good.

Bonus Links (because I can’t gatekeep good stuff):

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