Kitchen tales: Falafel, Dara & Leather Lane

Falafel, for me, conjures up quickly caught lunches by Leather Lane when temping back in the late 80s.  It was cheap and tasty and, as a lover of hummus and hot sauce, this was a perfect break to a very conventional day.

I remember telling my immediate neighbour of this and Dara, who lived a few doors further down overheard and decided in her very thick French accent, to show me how to make it myself, "then it will be even cheaper".

Every Jewish household has a recipe for falafel.  Depending upon where the household is, the recipe will change.  In Dara's case, her family moved to Tangier in the early 1930's and then, as some of her extended family fled Germany later that decade, they moved to Marrakesh, to a bigger house.  Her father had been a jewellery maker and had worked silver and gold, and the house, at least to begin with, was also his workshop.  In later years he moved his work to the back of his shop.  Dara insisted on giving me a full history of her family before she started showing me culinary expertise.

Her little one bedroomed flat was colourful.  We had all moved into this block of flats after it had been refurbished and everyone had put a little or a lot of individuality on the magnolia standard that Lambeth council had decorated the rooms.  In Dara's case, this meant a burnt umber living room, with panels of her art, silk and paper collages which she sold at different markets, and throws of a similar style thrown over two low settees. 

Her kitchen was a mirror image of my own but packed with so much more.  She had added shelves and cupboards to the walls, thankfully hiding the acidic green for the most part.  But she had beads in the window, which filled the room with stars on a sunny afternoon and she still had space on a bit of a wall, to hang an old photograph in a very ornate frame of her family.  Taken in the early 1950s and gleefully pointing out who was who, the three youngest of the family, sitting proudly on adult's knees, the middle one so obviously Dara herself.

In Dara's recipe the chickpeas were soaked overnight with slivers of raw onion and chilli, but she admitted this was her addition as then it was difficult reduce the heat later on.  Her mother and aunts had insisted that the chickpeas be soaked on their own.

Dara obviously made falafel at least twice if not three times a week judging by the covered bowls on a wide shelf above the draining board and sink.  But she was also sprouting mung beans and other things so, falafel and hummus weren't the only regular visitors to this kitchen.

The following day the chickpeas are pounded into a rough paste along with the onions and chilli as well as two table spoons of chopped parsley and a clove of garlic for every 4 oz of pre-soaked peas.  A number of other spices and dried herbs were also added (which I found out later would change depending upon the mood, the time of year and what was in the cupboard) along with 4 or 5 tablespoons of olive or Argon oil and a little water.  Corn flour and a little baking soda is then added to the paste.  All of this was then placed in a covered bowl, in the fridge (if there was room)or left on the side (if not) for about an hour.  Patties were made and then deep fried for a few minutes.  The result was amazing, but Dara had warned me, they were spicy!