That’s because it requires soaking dried chickpeas overnight. (As much as I loved canned ones, which I bust out all the time, they’re just not the right consistency for this dish.)
However, once the chickpeas are soaked, dinner comes together in a snap. With this version, I make the process even simpler by shaping the falafel batter into fritters, so you can shallow-fry instead of deep-fry — and still wind up with a lot of crispy surface area.
Start by covering 4 ounces, or a generous ½ cup, of dried chickpeas in a few inches of water. Let them hydrate in the refrigerator for at least 12 hours: the longer they soak, the better their texture. I let mine sit for a full 24.
The next day, when it’s time to cook, drain the water from the bowl and do your best to dry the chickpeas thoroughly with a kitchen towel.
Peel 1 small shallot and chop it into a few pieces. Smash and pull the skins off 1 garlic clove. Roughly chop 1 packed cup of soft herbs. It’s fine — even good — to include the smaller tender stems, as they contain a ton of flavor and they’re about to be blitzed to oblivion anyway. I like a mixture of parsley and dill, but cilantro and mint are fair game, too, as is any combination of these. (Don’t be overly precious about measuring. If you have a huge head of parsley and want to use it all, that’ll work. If you have slightly less and don’t want to shop for anything extra, don’t sweat it.) Place these ingredients into a food processor.
Add your spices: ½ teaspoon of ground cumin, ½ teaspoon of ground coriander, 1 teaspoon of kosher salt, and a big pinch of Aleppo pepper. Also add 1 teaspoon of chickpea powder or cornstarch (this is the binder that will help everything stick together) and ¼ teaspoon of baking powder (which helps lift the fritters and keep them light).
Pulse the mixture until it starts to stick together towards the center of the bowl where the blades are. You’ll likely need to pause and scrape down the sides several times to ensure an even consistency. You’re looking for very finely chopped — but you don’t want to go so far that it turns to wet sand, which will result in dense fritters.
Once you’re there, form the mixture into palm-sized balls. You should end up with about three. Another balancing act: You want a gentle-but-firm hand, enough so that everything sticks together, but not so much that you’re squeezing. Put these on a plate and set them aside.
Now it’s time to make a quick crunchy side salad. Dice 2 Persian cucumbers and 3 English breakfast radishes and place them in a bowl. Crumble in 1.5 ounces of feta. (This is just a small handful if you don’t want to weigh it out.) Squeeze in a quarter of a lemon. Drizzle in some extra-virgin olive oil, sprinkle with flaky salt, and give this all a stir. Taste and adjust as you like.
You’re now going to make a quick sauce. Put ¼ cup of tahini in a small bowl. Add the juice from another quarter of a lemon. In a liquid measuring cup with a pour spout, make some ice water and slowly stream in a small amount. (A few tablespoons should suffice.) Whisk the tahini as you go until the texture becomes velvety. Season with salt.
Finally, place a heavy-bottomed skillet (stainless steel and cast iron both work well) over medium-low heat. Usually, you’d fry falafel in a high smoke-point neutral oil, like canola. But the approach here is to sizzle your fritters lower and slower, allowing them to cook thoroughly without burning, and for this purpose olive oil works great. Pour in enough to generously cover the bottom of the pan.
Place your falafel balls into the skillet and use a spatula to gently but firmly press them down so they turn into patties, about a quarter of an inch thick. You can prepare as many at a time as will fit without crowding. Let them sizzle for about four minutes on the first side, until evenly golden-brown, then flip them and cook for another four minutes.
When done, transfer the fritters to a plate and sprinkle with flaky salt. Serve with the tahini sauce and chopped salad.
With just a little forethought, the whole thing will take you under an hour — not counting the soaking that happens as you sleep.
