sunday, june 8th, 2008

In college I lived on a street that shared space with a humbly named establishment called Joe's Market. One might assume in passing that Joe's was just a standard corner market with the requisite supplies necessary to keep a street housing hundreds of hungry, frequently inebriated college students and the occasional young (let's hope sober) family happy. With its well stocked aisles of standard grocery supplies, along with a station serving freshly brewed coffee, a bakery, an attached laundromat and indoor and outdoor seating for its endless stream of customers, Joe's was a one stop shop for nearly everything.

Sitting at an outdoor table on a Sunday morning beneath one of the generously sized green and white striped umbrellas tending to a hangover with the New York Times, a cup of coffee and a cherry walnut scone baked fresh on-site was the perfect way to begin the day. Mornings often stretched into afternoons and even if the only thing we bought all day was said scone and cup of coffee, the owner, not surprisingly named Joe, never asked us to leave to make way for his many other customers anxiously eying the space for a free table from which to tend their own Sunday hangovers.

What was more likely to happen was that Joe, a middle aged Lebanese man with a generous gut and even more generous laugh, would join us at the table for a minute or two to find out how the semester was going, hear the details we could remember about the parties we attended the night before and more frequently than not, chat about world events.

He could never stay for more than a minute though because when he wasn't tending to the endless line of customers at the check out line, assisting with a broken washing machine, dealing with a vendor, replenishing the coffee station, petting one of the dogs leashed to the bike rack outside or running back and forth through the store with a tray of freshly baked white chocolate chunk cookies, still warm from the oven, he was cooking for his Lebanese Deli that occupied a large portion of the market.

In my opinion, the deli served the best Middle Eastern food in the city and I would venture to say that the seemingly infinite throng of customers waiting in line for falafel sandwiches, baba ghanoush, tabbouleh, stuffed grape leaves and eggplant lasagna would agree with me.

The deli was the most valuable gem in our treasure chest of a corner store and everyone in the neighborhood seemed to know it. Joe's was our own little institution for virtually everything a college student could ever need. Without its deli we still would have adored Joe's Market but with it, we stayed and lingered for what seemed like days. Using dirty laundry as an excuse for hanging out and occasionally studying at a table for hours on end, we all knew what it was really about; falafel and lentils, eggplant and hummus.

Of course, our penchant to linger was also inspired by Joe and his family. The entire extended family worked in the store including Joe's children and their spouses, his grandchildren who occasionally zipped through the aisles grabbing a bag of pretzels or candy bar as they flew by, along with his parents who were frequently the pair cooking for the deli. The irresistible couple sometimes bickered but more frequently giggled as they turned out dozens of dishes from recipes I knew weren't written down but memorized after decades of preparing them in their home.

This was the food served in Joe's private dining room when the family had time to sit down and eat together, which I suspect was an event that rarely happened, busy as they were with the store. The Market then became their home and we were fortunate enough to be welcomed inside as graciously as we would be ushered through our own front door after a long absence, and for many whose front doors were far away, Joe's Market became a welcome substitute.

My favorite thing to order at Joe's was the falafel sandwich, with its falafel balls slick and bright with a drizzle of lemon tahini dressing, crumbled bits of fresh feta and the occasional surprise of a crunchy chick pea tucked inside a blanket of greens wrapped up in warm pita, it was ideal comfort food. Whether the comfort required was a hangover cure or to nurse a bout of homesickness, Joe's falafel sandwich never failed to deliver.

I recently visited my college town of Minneapolis and was happy to see that Joe's Market is still as much a fixture on Como Avenue as it was when I wiled away my days there years ago at one of its tables. It was comforting to see that nothing has changed. There was a dog leashed to the bike rack, a sleepy looking student walking into the laundromat with a basket of dirty wash and the door was still perpetually in motion from a steady stream of customers. The outdoor tables were still sheltered by a collection of green and white striped umbrellas and sitting beneath them were students chatting the day away while feasting on the same falafel sandwiches that delivered, just as they had to me, not only sustenance but the comfort of home no matter how far from home I found myself.

For this falafel salad recipe, I essentially deconstructed Joe's sandwich and left everything but the pita. Hearty enough to serve as a main course in the summer, it also makes a nice starter to a Middle Eastern meal. I sometimes find tahini, the thick puree of sesame seeds, to be a bit heavy when served on its own and I've lightened up the dressing with the zip of lemon juice and fresh note of parsley.

The chick peas add just the right amount of crunchiness and might I suggest playing around with the recipe by adding a different combination of spices to it or infusing the oil with garlic or Thai chilis before cooking the chick peas. They also make an excellent healthy snack on their own, are an ideal substitute for nuts and make a nice addition to a savory party mix. The falafel recipe is a traditional one that might be found on any Lebanese or Israeli street corner where falafel sandwiches are sold by vendors as a popular street food. I've used mesclun for the salad greens but the options are endless from Romaine to peppery arugula or the velvety silkiness of mache.

While nothing will ever substitute for a falafel sandwich at Joe's Market, the elements in this salad take me back to a place, and more importantly, a family, that was always generous and welcoming enough to make me feel like I was home.

 
Falafal Salad With Crunchy Chick Peas & Lemon Tahini Dressing

1 - 15 1/2 ounce can cooked chick peas, drained plus 1 additional can for the crunchy chick pea garnish
1 medium sized onion, diced
3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh parsley, plus 1/4 cup parsley leaves for the dressing
3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh cilantro
1 1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes, plus 1 teaspoon for the crunchy chick pea garnish
1 tablespoon white sesame seeds
4 cloves of garlic, minced plus one clove for the dressing
1 teaspoon ground cumin, plus one teaspoon for the crunchy chick pea garnish
1 teaspoon baking powder
4-7 tablespoons flour
Vegetable, peanut or another oil with a high smoke point for frying

1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
juice from one freshly squeezed small lime

1/2 cup sesame tahini
1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons honey
salt, to season

one pound mesclun (mixed greens)
6 ounces feta cheese, crumbled 

for the falafel

1. Place one can of the drained chickpeas and the diced onions in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a steel blade. Add the parsley, cilantro, salt, red pepper flakes, sesame seeds, garlic, and cumin. Pulse until well blended but not pureed. The mixture should still be slightly chunky.

2. Add the baking powder plus 4 tablespoons of the flour, and pulse until fully incorporated. The final result should be a ball of dough that is not runny and holds together well. Add additional flour if necessary to achieve this result. Transfer the dough to an oiled bowl, cover and refrigerate for at least three hours.

3. Once the falafel dough has chilled, form the dough into round balls slightly smaller than golf balls.

4. In a deep, heavy pot, a wok or a deep rondeau, heat about 3 inches of the oil to about 375 degrees. Fry 1 ball as a test and if it does not hold together during this process, gently toss the balls in a bit of flour until they are lightly coated, shaking off excess. Fry the falafel in batches, about 5 balls per batch for a few minutes on each side until they are golden brown. Drain falafel on paper towels. Reserve.

for the crunchy chick peas

5.  In a small bowl, combine the remaining 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes, 1 teaspoon cumin, 1/2 teaspoon cardamom and fresh lime juice. Mix well to fully incorporate.

6. In a heavy sauté pan, heat about two tablespoons of the oil until it is nearly smoking. Add the remaining can of chick peas to the oil and cook until they are heated through. This process will take between six to eight minutes. Tend to the chick peas during the entire cooking process, stirring gently every minute or so to prevent burning. Watch them closely and do not let them burn. They will start to brown to a deep golden color and will puff up.

7. Transfer the chick peas to a large bowl and immediately toss them with the lime spice mixture. Allow to cool completely before serving.

for the dressing

8. Combine the remaining parsley and garlic clove along with the tahini, lemon juice, olive oil and honey in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a steel blade. Mix until pureed. Adjust dressing with salt and additional lemon juice if a more acidic result is desired.

to assemble the salad

9. In a large bowl, toss the mesclun with the dressing, reserving a bit of the dressing to drizzle over the assembled salads. On four plates, portion out the greens, sprinkle each with the crunchy chick peas and the feta, divide the falafel among them, and drizzle with a little dressing.

Yield: about twenty falafel balls and four portions of salad 

 

Notes:

Tahini is sesame paste that is now widely available in most supermarkets and gourmet food stores. It is also available in Middle Eastern specialty food stores.