In Search of...Falafel

I know, I know. Lately, between my job, The Book, and my busy social calendar I've taken to posting just once a week. Hopefully this will be remedied soon. In the meantime, here's a post on falafel:

When I first graduated from college I was employed as the stereotypical former-English-major-turned-waitress (don't even get me started on my current status as Master of English nanny...) I was living at home, nursing a broken heart, waxing about the previous summer I had spent in London and generally feeling, well, damn sorry for myself. I was working at a Mediterranean/Middle Eastern restaurant in West Hartford Center, where I served up lunch specials to very rich and very jobless women. It was hell. The only bright spot was the fact that the food was awesome. Especially the falafel sandwich.

The owner was from Israel, the unofficial falafel capital of the world (or maybe it's official now...) and took his chickpeas very seriously. Pita and hummus (or houmous, as he spelled it) were made in-house daily since he declared everything else to be shit. Or, as he pronounced it: Sheeet. This seems to be the key to a great falafel sandwich. It was so good I had to limit myself to just one a week, so my pants would still fit.

The restaurant and I ended up having a mutual break-up (long story) and it closed a year or so later. At first, I felt victorious. Then I realized I would never get to have their falafel again. Since then, I have searched for a falafel sandwich that measures up. But, after years of getting burned I had become bitter and suspicious. Then, on a rainy Sunday last week James and I visited Rami's in Coolidge Corner. I had heard good things and went in figuring I'd get a gyro or something. NOT falafel. But, I changed my mind as soon as I read the menu (Falafel sandwich with Houmous) and heard the familiar cadence of an Israeli accent. I knew we were in good hands.

Delicious falafel sandwich of my dreams? Is that really you?

From the first bite of that freshly baked pita, it was everything I had been looking for all these years. Was it as good as the other falafel sandwich? Not quite. But, perhaps thats the thing about food memories: Nothing is really as good as it was. Even still, I think I've found myself a new falafel joint. Pants, you're on notice.