Scary people are descending upon my house today to eat lunch. I’m not cooking for them. My ‘hood contains one of those dive corner grocery stores, a place where a person can duck in and come out ten minutes later with a paper-wrapped hunk of goodness.
A falafel. Fried chick pea stuffed pitas with salad and sauce – a combination that leaves me happily burping the afternoon away in memory. It is heaven from the moment I try to cram the ginormous thing into my mouth to the late exquisite bite.
I used to feel that way about them. Now, I’m not so sure. Since some hideous spoiler of all things delightful told me that falafels contain cilantro, I have been frightened of going in there and ordering one.
My sickened obsession about it was bothersome enough that MTM threw up his hands and walked around there to ask if their concoction contained any devil weed bits. Their answer: sometimes.
Sometimes? You mean to tell me I MAY have consumed the devil weed in microcosmic fragments as part of enjoying a falafel from Charlie’s Grocery? And, I didn’t know it, didn’t spew it forth from my mouth and refuse to have any more of it, let alone eat the whole corrupted thing?
They say that – when they have cilantro, which is rare – they put it in the chick pea mixture before they fry it into little balls. No one would admit how often they have it, or whether the one I ate two bites of on Saturday contained any.
I guess if I’ve been consuming cilantro for years as part of my Charlie’s falafel addiction, the joke is on me. Maybe it really is proof that frying anything to smithereens makes it edible.
Too Much is Just Enough: Falafels from Charlie’s Grocery