For those of you living your best city lives, perhaps in your twenties or early thirties, wondering what middle age could be like I’ll just say that (if you’re lucky) one day its all inner city life, inner city pressure and the next it’s thank God I’m a country boy. Until a few months ago I’d never realised that there was a market for spoilt organic silage or that there was such great pleasure to be had in sliding bales off the back of a tilt tray.
I live for market garden content these days, I commented to Kirstie Marchant of Alberta’s this week, as I’ve followed along with the prep for their Presqîl and LOC collaboration in South Australia. Instagram, YouTube, books, podcasts, and any opportunity to have an actual conversation, I’m there. And while we’re not at the point of being glued to seed catalogues (that will come), these early stages of imagining and building the garden are ones to savour.
The last twelve months or so have been spent looking at, talking about, and even dreaming of this market garden. If I’m having trouble getting off to sleep, as has always been the case, I walk through it in my mind. Walking from the house (still to be built) and down the track to the gates that my nephews are already so keen to swing on. I imagine it in the early morning light, the beds in full swing growing wise. The soundtrack to it all is there from my solo visits when I’ll just stand and listen to the frogs in the creek over the bottom fence and to the birds as they squawk, chirp and call, swooping for unseen prey. The soporific qualities of meditative mental market gardening should not be underestimated.
There’s been much talk of Cocoon’s and whether to go 15 or 30 metre, and when. There’s been time spent listening to podcasts about Jang seeders, and lots of research and conversation about bed sizing. As I think I’ve written before, the reverence for compost is becoming almost ecclesiastical.
And then there’s the doing. Pacing the block with purpose and a tape measure, stakes and a mallet. A most satisfying pass time. Planning firebreaks, and where we’ll place a shed (for efficiency but also its outlook), composting bays, a fire pit, and the seeming mundanity of parking and turning circles. All up for discussion.
And then there’s the yet to be built fence within a fence. We’d wondered to ourselves whether we could get away without rabbit proofing the market garden, at least to begin with, such is the effort and expense of it. Sometimes you have to ask the stupid questions, or at least the questions that you kind of know the answer to, but want to be told that you have to do the hard thing. So, do you think we need to rabbit proof, we’d ask old-hands. A pause, the wrinkle of a forehead, rye smile, or just a laugh are all answers in themselves.
Fadi Kattan’s Falafel from Bethlehem, A Celebration of Palestinian Food
I’ve written before about the books that come across my desk. There are, I’ve realised, a few tests as to whether they’re keepers. I’ll collect them from the Post Office and open them in the car. If they spark roadside reading then that’s a very good sign. I confess, some go onto what can only be described as a slush pile. Then, returning home if they pique Sarah’s interest, again that is, for me, a further endorsement. She has an (almost) infallible radar on these matters.
Bethlehem scored big on those two fronts. There will be more recipes in coming weeks as I’ve a few more extracts to send your way before this beautiful book is released here in Australia on 17th May (it may well be released wherever you are, so please do buy a copy).
But I had to start with falafel, as it’s so often a talking point in our house. Sarah’s infallibility stretches to taste, and while I’ve been known to let a mediocre falafel slide, she is having none of that shit. I won’t get into the family tree but there’s a line to all things Levantine and Mediterranean.
©Ashley Lima
Falafel is an essential Palestinian street food. You can find it on the corner of every street at every time of the day, offered both in little restaurants and by street vendors. Worldwide, it has become a vegan snack par excellence.
The best falafel for me are made at Afteem’s, a restaurant in Bethlehem that specializes in falafel, houmous, musabaha, and ful. The Salameh family, owners of Afteem, were expelled from Jaffa in 1948 by Israel. Having arrived in Bethlehem as refugees, their grandfather sought a livelihood and opened a little stall making falafel on Star Street. They quickly built a reputation for making the best falafel in town. Since then, the restaurant has grown into three locations, and the secret to their success is both their recipes and the fact that they concentrate on making only a few key dishes they are known for.
I started making falafel during the pandemic, when under lockdown there was no way to indulge in the delightful houmous and falafel of Afteem.
160 g / 1 cup dried chickpeas, soaked in water to cover overnight and drained
20 g / ½ cup flat-leaf parsley, leaves and stems, finely chopped
20 g / ½ cup fresh coriander (cilantro) leaves and stems, finely chopped
½ onion
2 garlic cloves
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ tablespoon chickpea flour (optional)
Water (optional)
Vegetable oil, for frying
MAKES 20 FALAFEL
Grind the chickpeas in a food processor. Add the parsley, fresh coriander, onion, garlic, cumin, ground coriander, salt, and baking soda to the food processor and process until you have a consistency that is close to the texture of wet sand but still a bit coarse.
Transfer the mixture to a bowl, cover, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
If the mixture is too wet to form into patties, add the chickpea flour. If it’s too dry to hold together, add a couple of teaspoons of water.
The best way to form the falafels is to use a falafel scooper, which you can find online. Alternatively, you can form them by hand. Form balls of the falafel mixture, then flatten them a bit so the sides are thinner than the centre. Place on a baking sheet. Into a deep frying pan, pour about 8 cm / 3 inches of vegetable oil and heat to 180°C / 350°F.
Working in batches, slide the falafel patties into the hot oil and fry for 1 to 2 minutes, until they turn golden on the outside and are cooked on the inside. Scoop them out with a spider or slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels.
Serve the falafel with houmous, shawarma, tahinia dip, and shatta. Sahtain!
This is an edited extract from Bethlehem by Fadi Kattan (Hardie Grant Books, RRP AUD $55). Available in stores nationally from 17 May 2024.
I live and write on Wadandi Boodja, home to the Wadandi people, Traditional Owners of this corner of south west Australia. Saltwater people, their connection to land and sea is deep, and continuous. I acknowledge their elders past, present and emerging.
I love Kattan’s book - can’t wait to cook from it
Here for the Goldie reference, and for the falafel recipe. Very few falafels keep my attention, but as a fairly recent vegetarian I’ve got to keep on trying. Will give this recipe a go. Thank you 🙏🏻