You can take the girl out of Lebanon...

...but you can’t take Lebanon out of the girl.

Truth be told, I’ve never stepped foot in the homeland. And to be fair, I can’t really call Lebanon my homeland either, given that I’m only a quarter Lebanese. Even so, over the years I seem to have identified more with that 25 percent than the other 75. I’ve considered the following possibilities for said phenomenon: 1) My family has been rather unclear about what exactly comprises that other 75% (I’m under the impression it’s mostly German, maybe some English?), whereas the 25% Lebanese is a done deal, no question marks. I take comfort in this certainty. 2) It’s more interesting to tell people that I’ve got Middle Eastern heritage than to say I’m composed of the expected European hodgepodge. 3) I look Lebanese(ish). I tend not to believe this one, although as aforementioned, documentation has proven my resemblance to the Lebanese ancestors. Furthermore, when I was in college, several people told me I looked “exotic”, to which I would laugh and tell them they were mistaken - I was just from Washington. 4) I love Lebanese food.

Let’s focus on #4. In fact, I can’t seem to get Lebanese food off the brain. Of course I’m blaming all of this on the family reunion we had last weekend. That hot Lebanese blood of mine has been surging through my veins for the last seven days, begging me to do something about it. The clatter kitchen is ready and willing.

Anyone who has traveled in foreign lands knows that nothing captures the essence of a culture quite like street food. The thing is, I really don’t know that much about Lebanon or its food, but I’d love to travel there someday. Until I do, I’ve had to gather all my information regarding its food from Lebanese restaurants (remember: the shadier the establishment and the more it resembles a hole-in-the-wall in the heart of Beirut, the closer it will taste to the real thing), those family members who are still living and knowledgeable about traditional fare (I’m still waiting for my grandmother to reveal to me the secrets of her famous stuffed grape leaves), and from the internet. Quick research today revealed that the two most popular street foods in Lebanon are falafel and shawarma.

I’ve had both beef and lamb shawarma, and it’s divine. For those who aren’t familiar, shawarma is the Middle Eastern version of the Greek gyro – meat from a spit is shaved and made into a wrap. As much as I’d love to have a spit plastered from the ceiling in my kitchen, dangling a hunk of lamb or beef that I could ever so delicately shave to create unforgettable shawarma, I’ve come to terms with the fact that this dream may have to be put on hold, at least until I’m a homeowner. While there’s no explicit language in my lease regarding spit installations in the kitchen area (I checked), the implications that this type of activity is prohibited are still evident (ok, I didn’t really check).

I would love to tackle lamb in some form someday because it’s so frequently used in Lebanese food, but tonight it just didn’t feel right (there’s also something unsettling to me about fixing lamb for a party of one). Since shawarma off the spit was also not happening, I figured my best bet would be to attempt the falafel. I didn’t have one particular recipe in mind, but I knew that I shouldn’t make it up since I’ve never made it before and didn’t really know what was in it besides chickpeas and a bunch of spices. I made it up anyway. After looking over a few recipes, I decided I didn’t feel like following anything. So I threw a can of chickpeas (i.e. garbanzo beans), a few cloves of garlic, salt, pepper, ground coriander, cumin, smoked paprika, cayenne, and fresh parsley, and hit the button on the food processor. What’s the worst that could happen?

I let the mixture refrigerate for an hour (I learned this from my research) and then formed little patties with it. Here’s my clatter confession du jour: I didn’t deep fry the falafel. I know, I know – it’s not a falafel if it’s not deep fried! But I just couldn’t find it in my heart to do it on this particular occasion. This was not the best move - while I still had plenty of oil in the pan on high heat to cook it through, the consistency was off. At least the flavor was still there.

As I’ve already revealed, I haven’t had a ton of experience in the Lebanese culinary realm, but before tonight, I’ve made a few things, the most repeated by far being tabouli (also spelled tabbouleh or taboule or tabooli. I don’t know which one is considered correct). I’ve heard some people complain that tabouli is too much parsley and not enough of anything else. There has been some debate amongst family members in terms of the bulgur wheat to parsley ratio – some think the bulgur should have a strong presence in the salad, while others believe that it should hardly make an appearance. For the record, I am Team Parsley. As far as I’m concerned, the parsley is the star. It’s what I love about tabouli – the striking parsley flavor creates a wonderful salad that’s light, fresh, and has just enough zing that it accompanies any Middle Eastern style protein perfectly. The bulgur wheat is important too, and I’m not a huge fan of tabouli that uses it so sparingly that you hardly know it’s there. The key is to find the balance, but when it doubt, use more parsley and less bulgur. Now you know my position on The Great Tabouli Dilemma. I believe settling this conundrum is the first step in bringing peace to the Middle East.

I’ve made several versions of tabouli over the years, adding and subtracting items as I have seen fit. I don’t think there’s any need for exactness (albeit I’ve provided slight guidelines below to be helpful), just make sure that you constantly taste-test as you’re making it. Excellent chopping skills don’t hurt either. I suppose you could cheat and use a food processor, but what’s the fun in that? Tabouli not only provides a delicious and healthy alternative to another boring green salad, but it also allows you to perfect your knifing skills. So sharpen your chef’s knife and get to work! Here’s the version I made tonight. The longer the tabouli sits, the longer the bulgur and parsley have to drink up all those delicious flavors.

AR’s Lebanese Tabouli
1 cup of water
1/2 bulgur wheat
1 bunch of parsley plus a little extra (I used mostly curly-leaf and a handful of flat-leaf for good measure)
handful of fresh mint, finely chopped
cucumber, tomato, red onion, all finely chopped (to put it in movie terms, these shouldn’t even get supporting cast billing – consider them only the extras)
fresh lemon juice of one lemon & a couple of tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt & freshly ground pepper

Boil salted water, take off heat, and add the bulgur. Cover until all water is gone (should take about 20 minutes). Refrigerate until you’re ready to make the rest of the salad. Chop all parsley and veggies. Whisk together the lemon juice and olive oil. Toss everything with the bulgur, and salt & pepper to taste. Let it sit for at least an hour (preferably much longer), and taste again before serving. My guess is you’ll need more lemon juice and salt.

To complete my meal tonight, I warmed a whole wheat Middle Eastern flatbread (TJs makes a good one) and whipped up some tzatziki (plain yogurt, chopped mint, lemon juice, diced cucumber, and S&P – I made this batch without garlic). Rolling a couple of spoonfuls of tabouli and falafel patties into the flatbread, I slathered it with tzatziki and a thin (ok fine, it was thick) layer of tahini, because my love for tahini runs deep.

You can imagine how messy this was to eat, but what’s street fare if it doesn’t get on your hands? Besides, after taking that first bite, my manners were the last thing on my mind. The only thing going through my head went something along the lines of: "Holy motherland, ص. لذيذ, شهي, طيب, نمير !!!!” For all you non-Arabic speakers out there, need a translation? That means “Delicious!!!” Just don’t ask me to say it out loud.