All Roads Lead to the Falafel Stand
When I was drunk off my ass at some random bar in the Lower East Side last night, making eyes at the hot (or so he seemed at the time) bartender all sloppy-like, inevitably my stomach started to crave falafel. The crunch of the lettuce, the slight sting of the onion, the tahini sauce, oh the tahini sauce…all for around four dollars.
At that moment, oh around 3:30 in the AM, my world seemed to revolve around getting my newly painted mitts (inky violet with sparkles, so hot) on one of those Middle Eastern delights. I was like a junkie or something.
Luckily I could easily get my fix around the corner, because there just happens to be a falafel place in a one block radius of any given point in Manhattan, even in Chinatown I suspect, although I have yet to test this particular thesis. This convenience makes them the perfect drunk food. Sure falafel doesn’t have the melted cheese + marinara sauce appeal of a slice of pizza but those mildly spiced chick-peas…orgasmic.
Actually, I don’t want to start calling them orgasmic. It’s an overused term; I already fake enough orgasms shaking the sheets without having to moan while licking tahini off my fingers. I actually don’t lick my fingers either, I ride the subway after all, it just sounded good to be sucking on your fingers while moaning you know?
All this lying on my part is shameful. I would repent but until they start serving vodka tonics instead of cheap wine at my church back in Alaska, I will not be confessing with any sort of regularity any time soon. I’m a terrible person, so sue me.
But back to falafels. Wikipedia, or as I like to call it, my lover, describes the noble falafel as a “fried ball or patty made from spiced fava beans and/or chickpeas. Invented by the Egyptian bedoins, it has become a popular form of fast food in the Arab East, where it is also served as mezza (snack).”
Most famous for being the drunk food of one Mary from Dartmouth, who is most frequently seen stumbling all over herself and spilling iceberg lettuce over various falafel stands in downtown Manhattan. The world “falafel” is the plural of the Arabic word” فلفل,” meaning “pepper.”
Ah Wikipedia, without you filling my head with useless shit I might actually still be able to do long division by hand instead of turning to the calculator on my b-side Dell. I do know that falafel means pepper and that’s the only thing that matters right? I can get myself a 5th grader off that gameshow to do my math for me.
So speaking of falafel, how many calories will one of these babies set you back? I’m so lame, thin but lame. If you’re a crazy calorie counter like myself, you might be interested to know it’s 450 and 10 grams of fat. For comparison’s sake, one serving of pepperoni pizza has about 350, give or take and about 14 grams of fat. None of this stuff has standardized sizing so these are only estimates of course.
Keep in mind that all drunk food is a write-off. If you can’t remember eating it, then it never happened. Your jeans are tighter? It was the washing machine. A little self-delusion never hurt anybody. I say drink more and eat up; a falafel waits for no man.