Is this the best falafel in Europe?

I’ve come to Paris for a falafel sandwich. Of all the reasons to come to Paris, right? But this particular sandwich comes highly recommended. “My favourite meal in Paris” is how Natalie Portman describes it. Rocker Lenny Kravitz is a fan. Vanessa Paradis too. According to one American newspaper, L’As du Fallafel (“The Falafel Ace”) at 34 Rue des Rosiers in the Jewish quarter of Le Marais, where this sandwich can be found, is the destination, not only in Paris but in Europe.

Since falafel originated in the Middle East, it’s become a delicious and accessible staple (in terms of price and dietary restrictions) around the world. L’As du Fallafel was opened in 1979 by a Franco-Israeli couple who moved to Paris from Israel. Here you can dine inside at tightly packed tables and order from a more extensive menu that includes merguez sausage, schnitzel, grilled chicken and shawarma. Or queue outside, placing your order with a cashier and handing your chit to the guys manning the hatch before eating your sandwich on the street.

No cabbage. This is not a texture that makes sense in a falafel sandwich. And French fries? Horrible

This raises an important question. How best to consume a falafel sandwich? “It’s street food,” London-based Palestinian chef Sami Tamimi insists. “You shouldn’t be sitting.” His favourite London spots include Hiba Street off Tottenham Court Road, Beit El Zaytoun in Park Royal, and Mr Falafel in New Shepherd’s Bush Market. “Standing up, yes,” clarifies Franco-Palestinian chef Fadi Kattan of Akub in west London, “but not walking around. Falafel sandwiches are not something you eat innocently while window shopping. You have to be able to enjoy that pleasure totally. That means eating it there in front of that shop.” In London, you can find him outside Mayyil in Notting Hill or else Afteem in his hometown of Bethlehem.

When I arrive at L’As du Fallafel at lunchtime on a Thursday, there’s a modest queue. At weekends this grows significantly longer. The area is home to a number of other falafel joints including King Falafel Palace and the original Paris branch of Israeli chain Miznon. Patrons might be tempted to skip the wait at L’As du Fallafel and visit one of these instead. But the online consensus warns against this, as does L’As du Fallafel’s motto: “Toujours imité, jamais égalé.” Much copied, never equalled. 

What makes the best falafel sandwich? It starts with the falafel. These should be deep-fried, not oven-baked (“Oven-baked is a disaster,” says Kattan); crispy on the outside and soft inside. Typically made from dried chickpeas with garlic and herbs, you also find versions made with broad beans. These Egyptian-style falafel might properly be called ta’ameya. Other versions use a combination of chickpeas and broad beans. Falafel by Dunja Gulin (Ryland Peters & Small, £14.99) includes those made from chickpeas as well as others from sweet potato, mushrooms and tofu – though many would downgrade these to “vegetarian fritters”. Baking soda or bicarbonate are fixtures. Sesame seeds are a welcome optional for added crunch. 

Toppings are a matter of personal preference. “The ideal sandwich has tahini, pickles, onions and falafel,” says Kattan. “People add chopped cucumber and tomatoes. I don’t. I feel the liquid spoils the crispiness of the falafel. If you want a bit more decadence, add a spoonful of hummus. But it stops there. No cabbage. This is not a texture that makes sense in a falafel sandwich. And French fries? Horrible.” Imad Alarnab of Imad’s Syrian Kitchen similarly despairs of the myriad options that have become popular: “We never had avocado in the Middle East. And why do you need fried aubergine? Too much.” 

Is it though? The “falafel special” at L’As du Fallafel costs €10. It comprises a thick, warm pitta filled with sesame-studded falafel, salted cucumber, hummus and tahini and, yes, pickled red and white cabbage and fried aubergine. “You want spicy,” the man says; not so much a question as a recommendation as he ladles on harissa sauce and passes me the bulging paper package and extra napkins.

Having eaten enough bad falafels I know this is something special. Hot, crispy fritters, sharp crunchy salad, lashings of sauce, and sweet squishy aubergine. Standing in a nearby doorway, I devise a plan of attack. It’s not straightforward. “There’s no way of tackling a falafel sandwich that is not messy,” Kattan explains. Don’t I know it? Chin forward, fingers dripping, shirt and trousers at perpetual risk of splatter, pavement a Jackson Pollock-in-progress of saucy splashes, and pigeons scavenging for dislodged salad. It’s a hot mess. And worth it.

@ajesh34