Besides being delicious, cooking a variety of cuisines is educational — you learn the quirks of the cuisine itself, and tricks and techniques from one cuisine can enhance the understanding of others. Take the fritter: practically every culture has its little fried ball of something, its croquette, pakora, hush puppy, etc. The methods for producing each are unique to the cultures — and individual cooks — that produce them. But cultures tend to be chauvinistic, assuming their way is the only way to fry. It’s a shame, because you can learn a lot about beignets from frying buñuelos.

Take two cultures not exactly known for their capacity to cooperate: Israel and Egypt. Israelis might fry up a mean latke — maybe one made of turnips, even — for the eight nights of Hanukkah, but believe that an Egyptian — especially if he happens to be a nationalist or an Islamist — would not be caught frying up those quintessentially Jewish treats that time of year. Instead, he’d probably head to the shop around the corner for some ta’amiya (think of falafel, but Egyptian), fried spheres of fava beans with herbs and spices, sandwiched in country bread with salad and tahini sauce.

I’ve always been disappointed with my homemade ta’amiya;  among other problems I can’t get the binder right. Bringing the frying oil to a high enough temperature helps (if it’s too low the fritters will disintegrate), but there needs to be something more. I’ve tried eggs, but it makes the ta’amiya too heavy. But my recent experience with turnip latkes got me thinking: they are bound with egg, true, but the egg is beaten with flour to form a batter that binds the shredded vegetables together. A batter would be perfect for holding ta’amiya together: a loose slurry of water and chickpea flour helped bind the ground favas and also made for a crisper crust. My best homemade ta’amiya yet, and I never would have arrived here if not for experimenting with other fritters.

Just to mix things up a bit more, we ate the patties topped with tzatziki sauce. Greeks, Israelis and Arabs, all working together toward a common goal — the ultimate fritter? Now there’s a vision for peace in the world.

Ta’amiya of Justice and Understanding

• 1# dried favas, soaked overnight and shelled to 2# 1¼oz
• .445 oz dill (~½ cup)
• .480 oz mint (~½ cup)
• 2.5 oz chickpea (gram) flour
• ¼ tsp baking soda
• 8 oz water
• 5 scallions (1.6 oz), thinly sliced on a bias
• 6 small carrots (4 oz), julienned fine (use a mandoline)
• 6 cloves garlic (1.155 oz), minced or crushed in a garlic press
• 1.5 tsp cumin (.1 oz)
• ¾ tsp coriander (.05 oz)
• 1/8 tsp cayenne (.01 oz)
• ¼ tsp black pepper (.025 oz)
• 1 Tbsp salt (.7 oz)
• Oil for frying

Working in small batches, process the  fava beans and the herbs together to a paste (I did three batches in my 6 cup food processor). In a large bowl, whisk together chickpea flour, baking soda and water. Mix in scallions, carrots, garlic, spices and salt. Knead in the fava bean mixture until well-distributed and homogenous.

Heat oil to 375ºF. Pinch off golf-ball sized clumps of the fava bean mixture, quickly roll the mixture into a sphere (technically they should be oblate, but I thought the spheres were attractive), and place it carefully in the oil. Repeat until the pot is full but not crowded. Fry until patties are a deep brown (the oil will have recovered to 375ºF at this point) then drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt. Continue frying in batches until the fava bean mixture is gone, periodically sampling the ta’amiya right out of the fryer to make sure they’re still good.

Serve with pita bread, greens, tomatoes if they are in seasons and tzatziki, tahini sauce, hummus, or any other sauce you feel culturally appropriate.

Martha and I celebrated our anniversary at Restaurant Alma last month. Alma is well-liked in Minneapolis and I’m not going to add my voice to the chorus by writing a review; suffice it to say that its reputation is deserved. Instead, I’ll just document our meal for your vicarious pleasure.

Course One: Parmesan Flan and Bison Tartare

I ordered the parmesan flan, which came with artichoke hearts, a kalamata spread, parmesan shavings and maple syrup. I have never had a savory flan before but I thought it was a great way to do flan—biting into the flan I got that perfect creamy texture and a cream flavor but without sweetness; then my mouth was suddenly flooded with the flavor of aged parmesan.  All of the garnishes on the plate are natural pairs with parmesan so I had a lot of fun constructing different bites. Martha’s bison tartare was very subtly flavored (at least from the bite I had) but was well completed by the salad of greens and radish matchsticks that came alongside, adding slight crunch and bite.

Course Two: Beet-Ricotta Ravioli and Black Bean Fritters

Each bite of beet-ricotta ravioli had a light beet flavor that wouldn’t be off putting even to beet-haters. Every other bite also featured the zing of horseradish; my coarse palate would’ve been happy with a much stronger presence for the horseradish but I’m sure the way it was prepared was much more refined. In any case, beets and horseradish is a great idea, as is adding prosciutto, which gave a burst of salt. And I’m just a sucker for ham. The black bean fritters were very reminiscent of falafel, maybe even southwestern falafel.

Course Three: Gently Cooked Trout

Normally I am reluctant to order the same dish as the people I am dining with but the description on the menu and our waitress’s hearty recommendation drew both Martha and me to the gently cooked trout. The trout was not only gently cooked, it was perfectly cooked—very moist and not flaky (when fish gets flaky it is overcooked, in this writer’s humble opinion). It came topped with a red wine reduction and a mushroom sauce that tasted strongly of ham hocks. I was at first a bit surprised by this combination because it seemed like such a hearty sauce would overpower the delicate fish, but as it turns out trout is remarkably earthy itself. The sauce, while definitely hammy, only butted up against the side of the fish without ever overwhelming it. I noticed this kind of restraint in all of the dishes—the cooks at Alma are real masters of subtlety.

Dessert: Marieke Super Aged Gouda

With the dregs of our bottle of cava to finish and no desire to move anywhere soon after such a delicious meal, we decided to order a cheese for dessert. Experience has led me to be skeptical about Wisconsin cheese, but the Marieke Super Aged Gouda was exceptional. It had deep flavor, reminding me more of an aged parmesan than the rubbery, milky gouda you tend to get around here (when your cheese budget is not what it should be).

We left with that feeling of perfect satisfaction that good restaurants are able to impart—not hungry, not full and already wistfully remembering each bite (several glasses of cava probably didn’t hurt our feelings of goodwill). Restaurant Alma is highly recommended.