planet falafel

I never understood trainspotting, but now that I’ve been to Falafel Station, it all makes sense. I’d be there all day with my tripod set up, and my camera focussed on the fryer. Falafel on the rails: call it rolling stock. Is that halloumi coming in on platform 7? Tempting as it might be, don’t swallow it whole! Remember to choo, choo, choo.

I should be clear, Falafel Station doesn’t have anything to do with trains. Sometimes I just write things. It’s not really a restaurant, either, more of an open window on the street, but it has a sofa. Feels a bit like you’re in the guy’s living room. You can work up an appetite trying to finish your website about falafel, and a few minutes on a stranger’s sofa while you wait for your wrap is just what you need. Five stars.

It’s been a long time coming. Back in June, I had big plans to go to Greco, but I showed up five minutes after they closed, and I had to go to Falafel King. This time, I came early, and brought a few friends.

Dragging someone along to a falafel shop is like playing a song for them. If you’ve heard the song before, it’s excruciating to share it. What if they don’t like it? Does that mean that you have awful taste? That you don’t understand music? That you’re fundamentally, in your heart of hearts, a bad person?

But if you haven’t heard the song before, you have plausible deniability on your side. You and your friend are both on the same adventure. If it’s bad falafel, you’re just as wronged as they are. And if it’s great? Well, there’s nothing better than a miracle among friends.

Anyway, Greco was alright. I am glad I went with friends. I am glad I got there before they closed. I am glad I was saved from another Falafel King. Five stars.

They keep on trying to give me a Coca Cola with my wrap. Five stars.

Suddenly, you notice. When did the birds stop singing? When did all the squirrels come down from the trees? Something is coming. You can feel it in the air.

The breeze has been cut. The shadows are tilting, fogged and muddy, crescent penumbras scattered on the pavement like the toenails of gods. The sky is getting darker. You look up, and are gripped by primordial fear. The world is falling dark. The endless night is here. There is a shadow across the sun. You take one last bite of your wrap, a scrumptious thing from Kippatu Ltd, and raise your eclipse glasses, and you see it. Cosmic falafel, as wide as the moon, backlit by stellar corona, blotting out the sun. The sky is dark; no stars. The falafel in your hand, though, is a comfort to your reptilian anxiety, warm and lovely. The sun will come again, and so will you. Five stars.

Damascus Bride? Wish I was the groom! Maybe then I’d marry in to a family of falafel, and learn to forge a wrap so layered and loved, a wrap which moves as one, through the darkness, at the end of a weary day, onto my plate. Five stars.

The decor of the place suggests the falafel is really good. The latitude suggests it is not. I think perhaps there are cities with good falafel, and cities without. As a man with a wrap map, I feel an obligation to eat falafel wherever I am. Anything for the map, after all. But sometimes the falafel tastes like couscous and the chilli sauce tastes like ketchup. A learning experience. Five stars.

I suppose a Scottish beach cafe has different standards for falafel. On those standards, it was pretty good. I’m not writing home about Scottish beach cafe falafel, but I do have to put it on my wrap map. Five stars.

I was very cold on a Thursday after dark and falafel is a warming food. I wouldn’t call it great, but I would call it warming! Five stars.

This is a good place to go when you’re on your way back from an ill-fated comedy night, where you laughed more out of relief than out of joy. Comedy is tension and release, and you mostly just felt tension. You don’t know why the host kept saying that thing about his sister, why one comedian started with “I have an Indian wife” and one spoke entirely about porn stars, but you do know, as you shoot off on your bicycle, that you could do with dinner. Yum! Tension, and release: Five stars.

Look, it was a bad night, but the falafel you had beforehand was really good. You have to leave your bias at the door when you’re reviewing falafel. Five stars.

This is the place that everyone recommends when you say you’re looking for falafel in Bristol. It’s the kind of place that people refer to as an institution. And it deserves it. Some falafel wraps are only good in the dark of night, when you’re littered with hunger or swamped in alcohol, but this falafel is good all hours of the day. Eat a pitta? Anytime. Five stars.

As the sun was starting to set, on that warm summer Thursday, I dropped my bag at the guesthouse, put on my running shoes, and started towards the river. As I started off, I had one thought in my mind: Greco, a falafel shop that closed at 11. I hadn’t had dinner, and my plan was to run for a while down the Avon, cross the suspension bridge at Clifton, and fly down the hill to my post-run prize, my Levantine feast.

The run was a good one. Earlier that day, I’d been told stories about thieves who would lie in wait in the shadows of the bridges and trees, and string steel cables across the path to clothesline cyclists and take their bikes. This was a decade ago or longer, I was told, but the mind is made for thinking, and the eyes are made for gazing into the corners of the night.

I ran fast. I ran propelled by shadows and by the visage of Greco, of the object of my salivation, that falafel salvation. I ran through the starlit woods, watched by foxes, and over the suspension bridge, watched by the gulls, and down through Clifton, watched by the students. Greco in my mind, Greco in my mind, with each footfall there was Greco in my mind. And then it was Greco in front of me, warm and lit and full of people and the door was—

The door was shut and the security gate was halfway down. The man inside caught my eye, shook his head. The clock on the wall said 11:05.

I went across the road to Falafel King, then, with a mind full of guillotines. Sometimes, anticipation is better than the real thing. Five stars.

There was a fried egg in my wrap. An egg is a treat for a weary boy like me. I shlepped through the heat of the high sun to Dame Emily Park, and I ate my falafel there, in sycamore shade, as the dogs chased their balls and the church bells rang. Five stars.

World’s best falafel? It might be true. The chef is deaf and the dog has a gall stone and the wrap was as long as my arm (almost). The guy on the radio was talking about class warfare and everything smelled so good and I carried my wrap like I may one day carry my baby to the nearby park, to the shady, dew-licked grass, and I let out a sigh and wiggled my toes and commenced the gymnastic endeavour of eating it. Five stars.

Consolation falafel, when you’re down on your luck, when you’re feeling like you could have done more. When you just missed your train, forced to wait for the bus, try not think about how the falafel you’re eating is the reason you missed it. Consolation falafel costs £9 and all the time spent waiting for a bus that won’t come, all the while thinking that you could be in bed. This is falafel for to wipe away tears: Five stars.

Last-ditch falafel, my final chance before the Eurostar, and boy howdy did it deliver. On my last day in Paris, I found great falafel. Très bien. Five stars.

There is a concept in architecture called compression and release. The idea is that a small, tight, claustrophobic space, like a narrow hallway or a low-ceilinged foyer, will make a larger room feel even bigger, grander, even more expansive. This is the role of Hawa Beirut. A small, tight, frankly disappointing falafel experience in the morning is perfect for making the afternoon’s falafel, a few blocks away, feel all the more magical. Five stars.

There is a stall in this market with a sign that says “falafel”, because that is something they sell. I tried it. I am glad I did, because it reminded me that not all falafel is incredible. It reminded me to be grateful when good falafel comes my way. It was thankfulness falafel. Perspective falafel. Five stars.

Delightfully small falafel! Little marbles all clumped together like protons and neutrons - nothing’s the Matter with these little guys. Yum yum! Five stars.

This place has a reputation! If you mention you’re going to Paris, chances are slim you’ll get recommended the Louvre, or Notre-Dame, or the Eiffel Tower. In my experience, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you’ll be told to go to L’As du Fallafel. Apparently, the lines are long. Apparently, the falafel is incredible. Apparently, it’s a cultural icon.

I wish the line was longer. I wish I had to struggle more for my falafel. But the line was quick, and the people were friendly, and the falafel was unoffensive. At L’As du Falafel, I reached neither the highs nor the lows of human experience. Some things are only gritty on the outside. But now I can say that I’ve been. Now I can say that I’ve taken a bite out of the middle of the France-Falafel venn diagram. Five stars.

Tabbouleh? In a falafel wrap? I should expect this kind of luxury, on Oxford street. Call it a falafel hotel: Five stars.

I have bought enough falafel wraps in my life (and am privileged to have done so) that I think £9.99 is an absurd amount of money. Apparently, £9.99 is the deal price. They’re not normally this cheap. That being said, the falafel was a-ok and the fillings were fresh and flavourful and generally pleasant upon the tongue. And anyway, £9.99 for a full meal in the center of the center of London isn’t too bad, I guess. They probably pay a lot for rent. Five stars.

I’d been in Spain for a week when I had this falafel wrap, and it was the first spicy thing I’d found. Why is it so hard for a little guy to get a little kick in the taste buds? Five stars.

¡Guao! ¡Bien sabroso! Qué magnifico este falafel. Cinco estrellas.

I’m not sure how to reconcile this encounter with my previous falafel experiences. It wasn’t like any wrap I’ve had before. The hummus made it creamy, like an egg salad sandwich, and the pita folded funny, half-circular, like a pasty. The falafel was in a bowl in the deli counter and my hopes were not high but they were certainly exceeded! A new experience. Five stars.

Wow! Salvation falafel for the Semana Santa! I haven’t had falafel this good in a long time. A cross-cultural miracle! And God said: let there be falafel. No more patatas bravas for me. Call it Amazing Grace: I was hungry / but now I’m full. Five stars.

Bog-standard falafel. Regulation falafel. ISO falafel. Nothing special about this falafel, but when you have a wrap map, you have to say something. The most unusual part of this falafel wrap was that the paper stuck to the bread, and I ended up eating some of the paper. Not in a bad way. I kind of liked it? Five stars.

Great falafel in Shrewsbury? It’s probably about as common as you think (not very), but this place is rare. Rarified. This is a place of lip-lick falafel, sock-off falafel, revelation falafel. A falafel wrap good enough to blow the mind of a brass gourmet. A falafel wrap holy enough to make a pirate praise the lord. A falafel wrap strong enough to blow a brigantine all the way to Tonga. This falafel really sets the soul on fire. Really wiggles the wheels. Really whacks the mole. Really punches the monkey. Falafel wrap so good I’m making up phrases. Five stars.

It’s not a good idea to get your hopes up, unless you’re getting your hopes up about Falafel & Shawarma London. It took me a full year to make it this far south after it was recommended to me, and it was a full year of unbridled excitement, a full year of ceaseless anticipation, which is the best sauce. I was not disappointed. Get yours with aubergine. Five stars.

Another round! Put it on my tab at the old falafel bar. Yum yum. Five stars.

Good sauce? Unsure. Savior on a Tuesday night when all the other restaurants are closed. Five stars.

Ok, look. I didn’t actually have a falafel wrap here. I was pulled astray by the siren song of the falafel plate, which had a lot going on. All sorts of hummus, something yogurty. A falafel spa, many different sauces and spreads, all kinds of places for a falafel to take a dip. I imagine it most refreshing. Yum! Five stars.

This is a good place to go after a morning run, and also after a night out. I never saw the door not open. It’s a kind of salvation, slices of aubergine this big, like the moon in the sky come to bring you back to life. The Falafella Specific wrap is the most exciting. Definitely specific. I don’t know what was in it, but there was nothing I would have added to it, and nothing I would have taken away. Kind of the perfect experience. Five stars.

It’s a little far from where you’re staying, but it’s worth the walk, even more so than other falafel (which is always worth a walk). The falafel is warm and soft and basically jumps into your mouth. You can get a falafel wrap and loose falafel in a beautiful little bowl. You can get a bowl of hummus, maybe the best hummus you’ve ever had, with whole cashews and little lake of melted butter in the middle. Why hadn’t you thought to pour melted butter over a bowl of hummus? This is why Icarus fell from the sky, maybe: too much of a good thing. Five stars.

They can’t all be winners. Maybe London and Milwaukee are apples and oranges. Maybe this is just what a falafel wrap is like in the cold Midwest. Maybe there’s no such thing as good and bad. Maybe it’s just a matter of accepting our differences. Five stars.

It is like coming out of the desert. It is like seeing land, after so many days at sea. The electric sign blinks. You’re driving past, read Toucan Food & Custard, and then it blinks again, and you read Falafel & Shawarma. Falafel? Here? Falafel, at a custard stand in Port Washington, Wisconsin, USA? Salvation arrives in unlikely forms. You screech to a halt, the car whips around. Inside, you are giddy. You watch the tv behind the counter, a carousel of pictures of everything on offer. They have sloppy joes. They have gyro fries. They have ice cream sundaes, baba ghanoush, mini corn dogs, 15 kinds of banana splits, a Lake Perch dinner, a chicken fajita wrap combo, a pizza burger, and, of course, falafel. You can hardly contain yourself. You order and sit and watch the tv. And then you are the proud new holder of a falafel wrap. It is warm. It is wonderful. It’s probably as good as you’re going to get, here in Wisconsin, USA. Five stars.

Take a friend. Make him drive. Order a falafel wrap for yourself, because of this map, a falafel plate for him, because he can’t eat gluten, and a side of tabbouleh, because you like to have fun sometimes. The day is cold; ask for tea. When your food is ready, and you’re done ogling the trays of homemade baklava, the jars of beans, the boxes and boxes of scoop-your-own tea-by-the-pound, leave that palace of incandescence. Drive around the corner, and sit on the bleachers in Kilmer Park, shivering, watching the empty baseball field like you’re two male leads in a coming-of-age film, passing the tea back and forth to warm your fingers. Open the bag: there’s a paper bundle, for you, and a plastic container, for him. As it turns out, the falafel plate is just a falafel wrap with fries, so eat your wrap and watch your friend pick the falafel out of the bread with the spork you keep in your backpack. When he’s done, you can use the strips of his leftover pita as tabbouleh spoons. Your fingers are too cold, and you drop tabbouleh on the ground, but most of it makes it into your mouth. Five stars.

This is the taste of despair. You came for a camera - all this way for a camera - and you didn’t even find it. They sold it before you arrived. You are spit back onto the street, and as the thick door of the camera shop slams behind you, it starts to rain. You are the image of desperation. You are a fool. Why did you come here? Why did you think that things would work out? You walk the garish streets, rain on your nose, rain on your glasses, rain down the back of your neck. The cars kick puddles onto your boots. You try to find shelter, but there is none, and so you wander. You walk along the river, watch the rain pat down the rippling eddies, glance into back gardens where patio furniture sits, empty, dripping. and into the windows of home offices, where the backs of computer monitors obscure all but the tops of heads and typing fingers. Your trousers are soaked, and you can barely see through your glasses, and you find yourself, all of the sudden, grabbing the handle of a door, and pulling, and then you are inside, and you wipe your eyes and ask for a falafel wrap with halloumi.

Despair! You are hungry, concavely, but the train is sooner, and you run off, falafel in hand, towards the station. On the train, you stand in the door, too self-conscious to eat your wrap. You’ll have it when you get to Waterloo, you think, but half an hour later you are off the train, running down to the Northern Line, and then you are home, and your wrap is hours old, and why on Earth haven’t you eaten it yet? And you take off your wet trousers and hang them over your bed frame and, shivering in cold and hollow hunger, you sit down and eat your falafel. This is the taste of salvation. Five stars.

You can choose between adding aubergine or cauliflower to your falafel wrap, which starts a war in the mind so large it’s hard to remember which way is up anymore. You can tumble in your indecision for hours, as happy people come and go with their happy wraps, or you can do what I did, which was to choose aubergine, because it was listed first on the chalkboard sign. I’m sure the cauliflower would have been good too, but the aubergine was really good. Yum yum! It’s a tasty life, having an abundance mindset. Five stars.

Ride your bicycle north, east, range far beyond your usual tramping grounds. Enter the forest, lose yourself in the trees and spin your wheels in the mud. Cold, hungry, crawl on two wheels to Walthamstow, where falafel awaits. Cavernous stomach, hungry eyes. Good falafel. This is why you own a bicycle. Five stars.

Here you can sit and watch the cats and order falafel, even though there are more interesting things on the menu, because you have a Wrap Map, and your Wrap Map is hungry for more.

It’s not great falafel, but it’s a great place to sit. Five stars.

Go here on your first day, before your friends arrive, because of a review you read on The Street Food Guy Dot Com. Find the neon sign that says “Falafel”, and ask for some. It’s nothing special, but, as you’re leaving, you spot something down the street. It’s another falafel restaurant! And it looks a lot more like the pictures you saw on The Street Food Guy Dot Com. Only problem? You’re already full!

Come back on the last day, and bring your friends. Tell them about The Street Food Guy Dot Com, and tell them how excited you are to try the real best falafel in Marrakesh, not the falafel next to the real best falafel in Marrakesh. Order your falafel, salivate in expectation, take a bite, and realize it’s the exact same falafel that you had four days ago. It’s the same restaurant. Oh well. Five stars.

TCR might stand for Totally sCRumptious, but, after looking at the prices, it could also stand for That’s CRazy. If I didn’t have a map for falafel I never would have taken out the mortgage required to eat here. But what did I expect? It’s a permanent stall on Tottenham Court Road. Five years of loan repayments? Five stars.

Go Falafel, but maybe go away from the wrap and get the bowl. There was nothing despicable to me about this falafel, but like Gru’s trousers, the wrap is too small and it squeezes everything out of the top and onto your own trousers. Five stars.

There’ll be Warren on the Street when they run out of falafel, I’ll tell you that much. Five stars.

This is a good place to go when you run all the way to far Wimbledon with the hope of falafel firm in your mind but when you arrive you find the stand of your fantasies closed, shuttered, dusty and weather-worn. There is no falafel to be had in Wimbledon this day. But do not dispair! For the train you take to get home brings you to Waterloo station, and Waterloo station means Semoorg Falafel. All is well. Five stars.

I call it a success, this first falafel foray into international wraps. Fil fil up my belly with American falafel, I guess. My map’s gone multinational, and anyway aren’t we all just living on a big ball of falafel spinning cosmic around the sun? What a world: garbonzo asteroids, red-onion rings around a green-olive moon. A dash of milky tahini across the infinite sky. Call it a constellation: Five stars.

Très délicieux, ce wrap du falafel. Cinq étoiles.

Wow! Falafel as pillowy as the clouds above. I would get the best sleep of my life on a bed of this falafel. Five stars.

Wow! Falafel in a little cave. They have all sorts of other fun wraps, but when you have a falafel map, you feel compelled to get falafel. Next time I will get something else. Exciting! Five stars.

The bread they use for their wraps is very thin and very strong. Good tensile strength. Flexural strength is also great, but that’s kind of a given. When you’re running with a falafel wrap, material science is very important. A falafel wrap carried baton-like through central London undergoes various stresses, all sorts of bumps, jumps, zigs and zags. Structural integrity matters a lot, and on structural integrity, Maoz delivers. Five stars.

An end of the line wrap, a terminus wrap, a north of the northern line wrap, an edge of the tube map wrap. Eat it on the train, barreling southwards into the heat-dome city, screeching into the tunnels, crunching into falafel. Five stars.

Go to Zappa’s! Eat a falafel wrap, the miracle of the microwave! Relish it! Eat it on the banks of the Dart! Five stars.

Falafel in a pocket: eat it for lunch. This is silver spoon falafel. Golden platter falafel. Business class falafel. Sky garden falafel. Leisurely lunch break falafel. The kind of falafel you can only eat if you can afford to spend hours nibbling away, gymnastic, acrobatic, making sure no leaf or ancient grain of any of the seven different salads in the pita drops to the floor. It’s not like the cheap, crude falafel wraps of the hoi polloi. Treat yourself, I guess. Five stars.

Find far-out falafel, beyond the beetroot belt, where spears of pickled turnips pierce the kaleidoscopic night, auroras of aubergine purple and salad green, red-onion rings around celestial falafel, planetary falafel, gravitational falafel, falafel so big they don’t fit in the terrestrial sky, falafel twisting, twirling, spinning through the black vast reaches of space. Five stars.

I walked past this place today and realized that 1) I ate here sometime in the distant past and 2) it was not on my falafel map. Five stars.

You know, it was a pretty good wrap. And I like the name of this place. Five stars.

I’m pretty sure there was cholula in my falafel wrap. Five stars?

Here’s a psychological phenomenon: the longer you wait in a line, the less likely you are to say anything bad about the thing you waited in line for, lest you look like a bandwagonning fool. Five stars.

Catch a glimpse of chef Kazim; have a wrap of falafel. It looks like a sit-down situation but they have a takeaway counter and you can take your wrap and fly, fly, fly ‘cross the cross-streets towards lunch in the park. Five stars.

The funny thing about cafe art is that it’s all so different, and yet all so the same. I don’t really mean that as a compliment. Five stars.

Warehouse falafel. Industrial estate falafel. Big white van falafel. Good falafel. Five stars.

It was a hefty wrap. Like a baby, swaddled in parchment and soaked in tahini. Very not bad. Five stars.

Peckham is pretty much on the other side of the planet, but now you find yourself here, far from all that you know, weary from days, weeks, months of travel, unsure if you’ll ever see home again. You’ve crossed the mighty Thames, weathered great storms, and survived dysentery. How long have you been travelling? You’ve been underground and overground, national rail and rail replacement, little lime bike and big red bus. There are wrinkles on your face you didn’t have when you left home, bright eyed, dreaming of adventure. You’ve grown old. Will you ever make it home? You have a son; remember him? When you see him—if you ever see him again—will you still recognise him?

In any case, you could probably do with some falafel, and there’s no better place than YEMANES’ to raise your spirits for the long journey back to North London. Five stars.

I found myself here, falafel wrap in hand, at the end of a 10 mile run. The wrap was dense as a brick but it did, as promised, bring me joy. Five stars.

Now that I am Mr Big Shot with a Falafel Wrap Map I feel the need to go to new falafel places (King of Falafel) even though tried and tested falafel places (Woody’s) might be right across the street. I suppose it is good to broaden one’s horizons. Five stars.

Edit: With a broader sample size and higher quality data (eating falafel while sober?), I think this place is better than the one across the street. The aubergine’s a treat. Five more stars.

Wow! I am pasha nate about this place. Five stars.

I wasn’t expecting there to be falafel wraps here and I wasn’t in the mood for one exactly but it’s all they had and I needed something to sink my little teeth into. Five stars.

Well give me falafel and spin me round, because this place is the top. Five stars.

Mrs Falafel is a big yellow box next to a petrol station. Mrs Falafel is open until 3am. They say god is a woman - maybe this is her? Five stars.

There’s a falafel wrap on the menu. It’s like a sandwich, square, but wrapped in a tortilla and cut diagonally. Structural integrity is a weak point. A gymnastic experience to eat without it falling apart. This is where you go when your coworkers want a lamb wrap and you say ok I’ll come with. Five stars.

This is a chain. There’s another one of these on this map. Can you find it? Ooh, homework. Five stars.

You can order and wait in the shade on the other side of the street to get out of the sun and then when you get your wrap you can walk to try and find somewhere green and nice to sit and eat it and you wander for ages trying to stay out of the sun but the sun has a way of finding your side of the street and hissing down at your neck and your nose and the tips of your ears and you just want to eat your falafel wrap but there is no shade in this horrible town and you carry your wrap for miles and miles searching for a little out-of-the-way tree with over-the-head leaves but there’s not a tree in sight in this desert of old industry and empty sky and beating sun and too-naked northerners and you round a corner and go over the tracks and there! there! a tree! and you sit and eat your falafel wrap. Five stars.

This is where I would go for lunch with my coworkers if I was a millennial working a nondescript mildly creative white collar office job in Leeds. Also they have three (!) kinds of hummus. Five stars.

Surely the best thing to do in Malaga. Five Stars.

Welcome to Shakeshuka (We don’t take bookings for up to 4 guests). Five stars.

Sometimes, they’ll sell you a wrap for £3. Nothing is that cheap. Seems unethical. Five stars.

Basta! Basta! Just kidding. I could never have enough. Five stars.

I ran 10 miles to get this wrap. It wasn’t 10 miles away from where I started, but I got lost. It was all worth it in the end. I’m jealous of Mrs Falafel. Five stars.

Lovely place. Only open on weekdays. You can get a little pastry too. Five stars.

There are definitely better wraps in the area, but this is the only one that’s open on weekends. Five stars.

This is where I would go for lunch if I was a member of parliament. Five stars.

When in Derby, eat a falafel wrap I guess.

There are a bunch of great greek restaurants in Derby, so maybe try those first, but the falafel wrap here was a o kay. Five stars.

Wow! They have a wrap called Faloumi. It’s falafel and halloumi. Pretty neat. Five stars.

There’s a little cart here that makes a good wrap. I ate it while learning to screenprint. It was very oily (in a good way?). Five stars.

This place is across from the Photo Book Cafe, which is pretty cool. Five stars.

You can buy falafel in bulk, £5.50 for 10 pieces. Five stars.

You can get an extra spicy falafel wrap here. Five stars.

Perhaps the best, if you can stomach the line. Weekdays, Petticoat Lane Market. Maybe go on a friday at 1pm. Avoid the lunch rush. But incredible falafel, very fluffy, flavorful, and you get a whole lot of it. None of that ‘3 falafel in a wrap’ tomfoolery here. Your wrap is full to the brim. Splendid stuff. Five stars.

Good Falafel, good fellas. A cart outside the station, open every day but Sunday. It’s cheap, considering the area. And they have an NHS discount. Five stars.

Hard to eat. Unknowable hours. The pigeons and gulls will watch you intently, jealously, covetously. Five stars.

I would not call it fine cuisine. The falafel was microwaved. The wrap was mostly shredded carrots, for some reason. But I was hungry and it was a big portion, and also the name of this place is the Burger Inn Café & Restaurant Kebab, which is pretty great. Five stars.

They are open until 3am. Five stars.

A round hole in the wall. Their menu is bigger than the place itself, but it just lists different combinations of things you can put in your wrap. I.e. falafel and hummus, falafal and auburgine, falafel and haloumi, falafel and hummus and haloumi, chicken and falafel, falafel and cauliflower, etc. I always get falafel and auburgine. Discount if you pay cash. Five stars.

I went here one night and an old man tried to pay for my falafel wrap. This was ~2 min after he watched me order and pay for it myself. Maybe he just forgot? He was guessing the ages of everyone that came in and he was always about 10 years too young, which people liked. The falafel was pretty good. Five stars.

Meant for UCL students, only open weekdays. Sometimes you get a falafel while you wait. I like to run here in the morning and get a wrap, then run home with it and have it for lunch. Very hunter-gatherer of me. Five stars.

Lovely place, lovely man. The sauce was a little salty but the falafel itself was incredible. So fresh and the inside is so green. Nice music too. Five stars.

Lovely place, family run, etc etc. Great Egyptian food. They have falafel stuffed with cheese, which I did not have but which I would like to have. My wrap was very good and when I finished it I wished that I had a bigger stomach, such that I could have had another. Nice place to sit and read your book as well. Five stars.

Pretty pretty good I think. In petticoat lane market, only open weekdays. £5.50 for the Whole Shabang, which has falafel, haloumi, and auburgine. Delightful. Five stars.