The Other Falafel Shop

Saint-Paul

January 2021

The queue in front of L’As du Fallafel (The Ace of Falafel) is perennial, moving rapidly but rarely dwindling below fifteen to twenty people. Customers flock from all over Paris (and the world) to this Jewish joint, located in the heart of a pedestrian street in the Marais. At almost any hour of the day, one can expect to wait roughly ten minutes before the staff hands you a whopping falafel sandwich, arguably the best (and certainly the most famous) in Paris. It’s a truly magnificent experience, a rite of passage shared by many of this city’s denizens. I've been hard put to find someone who hasn’t been there.

The thing is massive, a fluffy pita filled to the brim with perfectly-crisped falafel balls, roasted eggplant, cabbage, cucumbers and tomatoes, topped with a layer of creamy white sauce and hummus and harissa. It’s almost imperative to begin one’s consumption with a fork, for the sandwich offers few open avenues of attack in the traditional manner. Working one’s way through the hefty meal, one is met with an entrancing mixture of textures and flavors--crunchiness mingled with softness, heat mixed with coolness, a spicy kick here, cool creaminess there. As you finish, you begin to understand the reason for this establishment’s popularity.

One thing I was never able to understand, though, was the existence of a second shop, located directly across the narrow stret, selling essentially identical products. To be fair, there are several falafel shops on the block (this being a historically Jewish neighborhood, after all). But Mi-va-Mi (the competitor, barely five meters across the street) rarely (if ever) has a queue. Indeed, every time I’ve been to L’As du Fallafel, I’ve glanced pityingly at Mi-va-Mi’s owner, desperately shouting “Falafel!” into the unfazed crowd. I’d be surprised if he claims more than one customer for every fifteen who frequent his competitor across the street. It always perplexed me how his shop managed to survive in Paris’ famously cutthroat restaurant scene--competition perfect enough to set an economist’s knees a-tremble.

I got my answer one July afternoon, when I arrived at L’As du Fallafel after a Saturday afternoon bike ride, ready to whet my appetite with a falafel from heaven. I’d been dreaming of this sandwich since I’d left, so saying I was excited would be more than an understatement. As I arrived, I noticed a rare sight--no queue. I’d beaten the crowds--could this be my lucky day?

I should have known better. As it turns out, L’As du Fallafel is closed on Saturdays.

I put my tail between my legs and joined the burgeoning queue at Mi-va-Mi. As I paid for my sandwich, I swear I could see the owner smirking through his mask.