All the emails reminding me that it’s Yom Ha’atzmaut tomorrow have me challashing a portion of hot, crunchy, freshly fried falafel.

But that treat must wait. They’re just not the same if you don’t deep fry. Even in these desperate days, I’m not about to fill my home with the delightful aroma of frying oil. I still remember my gorgeous Grandma Doris covering her coiffed hair in a scarf before frying gefilte fish — no one wants to smell like a chippy

I digress…

My fondness (bordering on obsession) for the crunchy, chickpea-based nuggets began in Israel, when I tried the real deal. I’d previously dismissed them as not for me, having only tasted flabby supermarket imitations. Like hummus and pita bread, the mass produced versions are not worth the calories.

Since that epiphany, I've sniffed out worthy falafel bars in the UK — mostly in Golders Green. When the JC office was based there, I’d test a different one each week .

Now — locked down in Herts — all I can do is pore over recipe books and imagine that satisfying crunch as you bite into a pita pocket filled with steaming hot falafel, slathered in tahina sauce.

We'll still be eating Israeli though. Tomorrow, I’ll be baking pita and blending hummus — in fact I've volunteered to do a Facebook Live cookery session with my children's school friends,so they and their families can share the love.  

The only action the chickpeas in my cupboard will be getting will to be pulverised into that creamy dip.

I'm be saving my falafel moment for celebrating our release from lockdown.