Falafel Always

This is a place I can’t seem to stop wandering back to. When I was in high school and came to New Haven for the very first time, it was in the backseat of a tiny, heatless Honda Civic (in January) packed alongside six other people. And where did our less than legal teenage trek down 91 lead us? An equally compact and full burst of life: Mamoun’s. I was entranced by the curiously carpeted walls, the Middle Eastern songs of my Syrian friends’ grandparents played unrelentingly across 20 wooden table tops, and most of all, by the food. I was so hooked I spent two years waitressing here in college in an effort to both pay my electric bill and intimately understand baba ghanouj and the people that birthed it. This New Haven staple is open 365 days a year, almost every hour of the day (they close only between 3 and 11 am, long enough for a night’s sleep). It is always there — and always has been for me: home.

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