Chances are, you’ve boiled some alt-grain pasta. Whole wheat. Farro. Rice! But what about an alt-protein pasta? Well, it’s real.
It’s no secret that we love chickpea flour at Healthyish and BA—whether for making an herby “cromlet” or crispy Burmese tofu, or frying into panisse, socca, farinata, or whatever you want to call it. And if you or someone you cook for isn’t a meat superfan—like my four-year-old, for example—it’s a great way to squeak in more protein while knocking down the carb factor.
But I hadn’t heard of chickpea pasta until recently, when I spotted the bright orange boxes of Banza pasta at my local health food store. Created four years ago by a then-23-year-old non-chef in downtown Detroit, the dried pasta has twice as much protein and almost half the net carbs as the wheat-based stuff. I bought some rotini for my son’s dinner. It took the same time to cook as pasta, though I was distracted and may have overcooked it by a couple of minutes. It has a yellowish-orange tinge that gives away its origin, so I cloaked it in pesto to ensure I got an unbiased read from my son. He took a few bites and declared the texture a little too different—I believe the word was “spongy”—so I was left finishing the bowl. I was not mad.
The next time, I monitored the cooking more closely, and we were both happier with the results. I bought Banza’s spaghetti, and considered trying the mac and cheese. (Maybe.)
Then, a 2017 luxury problem presented itself. I went to Clover Grocery, the boutique-y peak-artisan deli/elixir bar/flower shop/organic beauty spot in the West Village, to check out the fortified matcha offerings. There, in the refrigerated case, near the $12 jars of house-label romesco and kale-hempseed pesto, was fresh housemade chickpea spaghetti, alluringly twirled into three expert nests and prettily packaged for $14. I bought it because…I’m not sure. (At that point in the shopping experience, my son was hoovering display jars of Vietnamese cinnamon, so it was time to roll.) But wow, was it good. It had good bite and structure, no weird taste or color, and was delicious with that fancy-pants pesto that I was too tired to make myself. I would happily serve it to guests, and would probably only tell them what it was if I was serving it to celiacs.
So, now there’s always a box of Banza pasta in my cupboard. And I’m looking for recipes for fresh chickpea pasta, just in case I have the time to clamp the pasta maker onto the counter (and buy xantham gum to help it bind). Because even sneaky protein is good protein.