Chickpea Meatballs

New Year. 2020. The year that starts with Clay in the VA and me at the kitchen table making black-eyed peas alone because Connie is visiting Clay and Travis and Jolene are at her parents' and Amber is working a holiday shift. Alone in the kitchen. The first time I've made black-eyed peas alone. The pot is too big for one person. The cornbread is too much for one person. The luck, if there is luck in peas, is concentrated in a single serving and that single serving is aimed at Clay, at his room in the VA, at the sixty-day program that started eleven days ago and has forty-nine to go.

I called Clay at the VA. They let him have phone calls on Sundays, supervised, limited. He sounded tired but present — not the flat voice from Afghanistan, not the glass voice from the garage. A new voice. A voice that is being rebuilt from the inside, which is what the therapy is doing: stripping the walls down to studs and rebuilding them with better material. "I'm working," he said. "It's hard but I'm working." That's a Hensley sentence. I'm working. The only update that matters. Not "I'm feeling" or "I'm processing" — "I'm working." The vocabulary of coal miners applied to mental health. I'm going into the dark and I'm working.

The peas were good. I soaked them overnight and cooked them with a ham hock and served them over rice with collard greens and cornbread. For one. At the kitchen table. With Clay's chair empty and the new year settling over the house like a blanket that's too thin for the cold. 2020. I don't make predictions. I don't make resolutions. I make peas and I make prayers and I make the bed and I go to work and I do what's next because next is the only direction that moves.

I don’t always have ham hocks on hand, and some years the black-eyed peas feel too big a production for one person at a table with empty chairs. But I keep coming back to legumes on New Year’s — the tradition matters more than the exact vessel — and these chickpea meatballs have become the version I make when the house is quiet and the luck needs to be aimed somewhere specific. You can make exactly as many as you need. You can make four and call it enough.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4 (about 16 meatballs)

Ingredients

1 (15 oz) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1/3 cup breadcrumbs (plain or seasoned)
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil, for pan-frying

Instructions

Mash the chickpeas. Add the drained chickpeas to a large bowl and mash with a fork or potato masher until mostly smooth, leaving some texture. You don’t want a paste — a little chunkiness helps the meatballs hold together.
Mix the base. Add the breadcrumbs, beaten egg, garlic, Parmesan, parsley, cumin, smoked paprika, red pepper flakes if using, salt, and pepper to the mashed chickpeas. Stir until fully combined. If the mixture feels too wet to shape, add breadcrumbs one tablespoon at a time.
Shape the meatballs. Using about 1 tablespoon of mixture per meatball, roll into roughly 1-inch balls between your palms. Set on a plate or parchment-lined baking sheet. You should get about 16 meatballs.
Pan-fry. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Working in batches if needed, add the meatballs in a single layer. Cook for 8–10 minutes, turning gently every 2–3 minutes, until browned on all sides. Adjust heat as needed — they should sizzle but not scorch.
Rest and serve. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate and rest for 2–3 minutes before serving. Serve over rice, with greens, or alongside a simple marinara or yogurt dipping sauce.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chickpea Meatballs — The Luck You Cook for Someone Else