Tropic Thunder Roasted Chickpeas

Although roasted chickpeas are a foodblogger staple by now (not that this is a food blog) and I always intended to give them a try, the imminent meltdown of our freezer – which had about two cans’ worth of frozen chickpeas in it, among other things – was what eventually forced my hand. There are plenty of recipes out there already but I wanted to write a little about what worked for me and what didn’t, because I have a hunch that getting a roasted chickpea crispy and keeping it that way is tougher in the wretched humidity of Singapore than in drier climes.

I started off by following the method outlined in this recipe, which differs from many others I saw in that it has you dry-roasting the chickpeas for the first twenty minutes rather than chucking the oil in with them right at the start. Also, it uses a slightly higher temperature than other recipes I’ve seen. As I said, my hunch is that these measures are helpful for Singapore’s humidity, so if you are trying this out in Singapore (or anywhere else where the air is similarly sodden) I suggest you bear them in mind. In light of this, and the torrential rain that was pouring down when I roasted my first batch, I shall call them Tropic Thunder Chickpeas.

Tropic Thunder Chickpeas


  • 1 can chickpeas, drained, rinsed and patted dry with a paper towel
  • 1 teaspoon olive oil
  • Your choice of seasoning. Here’s what I used, but just use your intuition and go by your own taste:
    • Batch 1: Soya sauce (about 1 teaspoon, possibly a little more) and dried chilli flakes (liberal sprinkling)
    • Batch 2: Jerk seasoning (about 1 tablespoon)
    • In future batches, I might try curry powder or garam masala. This honey-miso combination looks great too.


  1. See that source recipe uses Fahrenheit. Say “Convert 425 Fahrenheit to Celsius” into Google Search app. Obtain gibberish as response. Consider, given your unfortunate history with this app, that you may have been suffering from an undiagnosed speech defect all these years. Realize that constant construction noise in background which you have become inured to is probably confusing Google. Type in conversion query instead. Preheat oven to 220C.

  2. Place chickpeas in one layer on baking tray. Roast for 10 minutes, then shake tray around (some will be sticking to it, fiddle as necessary with spoon to unstick them) and roast for another 10 minutes.

  3. Pour chickpeas from baking tray into bowl comfortably sized for tossing oily chickpeas. Depending on shape of baking tray, avoid thinking your kitchen ninja skillz are sufficiently advanced that you will not spill any. If in doubt, fiddle as necessary with spoon to get them all safely in. Sprinkle with oil and your choice of seasoning, to taste. Toss to get them all nicely coated with flava.

  4. Pour chickpeas back onto baking tray. Intend to follow source recipe’s instructions to continue roasting 5-15 minutes more at the same temperature. Instead, get distracted by trying to supervise freezer repairman (who arrived somewhere during step 2) in Mandarin. Realize eventually that chickpeas have been in there for nearly 20 minutes. Extract them hurriedly from oven, pop one into mouth, and realize they are perfect. Upon attempting batch 2 on a different day, follow original instructions and end up with less crispy chickpeas. Shake fists at tropical sky.

  5. Allow chickpeas to cool, then store in glass jar which formerly held pasta sauce, and which you saved because you have become your mother. Refrigerate. Battle spiralling chickpea addiction over next few days, which is an important battle to wage, because at the end of the day they are still beans with beanly consequences, ahem ahem. Settle on portion control strategy of only eating one jar lid’s worth at a time. Resolve to buy bigger jars of pasta sauce in future.

Roasted Chickpeas with Jerk Seasoning

Lastly, out of sympathy for long-suffering readers who just want a damn copy-and-pastable recipe, condense method as follows:

  1. Preheat oven to 220C.
  2. Roast chickpeas, in one layer on baking tray, for 10 minutes. Shake tray to dislodge any chickpeas sticking to it, then roast 10 minutes more.
  3. Remove chickpeas from oven and transfer to bowl. Add oil and seasoning to taste, toss.
  4. Transfer chickpeas back to baking tray, continue roasting at 220C until browned and crispy. In Singapore, in my oven, this was 20 minutes.
  5. Allow to cool before storing in airtight container. Refrigerate.


  1. Ha! I am going to try making these today! Love the original instructions. I threw out some glass jars the other day (into the recycling bin, not into the trash, ‘cos I’m green and all) because I had too many. I, too, wondered when I’d turned into my mother.

  2. so i tried the recipe. you are basically talking to a person who doesn’t eat veggies. or beans. so the fact that i was going to give this a go is testament to your excellant writing skills. mine turned out a little … soft. but i suspect its because i didn’t put it in the oven long enough. but then on the plus side, it didn’t burn, something which i count as an achievement given my paltry kitchen skills. going to go buy another can and make a batch tonight. i finished the whole thing last night (after making it around 11pm last night i might add….good thing i live alone). i used paprika with red onions spice. i think tonight i’m going to try tumeric….

  3. Dominique: How’d it go? Something else I did recently totally justified my I-am-my-mother packratness. I wanted to try growing my own spring onions and needed a container with just the right dimensions to root them in: cue entry of old sng buey containers I had hoarded for the past three years for no discernable purpose. THEY WERE PERFECT.

    Jasmine: Saw the pic in your blog entry, they look gooooood!

  4. Hi Mich!

    I tried the honey and miso variant, which resulted in my flat smelling of soya beans for days. Tasted delicious, although they weren’t crunchy enough. Darn my unpredictable oven! I’m planning to try the curry powder some time soon, once I get over the fear of having set off my building’s fire alarm. (It happened, not with this. We shall not speak of it again.)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *