Ode to a Bagel

If you haven't guessed, I am a foodie. I like good food. Good food makes me happy - that's why I cook!

As you know, I just spent a few days in New York City. And to me, New York City means bagels.

I am enjoying one of these satisfying chewy breads right now, directly imported from Ess a Bagel, on 3rd Avenue and 50th St in Midtown Manhattan. Poppy seed - and not just the suggestion of poppy seed, but with one side caked on!

It's chewy. It's slightly salty. It's thick and substantial. It's large- bigger than any bagel you can get elsewhere. The crust is shiny and smooth, but thick and chewy with a slight crunch. It takes jaw muscles, work, persistence, and determination to get through a bagel.

A true New York bagel needs no spread at all. It's moist enough, flavorful enough to stand on its own. I like a little something on it, though - lightly toasted with real butter and a little salt or some cream cheese. Nothing else. A real New York Bagel is too much for a sandwich.

When I was growing up, we weren't lox eaters; now as a vegetarian I don't eat fish, so I guess I never will try the quintessential Jewish brunch. Oy, maybe I'll just have to sometime.

When I was a kid, I didn't appreciate bagels so much. We had exquisite bagels as our norm. Only when I left did I realize how awful other bagels are - they're just rolls with a hole in the middle! No boiling, no twisting as they are shaped. The breads you find at Brueggers or the grocery store have toppings sprinkled on lightly. And you can't even find a salt bagel anywhere!! Salt...poppy seed...sesame seed...onion. That's the real deal. What the hell is a chocolate chip bagel, or cranberry, or blueberry? Bleh.

The act of enjoying the ultimate bagel has a name.

The bay-gasm.

Sigh.