I might be what you call a bagel enthusiast, if you use that term often, I tend to prefer a schmear schmoozer. However you look at it, I am dangerously obsessed with bagels. I also struggle saying the word, so how that plays out is something I am sure God laughs at more often than not.
That being said, moving to New York seemed like the right place for me. I left the land of croissants, which are undeniably equally delicious but lacking the dips, delights, and dunks I look for as entertainment when I am nourishing myself, for a place that praised a food that had a built in hanger. Brilliant, people, brilliant.
All was good and well, I was enjoying sesame bagels with chive spread; everything with jalapeno; cinnamon raisin with almond; with lox, with coffee, when I was hungover, when I had just run, when I was about to run, when I was about to tell myself it was okay to skip my run. I tell ya, I was diggin it.
THEN, my roommate Pat brought me this flyer he found on our door and the world shifted. What I have been eating was just bread with a hole in it. I had been uneducated on the qualities of a great bagel and I was devastated.
So from here on out, I will follow the directions as stated here, and if my bagel doesn’t push back, I’m not eating it.