Bagels, the Bread of New York

Seems like I keep coming back to breakfast these days. Back to basics. Back to bagels.

You see, with my departure from this city inching closer every day, it’s reaching the point where I try to cram in as much as possible of the stuff I’m going to miss the most. It’s not that there aren’t delicious bagels in my future – everyone in Berkeley knows that you can rely on Noah’s Bagels, and I’m a huge fan of the avocado, sprouts, and cream cheese sandwich from Lox, Stock and Bagel, not to mention the epic BLT at Manhattan Bagel. But these constructions fulfill a completely different purpose from the authentic New York bagel. Here, the essence of the bagel is its simplicity, its ubiquity, its combination of convenience and quality.

People do become loyal to their favorite shops, but this largely depends on neighborhood. Bagels aren’t destination purchases; it would be ridiculous to use any form of transportation other than walking to procure one (driving a car, needless to say, would be unheard of). When I moved from the Village, I worried how I would survive without Bagel Bob’s on University Place, but then I discovered Bergen Bagels right down the street in Prospect Heights. I worried about leaving that bagel source behind too, but it turns out Montague Bagels is almost as reliable. And the staff get to know their customers, reinforcing cozy the neighborhood feeling. The server at Bagel Bob’s must have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of NYU students each day, but he still remembered that I would probably order a plain bagel with plain cream cheese. I can’t say why my boring predictability would be memorable in any way.

Yes, you can find sub-par bagels in this city, but it’s more difficult than finding decent ones. So I wasn’t at all nervous trying out a new bagel place near where I work in Midtown. But Daniel’s Bagels on Third Avenue seemed to be particularly reputable, as it makes the bagels on the premises. They seem to make a lot of other appetizing baked goods as well – something called “Israeli rugelach” that looked like a chocolate-streaked croissant, and a poppy seed strudel with a full inch and a half of poppy seed filling inside.

I’ve moved on from my days of plain orders, and now it’s always a tough choice between pumpernickel, 7-grain, and occasionally cinnamon-raisin. But Daniel’s had "whole wheat everything," a somewhat rare variety, so I order that, toasted with butter. Supplemented by some carrots, yogurt, and an apricot, it was a satisfying lunch, and a nice excuse to get out of the office and sit in the sun for a few minutes.

Again, I’m not worried that I’ll be unhappy with the bagels in California, and to tell the truth, bagels have been more of a substitute while I’ve been in New York – something to comfort me when the distance of Parisian baguettes and Cheeseboard rolls seemed too much to bear. But as such, they’ve become symbolic of this city, and all the things I’ll miss most.

Another reason I might have bagels on my mind: this mountain of bagels I stumbled upon at Figment, an arts festival held on Governor’s Island every summer. It was guarded by a team of aerobics-outfitted women shouting feminist slogans.