Dear Absolute Bagel,
Pillowy. Chewy. Toasty. Fresh.
All adjectives that described that first bite last Saturday. It’s been a week now and honestly, I can’t stop thinking about you. When my friend handed me that steaming bite wrapped up in wax paper, I didn’t think much of it. My friend joked, remarking how the butter was glistening like one of those trendy highlighter palettes.
I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined me. Every other bagel I encounter simply doesn’t compare. How am I supposed to settle for that Hewitt sesame bagel when I’ve already had the very best? My smoked salmon and chive cream cheese bagel at John Jay just doesn’t taste the same anymore.
Alas, distance is a big factor. You’re incredible, but I don’t have time to trek down nine blocks every time I have a craving. In the 15 minutes between my French class and Econ lecture, I need a little pick-me-up. And the truth is, the everything bagel at Liz’s Place gets the job done. It might not be as good, but it’s good enough.
Looking back, I should’ve known. The way the sunlight hit that butter? The fact that there was a shorter line, on a Saturday? It was too good to be true.
With midterms coming up, I don’t think I’ll be able to head over to 108th Street anytime soon. Our encounter might have been a case of bad timing—we met too soon. However, I don’t regret a single bite of your cinnamon raisin goodness. You may not be available to me during these hectic few weeks, but I’m grateful. You taught me what I deserve in a bagel. Though I might not see you in the near future, now I know what I’m looking for.
Maybe one day I’ll find my Nuss—the perfect bagel, a little closer to home.