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The Suburban Bagel Blitz

By Chris Fara1

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Twenty-first century America is pleasant in that hunting and killing are no longer steps in the daily routine. Some people still take up arms with the wild, but such activity is now more closely associated with insecurity than survival. For the rest of us unstrapped modern men, the closest thing we have to hunting is the weekly trip to the bagel shop. Armed with little more than a money clip and car keys - we outfit in sweat suits and take to the streets in pursuit of carbohydrates.

The bagel run is unique to its environment. In Florida it’s about commuting to the place with the most authentic New York dough, waiting in line for close to an hour, finding out that they only have sesame, and going home to get bitched out by your yenta wife. In the city, it’s usually a close commute, unless you’re one of the neurotic few who travel cross-town for the perfect Everything. In New England, it’s an opportunity to meet the dozen Jews who live in your town; but in the New York suburbs, it’s a ritual that has evolved into something more than just a hangover helper, to become as ingrained into weekend culture as not going to work.

It’s the American dream for a lot of my young professional friends, who spend hours at bars buying drinks for potential Saturday morning bagel biting companions. Some of them even propose bagels after one night stands to see the response, as a woman who follows a night of debauchery with a scallion spread is certainly worth marrying. The general goal is to make enough money for a house in the suburbs, then fill your bourgeois monument with an attractive wife and beautiful children, and serve as a bagel delivery boy every weekend until the day comes when you can no longer chew on one yourself.

Most men will insist on going to fetch the bagels by themselves. Canines can come for the ride, but the trip is quite possibly the weekend’s only time for thought and relaxation. It’s alright to greet other men at the marketplace, but the ride there and back is as personal as late night in the shitter. Men use this recess to crank up some music, check on the games, or even smoke some grass. Regardless of the routine, it’s a much cherished, whine-free time for nothingness.

The actual scene at the bagel shop is inviting, and can best be described as the antithesis of an I-95 rest stop. The customers are generally happy, as people don’t tend to stop for bagels during times of crisis. Every now and then there’s a guy who doesn’t know how to make the most of his free time, but the overall morale is similar to the feel of a basketball game, with dirty white men giving orders to minorities who are moving at high speeds to please the customers. Noticeably smelly guys reek of the night before, and bad breath is as commonplace as wrinkled t-shirts. It’s the slovenly nature of the weekend bagel clientele that make it virtually impossible for glamour and gloss suburban housewives to assimilate. When divorces occur, women either replace their bagel boys quickly, or pick up breakfast the night before.

Once in the shop, it’s the hunter’s duty to go completely overboard with the bagel purchasing. A man with two children and one wife at home will typically pick up around six, and someone with six kids will generally go for the big twelve. This goes on weekly, regardless of how many ancient bagels have already taken over their freezers (both kitchen and basement). If psychologists studied bagel purchase and consumption, they would certainly conclude that early risers are driven by the idea that they can have as many bagels of their choice while depriving the late sleepers of selection. Your local bagel store will not be of assistance in this matter, as they routinely sell out of the tastier bagels by noon. They know that you’ll buy the plain, egg, and pumpernickel out of fear of returning to the home front empty handed.

Bagels are a way of life that transcends family tradition and ancestry. Anti-semites across the country may disregard my doughy passion as “Jew food,” but that just frees up the poppies and onions for the rest of us. The ethnicity attached to the bagel is actually most ludicrous, as it really is nothing more than a tasty, circular piece of dough. Legend attributes the first bagel to a seventeenth century Viennese Jewish baker, but appreciation of the snack boldly crosses cultural borders. Those of us in the Jewish suburbs appreciate the strict demands that our kosher friends put on the local manufacturers. We love the prize as much as the hunt, and we apologize for occasionally covering them with mozzarella cheese and jarred tomato sauce.

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Chris FARA1 is a writer living in New York City.  He can be reached at [email protected].

© 2003 Me Three