Three days into the trip is a little bit early to have developed brand loyalty, but Absolute Bagels on Broadway between 107th and 108th is important to me, and it is important to me for reasons beyond how good their lox spread is. Don’t get me wrong--the lox is very, very good--but I am forced to admit that by any objective measure, it is unlikely that Absolute Bagels is truly the best bagel place in town. If subjected to a blind taste test, I’m sure there are a thousand places as good if not better. This is New York City, after all, and bagel provision does not suffer from lack of competition..
So how to explain my fierce loyalty to Absolute Bagels? It’s not stubbornness, not exactly anyway. If I were really resistant to trying new things, I wouldn’t be here at all--Einstein Bagels on Ann Arbor Road in Plymouth, now that’s familiar and safe. But it’s not entirely removed from stubbornness, either. See Absolute Bagels was the first place I went to in this city, last year on spring break. While Faith and Andrew slept off a hard day’s vacation, I joined the commuter crowd and walked north on Broadway, confident I was fooling everyone. When I managed to order without messing up--unlike, I fondly remember, the guy with the thick New York accent who went before me--I was over the moon. I was still a kid in the city, but for a moment, I wasn’t so glaringly so.
Returning this morning had the same appeal. This island is designed to smoke the visitor out, to expose those who don’t belong. The consequences for being outed aren’t especially terrible--I rather like being labeled a midwesterner for holding the door open, actually. But there is something seductive about camouflaging yourself, about slipping loose of the guidebooks and the tourist maps and the Excuse me, Misters. Even if it’s only for a moment, even if it’s only while purchasing bagels.
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