PrOjEcT Nine—Bye, Bagel

Bye, Bagel Sesame seeds and salt crystals, puddles of butter and crisp crust bits litter my white plate sometime around six thirty each morning, my third cup of coffee or so becoming bitter beside the suduko puzzle now finished or abandoned. To get here took years of bagel-making experiments and mistakes, toasters and ovens and frying pans, griddles and even grills, trying to get that crust just crusty, that butter just buttery, the salt just there but not too sharp, that first bite crisp then soft, enough your eyes involuntarily shut. This three-act production works with any bagel (though certain bagelries elevate the denouement, of course): Act I: Freeze the bagel whole (unless it’s fresh out of the oven, in which case, get busy). Act II: Toast the whole, frozen bagel uncut in a toaster oven, darkness dialed to max. Act III: Halve the bagel, add copius amounts of butter, toast again. Stage this bagel upon a white plate, pinch salt to taste, and bob’s your uncle. Viewed askew, these scattered specks of toasted color and shadow deserve poetry. Viewed askance, this beauty belies the throat-clearing cough that follows, some consequence of this indulgence, an ailimentary inflamation I could simply avoid, of course, with eggs or fruit or yogurt. What cost is beauty then? What romantic hero does not sacrifice for beauty? What fool doesn’t know what’s good for them?

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