Bagels made at home: It begins

So, yeah. East coast bagels. The heavenly old school bagel. Moist, delicious, chewy, heavy as a brick. Growing up in Detroit, we had great bagels, and one of the best delis there ever was, the Star deli on Twelve Mile and Telegraph in Southfield. Right next door was a little bagel bakery. My second job was at that bakery. Getting up at 4:30 AM, driving to work on my learner's permit, blowing through the blinking yellow lights on Telegraph, the sun tinting everything a pale yellow gold. the right turn on 9 mile, the left U turn back onto Telegraph, past the liqour store. Past ten mile, 11 mile, over the highway, then past the Tel twelve mall and the elephant in front of Tamaroff, and on into work.
Making bagels was fun. There was the boiling, the drying, then into the huge rotating rack oven that I think was set to "Surface of the Sun". It was a fun job. My first day I burnt 2 whole racks of bagels. They kept me around. After a while, I had it cold: Boil, top, dryer, stroll to the front and load up the oven. A good bagel maker could bake enough bagels for the entire day before opening time. Alone.

So you live your life, you move out, you move on. New foods are discovered. Things like "Fresh produce" and "Avocados", well lit supermarkets, aisles brimming with food. Pace Picante Sauce?? We didn't have that growing up in Detroit! Your new friends look at you like you're an idiot. "He's from Detroit" or "He's from somewhere back east" you hear them explain to each other under their breath. "Oooohhh....", Then the combination of pity and confusion. I didn't care. We might have had avocados when I was growing up, but I don't remember them.
You're on a new journey, a new part of your life has begun.

Then, life happens. The routines start. You have problems. You have money trouble, you have problems with your partners. You fight, you break up, you move. Again. The novelty starts to wear off, and you just want a little bit of comfort. Maybe something from the past that reminds you of what you naively and selectively remember as better days....

...The flavors of childhood come sneaking back, teasing your subconscious. "You know what?" you say to yourself, "I'd really like a Pastrami sandwich, like the kind I had as a kid at the old Stage Deli in southfield". Very few people remember the old Stage Deli, with the red walls, the deli counter on the right as you walk in, the walls filled with photographs and caricatures of "MOVIE STARS" everywhere. That place was great. Matzo balls the size of an 8 year old's head. The pickles, the noise. Gone.

So I'm craving a little bit of my childhood. The only part that wasn't a complete nightmare. The only times my family was able to sit in a room together at the same time and not try to kill each other was Sunday. That was the day. I'd usually get to tag along (read: forced to go) to the deli with my dad, and we'd get pastrami, lox, salami, crazy good pickles, from barely pickle, still kind of a cucumber to full on pickle pickles, sometimes a Dr Browns, then next door to get a grip of bagels. A big fat bag of bagels. We'd eat one on the way home. A salt bagel. We'd get home. we'd sit down together as a family and eat. My dad wasn't yelling. My mom wasn't, well, being mom, My sister was actually being sort of nice. My older brother was kinda happy. My little brother was exaclty the same. It was weird. It was like: "Is this what normal families do all the time?"


So the food triggers carefully edited memories of happier times. It might work. It might make you happier for a second. You walk by what looks kind of like a deli.. "Hey, this place has pastrami" a little voice in your head says. You go in, you have a sandwich. It disappoints. "These people know nothing about Pastrami" says the voice in your head. Then it happens again, this time with pickles. Then again, the next time with a reuben. Then Italian food. Then Greek. Every time is as bad as the last. You start to wonder. "What's wrong with these people? Haven't they ever had "real" -insert favorite food here-?" Then you start asking your friends "You ever had a real bagel?" "You ever had a Coney Island hot dog?" It goes on and on. It's madness. They haven't. It hits you. Things are different out west. You start to wonder: Is it the water? Is it the air? Is it the people? What the hell's going on out here?!