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New York Deli and Bagel Co.
4622 Kingston Pike
588-1364

by Les DuLunch

The other morning, I wanted a bagel. Wanted one bad. Wanted one bad enough to brave the cold and hustle down a then very blustery Gay Street to the New York Deli & Bagel Company to get one.

I could've stopped in at Tomato Head, but I've enjoyed their fresh-baked, ring-shaped rolls before. I suppose I could've even driven out to Panera Bread Company for a toasty, sourdough-based Asiago cheese bagel slathered with zesty sun-dried tomato spread, but I didn't have time. Since downtown was my destination, I thought I'd pop in to NYB for a convenient breakfast, grab myself a cup of ambition, yawn, stretch, and try to come to life.

New York Bagel is Metro Pulse's perennial "Best of Knoxville" winner in the bagel category. According to their brochure, they prepare their bagels in the time-honored method—making the dough without eggs, then boiling the bagels in water to reduce starch and create that unmistakably shiny and chewy crust.

So you can only imagine my disappointment when I looked up through the haze of my frigid exhalation to see a sign taped to the locked door that said New York Bagel would be closed through the millennium. Hmmm...perhaps I'd lost track of time, but it sure seemed like the end of January to me. Were they planning on reopening in January of 2001—or will they really wait a thousand years to open again? (Portentially, the sign has since been replaced by one that reads, "For Lease.")

There's absolutely nothing worse than wanting something you can't get, especially when a pesky, deceptive obstacle like not finding a business open when it should be arises between you and the desired object. But if you are patient, resourceful, and a little bit driven, you will find a way to get exactly what you deserve.

Hell hath no fury like Les DuLunch without morning coffee. I resolved on the bitterly cold spot to have that bagel one way or another—and its little dog too. Being a tenacious bastard, I finished my morning's work, hopped in the car and barreled down Kingston Pike to NYB's other location in Bearden.

By this time, lunch was quickly approaching. Angry and jittery from lack of caffeine, I stalked past the deli's simulation of famous Manhattan street signs to take my place in line to order. Obviously in a distracted frame of mind, I failed to notice the criminal activity going on behind the counter until after I'd ordered a 5th Avenue ($4.95)—shaved ham, smoked turkey, bacon, and Swiss served to order on an onion bagel with a side of chips or salad. When queried about how I would like my sandwich served, I replied, "Make it hot," assuming that would result in a toasted bagel sandwich.

Microwaves are a horrible fraud that has been foisted on a time-consumed populace. They're good for little more than...well, they really aren't good for much of anything beyond popping microwavable pop corn. So when I saw the sandwich-maker carrying my little 5th Avenue towards this mysterious silver box, I wanted to scream, "No! Don't you know what microwaves do to bread? An already chewy bagel will be rendered more elastic than octopus by the time it's done radiating in a bath of electrons."

But I bit my tongue, realizing that the poor person had only been instructed by someone else to prepare my sandwich in such bad fashion. I'd have to resort to the poison pen to pierce the heart of the organization and solve this little problem.

Not surprisingly, what emerged was decidedly unpleasant. The flakes of onion on the bagel's exterior tasted burnt and the poor piece of ham that was hanging over its side had been nuked to the consistency and appearance of one of those pig's ear dog treats. I won't even mention how the bacon had been betrayed. And, inevitably, as the bagel cooled from the inside out, it became more and more chewy—not in the traditional bagel manner, but in a rather stale, "my atoms are rearranging" sort of way. Attempting to masticate this mess, I realized that perhaps I'd driven myself to just desserts after all. Grrrrrrr.

But, to be equitable, I waited a few days, calmed down, and reapproached the problem, determined to have it my way once and for all. Having learned from the previous mistake, I ordered lox and cream cheese on a toasted plain bagel ($4.75), clearly enunciating the word "toasted" to make myself understood in no uncertain terms.

At last what I wanted was set before me in a wax paper-lined plastic basket. Thick whorls of cream cheese, snappy slices of pungent red onion, a thin layer of not-too-juicy tomato, and rather smokeless smoked salmon, all sandwiched between a pallid white flour bagel that had been toasted to the just-right point where its rind could be cut by the incisors instead of pulled, twisted, and finally torn free. I guess the third time was the charm—here was the traditional Jewish snack I'd been seeking. But after expending this much energy just to find it, I was too tired to care—and having made that journey to Panera in the meantime, decided that I liked the San Francisco spin of their more crisply baked bagels better anyway.

So, what is the lesson here? You tell me: Important first impressions never get a second chance; assumption makes an ass out of both parties; you can't always get what you want, and when you do you may not want it anyway; or vindication, like bagels, is a dish best served lightly toasted, or stone cold.