Metro Pulse/Restaruant Rover/Hot Bagel Company

Hot Bagel Company
1155 Oak Ridge Turnpike
Oak Ridge, TN
482-2435
Mon.-Fri. 6 a.m.-3:30 p.m., Sat. 7 a.m.- 3 p.m.
On vacation until Aug. 12.

by Connie Seuer

Man may not be able to live by bread alone, but were it possible, it would be at Hot Bagel Company—or as I like to think of it, "The Little Bagel Shop That Could." Located in the bucolic plutonia of Oak Ridge, this bagel/coffee/specialty bread/sandwich shop, owned and operated by Donna and Tom Sullivan, began as a scrappy little coffee/bagel counter alongside the couple's larger, separate business—a frame shop called Wildwood Gallery.

Like yeasty dough, the bagel shop grew beyond its borders. Gallery display space was annexed for additional dining tables.

Even with an increased number of seats, the kitchen needed elbow room to meet growing demands for sandwiches and breads and more renovations were made. Today, several years into the gig, there's little left of the frame shop.

When Heinrich and I arrived at 11:30 a.m. there was a line out the door and all but three tables were occupied. After skipping breakfast, I was ravenous for a plump, doughy, just-right bagel, but wanted something more stout than basic lox and cream cheese. The Breakfast Bagel ($2.52) sounded right up my alley—fried eggs with melted Swiss cheese, my choice of bacon or sausage, on the bagel of my desire. I 86'ed the breakfast-y meat and went for a toasted sesame. A bag of chips on the side ($.70), a bottle of spring water ($1.09) and I'd be set.

But I was torn—What about the signature Panini on homemade foccacia? These sandwiches, of at least six different varieties, make a wholly satisfying lunch. One of my faves, The Greek, is layered with cucumbers, feta cheese, black olives, onion, tomato and a light vinaigrette ($5.25). The Grattzi [sic] was another contender—salami, cappacola (hot cured pork shoulder), onions, tomato, provolone with an Italian dressing ($5.50). The only trouble with these sandwiches is their size. They're enormous, and worthy of at least two meals. Since Heinrich wasn't in the mood for sharing, I stayed with the plainer but equally satisfying bagel sandwich. Nurturing his kraut craving, Heinrich ordered the Reuben ($5.50) on toasted garlic, sans sauce.

Our bagel choices were banal when compared to the wide daily variety: blueberry, rye, pumpernickel, sourdough, egg, sporty, pesto, vegetable, oatie bran, to name just a few ($.65 plain or toasted, $3.60/half-dozen, $6.18/baker's dozen). The range of spreads is just as broad: basic cream cheese ($.80), walnut-raisin, lox, bacon & cheddar, scallion, strawberry ($1.64), the list goes on. With Caravali coffee on the brew, you're welcome to everything from latte ($2.00 for one shot/$3.75 for a double) to cappuccino mocha ($2.25/$4.00). But if you're simply after a good, strong cup of jo-jo, get the Gullywasher ($2.00)—a jumbo size coffee laced with a shot of espresso.

My perfectly hot, plentiful bagelwich made every bite a mouthful. Only one complaint—the bagel could have been more toasted. Heinrich's Reuben was a bountiful mound of corned beef, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut. His Reuby was over half the height of his drink can, and the accompanying "half" dill pickle was equally proportioned. The only angle for making an even better sandwich would be thinner slices of corned beef.

We both declared, as we've declared before, that those were the best damn bagels we've ever eaten. Yes, NYC included.

My sweet fang began to remind me of a lovely plate of fresh, blueberry tarts ($1.00) I'd spied while placing our orders, and of the dependably decadent Hot Bagel cannoli ($1.99). The blueberry tart was, in no uncertain terms, a divine summer delicacy. Bursting ripe blueberries atop a gentle sugar glaze were nestled into the open center of sweet and flaky pastry layers. Finished with a dust of powdered sugar, it was confection perfection.

The equally yum-invoking cannoli offered a wonderfully smooth, tight filling, with a faint taste of cinnamon in the shell. Predictably too rich for Heinrich, even I could eat only half.

Donna Sullivan, the dynamo of Hot Bagel, was suspiciously absent during our lunch. But as we headed out, Tom, the unassuming master baker with true-calling dedication to the craft of baking bread, shuffled from the back. I asked what the weekend would bring, having learned that on Saturdays, he takes extra time to broaden his repertoire with more esoteric loaves.

In a casual, soft voice Tom listed an impressive collection of breads. Ciabatta (an Italian, chewy flatbread fantastic for dipping in herbed oil); Steak Rolls (oversized, like everything else at Hot Bagel); 6-grain German bread (a dark boule as lovely outside as it is tasty inside) and more. He rattled off these mouthwatering carbohydrate creations—and then, a crushing blow, "But I may cut back this weekend, just a little bit, since it's the day before we start our vacation." As tears welled in my eyes, I inquired when Hot Bagel would be reopening. "Oh, on August 12th." I thanked him and turned to leave when a small scrap of paper caught my eye. It was a scrawled note stuck under the edge of a breadbasket, written in a desperate hand. It read: "Have a good vacation and don't even think about us, the starving public."