Food #9: Broad Nosh Bagels

NYC encapsulated in a Saturday morning bagel run.

My sweet sister came to visit me this weekend for a quick girls’ trip, and we had the best time eating well and exploring the city. Friday night, we had dinner at Il Bucco, a cozy Italian restaurant filled with long tables that different dinner parties shared. It felt like we were in someone’s kitchen, being taken care of with the best kale salad, a pork entrée, and a chocolate mousse dessert. It was a calm, comforting dinner.

The next morning’s meal was the complete opposite—no fancy lighting, no cozy atmosphere. In fact, there wasn’t even anywhere to sit, the place was so crowded. The shotgun-shell of a restaurant was called Broad Nosh Bagels, just a few blocks from my apartment. We walked there in the most lovely weather and descended down the stairs to the ground floor of the bagel shop, where we stood in line with what seemed like every other person in New York. The shouting of order numbers, shuffling bodies trying to get to the counter, and side conversations created enough chaos to jolt anyone awake without a cup of coffee.

We filed in behind the winding line and stared intently at the menu posted behind the case of bagels and cream cheese so we’d be prepared when an employee waved us down and shouted for our order. After making a mess of my own, I listened in on how the regulars did it. First, tell them what kind of bagel—there were plenty to choose from: plain, everything, blueberry, French toast. Second, clarify if you want it toasted. Third and finally, tell them the type of sandwich. I got a gluten-free plain bagel, toasted, with bacon, egg, and cheese.

Once we placed our orders, the man behind the buffet of cream cheese handed us our tickets and told us to move down the line to check out. We shuffled with the crowd, practically smushed against the glass case of bagel toppings until we made it to two girls in matching pink hats, who were shouting orders and numbers into the air aimlessly, hoping the right ears would recognize them and either make the order or come pick theirs up.

In between shouts—“7681! Large coffee with milk, another with almond—7682!”—we handed over our tickets and waited for the card reader to light up so we could pay and get our food as soon as possible.

“You’re all set. Listen for your last four digits to be called,” they explained before shouting another number. We inched our way into a corner to wait, trying our best to stay out of anyone’s way—an impossible task.

“7683!” they shouted. Every nervous soul in the place lifted their paper ticket in synchronized fashion, checking their last four digits—conflicted between wanting their number to be called and dreading having to meander through the crowd to pick up their brown paper bag of bagels. One hand in the corner popped up above the crowd, and I almost expected the bag to be tossed over the sea of heads, but the crowd parted just enough for her to grab it at the counter and slip out the front door in a hurry.

My sister’s number got called first, so she grabbed her bagel and waited outside while I stayed in the chaos. The people near me started repeating their numbers under their breath, waiting for the shouting to match up. I did the same in my head. 76,96. 76,96.

“7695!” The letdown was like losing the lottery by one number. I meditated on my number again until I finally heard it—“7696!” I raised my hand, and the girl in the pink hat grabbed my brown paper bag and stretched across the counter to hand it to me. Once the bagel was in hand, I had to elbow my way back up the front stairs, and I was free! My sister was nearly done with hers by the time I got out, but we finished them in Central Park, basking in the 56-degree sun. It was an okay bagel—fairly dry and the bacon was only on one half—but man, was it an energetic bagel shop.

It was the perfect breakfast experience to encapsulate what it’s like to live in the city—lots of yelling, constant chaos, but never a dull moment. I’m glad we went, mediocre bagel or not.

Thanks for reading. Talk to you soon,

Gracey