It’s not a bagel, I told myself. It’s just oddly shaped toast. Don’t think about real bagels. It was a kind gesture. Appreciate it.
I said that to myself every morning the first time I visited my in-laws in Kansas. My husband, who after 4 years of living in New Jersey finally understands what I mean when I say “bagel,” had suggested to his mother that she didn’t have to buy bagels for the Jersey girl. That really, I would be perfectly happy with bread. Even plain old white bread. But my mother-in-law is as strong-willed as she is kind, so she bought me bagels at the grocery store. The kind that come pre-sliced and in plastic wrapping – the only kind there is at the average rural Kansas supermarket.
Which anyone raised in Jersey or New York will tell you isn’t a real bagel at all.
I ate them anyway, a smile pasted on my face. Meanwhile I thought snobby East Coast thoughts about bagels, pizza and art museums. I had lived in Kansas City for 9 years, but after moving back to NJ I forgot everything I had learned in the Midwest. And my husband would be quick to tell you that “the city” (as in Kansas City) was a far cry from the small rural communities my in-laws have lived in their entire lives. You can actually get a decent bagel in Kansas City, for example. [Read more...]
