For many years I have prided myself on my ability to write American Jewish History which breaks the “New York Jewish” model. In grad school I threw myself into exploring the impact of epidemics and natural disasters on Jewish communities in the South as well as the experiences of Southern Jewish women in the Civil War. I then chose to broaden my subject area by exploring what it meant to be a Western Jewish woman during the gold rush and western expansion. Now, did I think for one second New York Jews had a lot to offer, of course! But, their history has and will continue to be written, but Jews in other regions are often left out of the narrative, so I choose to champion their/our history.
Despite this, my perspective may or may not have changed over my recent adventures in New York. Part of the goal of the trip, on my boyfriend’s part, was to ensure that I converted to the cult of obsession around New York bagels. What was I to do? 1# I felt like a stranger in a strange land, 2# Was there a difference between bagels, was that even a thing?, and #3 What would it mean if I actually liked New York bagels? Would my Southernness suddenly dissipate in a cloud of smoke? I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to pass up some very tasty food even at the potential loss of my southern food ideals surrounding butter, bread, and a good gumbo.
Bagel #1
I was assured that this bagel would begin my conversion process and induct me into the group of people known for their love and devotion to the New York bagel. With this in mind, I ordered my favorite bagel, cinnamon and sugar with cream cheese. When the warm bagel finally arrived, lo and behold it was burnt and had an overflowing amount of cream cheese, which in my world means a necessity for an endless supply of napkins. The bagel was underwhelming at best. With such an epic bagel fail, my boyfriend was committed to convincing me of the New York bagel’s supremacy with Bagel #2.
Bagel #2
We might have been in a rush, but we had to attempt another bagel. Same order, slightly better results. The bagel was miraculously NOT BURNT! However, the cream cheese overflowed as I imagine the milk did in the ancient land of Israel, all over my scarf and dress for the day. So, while a step up in the world of bagels, I was still unconvinced.
Bagel #3
After arriving back in Plainview after toasting the New Year in Brooklyn, our first stop, and first meal of the year, was a bagel. Now, after two grossly underwhelming New York bagel experiences, I was not too enthused, but I was hungry. For the first time the bagel was perfect. Opting for a plain bagel and lox was a game changer. Finally, I realized what a real bagel was supposed to taste like! My love of New York bagels finally came true.
After three bagels, I finally discovered I loved New York Bagels. Not only was I in love with New York bagels, but I found that no other bagel could meet my expectations. Throughout my New York adventures, and more specifically my bagel adventures, I realized something about food, culture, and Jews. It doesn’t matter what food unites us. It doesn’t matter whether our dedication to our Jewish food culture is Kosher Cajun or New York bagels. We are a people of multiple identities who welcomes all different kinds of foods and people. We are called on to welcome the stranger, and the bagel and New York welcomed me with open arms. I may never write American Jewish history from a New York perspective. I will never agree with historians and scholars who get distracted by the glory of New York Jewish and forget about all of the amazing people in between, in St. Louis, in New Orleans, in Memphis, in Montana, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like their bagels, and fall in love, just a little bit, with New York and bagels.
Rabbi Bailey Romano 
I’m sure others will point out that part of the problem was your initial choice of a cinnamon bagel. A great bagel, like great pizza (also to be found in New York, as you may have heard), stands on its own as a triumph of simplicity. A true bagel has a sturdy dough and the tang from the malt in the solution in which it was boiled. You can sprinkle things on it — onion, garlic, poppy seeds, “everything” — but there’s no mistaking the bagel underneath. Trying to make it sweet, with cinnamon and sugar, or with blueberries, only serves to obscure the real item.
As to why a New York bagel is better, I offer my Obscenity Theory of Food Quality. Just as the Supreme Court famously said (in Miller v. California) that each community has standards for what is or isn’t obscene, each community has its standards for food. If you open a third-rate seafood restaurant in New Orleans, you’ll be out of business in a month because people there have such high standards for fish. But in most of the country, what passes for a bagel is pretty much a dinner roll with a hole in it. Now that you’re in Northern Virginia, you can find excellent bagels; I recommend Brooklyn Bagels in Arlington, on Wilson Boulevard at Court House Road. But the community standards accept some uninspired starches.
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