Ghosts of bagels past

Since practically the first day, probably the first week, that I moved to Florida (that would be August of 2014) I have been searching for what has turned out to be a ghost.

When I moved to Brooklyn, NY in 1971 my first culinary discovery was the lowly bagel.  So for over four decades I was spoiled into thinking they would be with me forever.  When friends and family came to visit I automatically got them hooked on various varieties of bagel, to their individual taste of course.  Some chose plain; some chose whole wheat or pumpernickel or cinnamon raisin and some settled on a variety of toppings, from basic sesame or poppy seed, to onion to garlic to salt and the ultimate in taste bud explosion(s) the "everything."  A lot of my guests insisted on stopping at my local deli (Terrace Bagels) on their way out of town so they could treat their loved ones back home.  I took having these bagels available, fresh daily, for granted.

I have now realized that searching for a reasonably facsimile in the Ft. Lauderdale area is impossible.  I am saddled with a memory.  Nothing here can compare with there.  Various friends and acquaintances have recommended a phalanx of restaurants and/or delicatessens but all have fallen on the wrong side of palatable in comparison to those served up by Terrace Bagels or, at least, my memory of them.  And, after all, it hasn’t been all that long since I moved.  The one place that comes close is Chesapeake Bagels but only because they look right.  But they are really as ordinary as the rest.

I just wish I had traveling friends who could bring me bagel largesse from my old neighborhood.  Now I understand why they did it.  They are only made manifest in New York City.  Here they are ghosts.