Flat Bagels

(Did someone say "Flat Bagels"? The other day someone mentioned them and I remembered the taste and the smell of them baking. I also remembered that I had written something about them-I found it and here it is.)

I thought I had figured out how long it takes for poppy seeds to make their way through my alimentary canal. Thirty-six hours. I ate a flat bagel as I walked through Grand Central and sat on the four o’clock train on Friday afternoon. It did occur to me that there were a lot of seeds on that thing but it wasn’t until this morning that I got the report. A visual inspection of my bowel movement confirmed uncountable numbers of tiny, black, pits and so I said “Ahh Haa!” Thirty-six hours plus or minus. I happened to mention it to Liz. “I know how long it takes poppy seeds to make their way through me…” She didn’t even look up from the Sunday paper. “How do you know?” “I checked. I ate a flat bagel Friday afternoon and the seeds have evidenced themselves just now. Thirty six hours!” I poured a second coffee for myself and got her cup and made one for her as well. “What about the cookies you ate last night? Poppy seed Humentashen!” I detected a hint of superiority in her voice (damn the carb counters of the world) but her grasp of the obvious flaw in my theory could not be denied.

I love flat bagels. It is one of my great weaknesses. One could attribute it to how tired I am when I am heading for the afternoon train. One could say that I deserve it as a small reward for the sacrifice I make all day. I do not delude myself at all. It is just a tactile weakness not better or worse than a heroin addiction or a craving for chocolate, or cocaine or whiskey. I crave the salty mix of seeds and spice and the crunchy, chewy feeling in my mouth. No matter that I promise myself that I will not buy one (they are overpriced), that I do not need the calories (I am not overweight but my physique is not properly balanced), that I must save my self for Liz’s home-cooked dinner (I am not a sexual cheat -my indiscretions are purely dietary), I buy one anyway.

I have been known to stand out front of the bakery for fifteen minutes and debate all the points but in the end I almost always end up in line. “Flat bagel, please. Yes, everything. Wait, I think I have correct change.” I even go so far as to promise myself that I will not take a bite until I have found a seat on the train, gotten my ticket pinned to my lapel and taken out my reading materiel or Sony Walkman and earphones. Would you believe that I cannot even keep that simple promise to myself. I cannot stop myself—as I stride through the huge terminal I cannot help reaching into the bag and ripping off a small bit of the crust. Then another and another. I become ashamed of myself. By the time I finally find my seat the bagel is nearly half gone and I have forgotten my pledge to myself, my embarrassment, my initial resolve to not buy it in the first place. By the time I am done I always wish I had bought a bottle of water and my mouth is full of bits of seeds.

The latest round of diet fads has not helped my sense of guilt. All carbohydrates are bad, I am told. Dinner has been distilled down to meat with a side dish of salad or a vegetable (some vegetables are considered unacceptable on these “low-carb” diets as well though I cannot figure out why. Carrots used to be good for me but no more.) Lunch consists of a sandwich without the bread—there is really nothing on the lunch menu that appeals to me at all. Unless I were to eat the same thing I know we will be having for dinner but then dinner would be a boring disappointment. Breakfast? Eggs. They used to be bad for me, didn’t they? Now they are good. Of course if you want them to be really good they must be yolk-less, food-colored, egg “substitutes”, the ones that come in a milk carton. You whip some of those up and make an omelet with onions and peppers and top the whole thing off with a fistful of low-fat cheese. This is eaten without toast (you may have a slice of “whole wheat, sliced thin, diet bread” but once you taste it you will never be tempted to include it in your breakfast again. It is not worthy.) To truly make this breakfast grand you will want to include a couple of slices of turkey bacon and a cup of coffee with skim milk and sugar substitute. I tried this breakfast. I reverted to raisin bran (with extra raisins) and banana sliced over it. I used to consider this a good, guilt-free breakfast—now I am fraught with over-eaters remorse as I pour the one percent milk over the cereal. But this guilt is nothing compared to the self-flagellation I wish I could inflict about three times a week when I succumb to a flat-bagel urge.

Many people, lately, have become soldiers in the low-carb army. They knot in tiny clusters around the buffet table at parties and critique the selection of food. It is not unusual that there is absolutely nothing for them to eat. It is becoming more usual for there to be a platter of acceptable vegetables and low-fat cheeses for them to munch while they observe the gluttons amongst us eating the miniature quiche and batter-fried shrimp. “It’s amazing…it’s always the fat ones who eat that stuff” they will whisper to one another just loud enough to be heard over the crunching of celery. They will sip their wine while the unobservant will swig a beer. They will not touch the baked potato or the breadsticks or the wedding cake. They will tell each other they can’t wait to get home to a big bowl full of diet Jell-O and artificial whipped cream. On a decadent night watching TV they might eat exactly twenty pistachio nuts. I will make the rounds of the party looking—as I always do at these functions—for signs of intelligent and interesting conversations. “I lost twenty-two pounds and I’m never hungry…” “Have you tried the eggplant casserole? No breading!…” “No thanks, those kind of nuts are very high in carbs.” People used to talk about their cars and their stock portfolios. Remember when there was debate over your choice of Mac or PC? No more. It’s all about diets now. Low carb diets. And here I am addicted to flat bagels.