Wednesday, April 22, 2009
I must share an important tale with you all.
Today I had the good fortune to be in Queens at the Lake Success shopping center (an under-appreciated jewel). While I enjoyed the window displays at Bath and Body Works and the Gap (check out their striped boyfriend cardis!), I bypassed them in favor of a wonderous dining establishment, Bagel Boss.
I had previously been there a month or so before to grab a bananayy, so I was a little perplexed as to why the 'Grand Opening' signs were still adorning the windows. Be that as it may, a warm feeling of goodwill enveloped me as I passed through the double doors, and saw the shining racks of danishes, cupcakes, rainbow cookie cake (freaking amazing looking) and uh, bagels.
Being on a post-Pesach penance diet, I had to go for the 'build-your-own-salad' option, while jealously eyeing my brother's pizza bagels. I did manage to squeeze in some unusual yumminess of my own in the form of honey mustard tuna (intruiging!).
As brother and I sat, ensconced in a cushy booth, he complained of chilliness, and I urged him to try a sip of my green tea to warm his bones. He demurred, but I was so persistent (and annoying) that he gave in and took the tiniest sip known to man, at which point he made an extremely ugly face and practically spit it out. (Don't make ugly faces, kids, your face might freeze that way.)
I admit that the tea, not my usual brand, did have a slightly bizarre tinge of mushroom. But I loved the fun cup cover with its nifty piece of foam that lifted up.
As we left, I gave the bakery goods - every single one of them - a longing stare. (The staff behind the counter might have thought me a touch bizarre.) With great sadness, I shuffled off, sans any desserty goodness but secure in my dietetic state.
Thinking about these events, now that a few hours have elapsed, I can't help but be elated that I ate at Bagel Boss. It was so BOSS. Living in Manhattan and trying to be fabulous all the time can be tiring on one's soul. Allowing yourself to 'slum it' sometimes (and I mean that with greatest affection) in outer boroughs such as Queens, in a quaint little bagel shop, is so necessary.
The moral of the story? Throw off your Hugo Boss and hitch a ride out of the citayyy (although I am in no way endorsing Staten Island as an option).