There is nothing so mouth watering as the smell of bread baking and in this case, bagels.
One of my first paying jobs was at Marion’s Bagel Bakery
in the Gallery mall in Center City owned by Nathan Greenspan
originally from Brooklyn, New York.
Bagels are boiled before they go in the oven to bake. It’s the step that
sets the crust and keeps the bagel dense. As the first batches of bagels were baked early everyday, the aroma wafted throughout the first floor of the mall drawing in the first morning rush of customers on their way to work.
Nathan arrived at the bakery every morning at 5 a.m. to
roll out from the walk-in, a trolley of shelves loaded with raw bagels
that were mixed and rolled the day before and now ready to proof . He would
fill the kettle and fired it up with the oven.
Nathan seemed to be the figure and manner of a grisly
man. It was all on the surface and for show, because like a bagel, Nathan was crusty on the outside, but soft on the side. He had soft heart underneath his gravelly voice and husky build.
Nathan was a New Yorker, born and raised. He transplanted
his business and family, opening two shops, one in a New Jersey mall and the
other in the Philadelphia mall. The move from New York was so he and his wife Marion, would be closer to his
daughter while she went to Medical School at Temple, “The univoisity,
not the shul,” he loved to say with a chuckle.
Nathan’s bagels were uniformly awesome, mixed from
scratch in a huge industrial kettle sized mixer, with only high gluten flour
and solid cake yeast. It amazed me that nothing was written down as to
measurements of what ingredient or how much and he matched the previous batch
of whatever kind he was making at the time, always consistent and always tasty.
Cinnamon raisin, Pumpernickel, Plain, Sesame, Poppy,
it didn’t matter, everyday they were consistent in taste and size. Sometimes he
would leave a batch in the oven a little longer just to make a crustier batch,
one of my favorites. I personally liked the more well-done bagel.
About once a month, Nathan would make a dozen Bialys, just one dozen, because he said nobody would know what they were. Nathan’s bialys
were the same dough as his bagels,
but not
boiled and flattened with a center of chopped onions and poppy seeds. They were
sort of like an onion roll but different, not as sweet, and awesome with tuna
fish or egg salad, of which were the most popular lunch sandwiches we served. At
lunch time, like a cafeteria line outside the shop counter, there was never
less than a dozen or more customers waiting to place their order.
Marion’s Bagel shop was a ‘strictly dairy’ establishment,
no meat was served or ever allowed on the counters, if you brought any meat
into the shop, Nathan would usher you back behind the mixer and tsk at you, “no
meat, no meat, strictly dairy, strictly dairy.” And he would slap his forehead
and fake fear and frustration, “Oy, you shiksa, WHAT am I going to do with you
goys. THIS is why I could never be Kosher!”
The truth was that Nathan could never be Kosher because
he didn’t want to follow the rules of being Kosher, but knew he would draw a
certain type of customer that would appreciate a good bagel, made by a Brooklyn
Jew with a mezuzah strategically placed just over the food case that held the sandwich
spreads and sandwich makings. One day he saw me run may hand on the mezuzah
just before I tied my apron. He nodded his headed and said, “you know what that
is?...you know what you just did there?”
I screwed my face
and responded “I know what a mezuzah is.” He responded, “Oh yeah? What is a
mezuzah, miss gentile smarty-pants, I bet you can’t even spell it.”
I said ,” If I spell it will you give me a raise?”
“Get to work.” He responded. I muttered back, “Yeah I thought so, praying for the blessing
and good luck of a raise, pfft.” With that, Nathan laughed good and hard and did give
me a raise, a nickel.
After a year or so, I left my position at Marion’s bagels to stay home with
my kids for the summer. Nathan was not happy. When I told him I couldn’t afford
a babysitter while the kids were no longer in school, he just shook his head
and simply said, “You come back in September, I'll give a quarter and hour raise if you come back." But I didn’t. He sold the shop
and took his mezuzah.
“I don’t know. Use your
imagination.” 
However, after that episode
he hardly ever challenged Mom to use her imagination. Had he used his
imagination that night he would have found the key she removed from the can was
tucked inside the bread slices.
