A Schmearful Goodbye

Hearing the shrieks echoing all over the city Thursday morning, in the halls of Stuyvesant all the way up to Bronx Science, you might have thought someone had died. To some, the reality was actually much worse. A West Side Rag article had broken the news that Absolute Bagels, a beloved bagel store on the Upper West Side, had mysteriously closed forever. 

It’s hard to explain Absolute’s appeal on paper. The store had an unyielding attitude toward anything and everything to do with the contemporary dining landscape. It had no official website (though fans created one) nor a curated Instagram page. The storefront was slightly dingy with interiors decorated with dented stainless steel and fluorescent lighting. Absolute didn’t accept credit cards, forcing me and my friends to keep cash on hand. The lines could be ridiculous. I recall doing homework while awaiting my everything bagel with lox. And every now and then, it’d get shut down for health code violations. 

No matter. It was a quintessential New York institution: no frills, a Jewish eatery founded by a Thai immigrant. Most importantly, the bagels were heavenly. They had a crisp crunchy exterior but were soft and chewy inside. I was partial to the everything bagel, while my sister, because she has the spirit of an old man, loved pumpernickel. But there was something for everyone, even the misguided individuals who prefer a sweet cinnamon raisin bagel.

They were perfect even untoasted—you could practically eat them plain. We brought all our out-of-town guests there for their first real New York breakfasts. My dad’s international colleague became such a fan that my dad had to pack half a dozen plain bagels in his suitcase every time he went to Germany.

And of course, Absolute had an iron grasp on the neighborhood. Ask any New Yorker, and they’ll tell you they only buy their bagels from a singular place—just like their pizza. For Upper West Siders, that place was Absolute Bagels. When its infamous line switched directions, migrating south after the neighboring Garden of Eden Market closed, it was reported in the local news.

Now, there’s no line at all—north, south, or otherwise. After the initial confusion on the day it closed—NYC Council Member and former Manhattan Borough President Gale Brewer apparently made 10 calls, including to the NYPD and NYS Assemblymembers, to find out what happened—it turned out that the Department of Health had shut it down for unsanitary conditions. This wasn't Absolute’s first run-in with health code violations (though 67 citations at once seems to be their record). The shop had also shut down in 2013 and 2017 for rat problems, among other things.

My lox—and other raw items—were kept at unsafe temperatures. Health inspectors found dead rats on glue traps atop a walk-in refrigerator. An employee interviewed by the West Side Rag summed it up concisely: “There are many problems. The owner is old.” 

We could see that the store wasn’t the cleanest; that didn’t really matter. In an era where chain coffee shops and luxury brunch spots multiply by the day, stores like Absolute were a rare holdout. The health violations, the cash-only policy, and the occasionally grumpy staff were all part of its charm. Absolute’s imperfections made it feel human—perhaps that’s why so many customers have been able to overlook the recently revealed health hazards.

It is actually still not too late to get your hands on an Absolute bagel, though you may have to act quickly. One enterprising New Yorker started offering them on eBay, and at the time of writing, the listing has been viewed 1,091 times. Prices start at $14.99 per frozen bagel or $49.99 for a trio, one of the rare instances where buying multiple is more expensive than buying one. Before they closed, a freshly baked plain bagel went for $1.50. It’s unclear when these listed bagels were baked, or whether they were in close proximity to the “smoked salmon contaminated by condensate wastewater dripping onto food in the display case.”

Health code violations are serious, and no one wants to eat bagels stored next to gnawed-on sugar packets. But the way the city enforces these violations can feel less like a nudge to improve and more like a hammer coming down. Instead of helping struggling small businesses meet standards, the system can often discourage them entirely, making closure seem easier than compliance.

That doesn’t mean health violations should be ignored, but New York could strike a better balance. Instead of wielding fines as the first and only solution, the city could offer support programs to help small businesses comply with health codes. Subsidized pest control and low-interest loans for kitchen upgrades could give stores like Absolute a fighting chance.

New York has always been defined by its capacity for reinvention, but if mom-and-pop shops continue to be replaced by big-box retailers and generic dining experiences, we risk losing the unique, gritty spirit that has long set New York apart.