In Defense of Pumpernickel
By Chasen Novak
Sunday mornings hold a special place in me and my partner’s home. Life as a chef dictates a work schedule full of nights and weekends – meaning my partner and I get to share lunches and daytime walks, but we don’t get the freedom of kicking our shoes off at 6pm and catching up on Survivor. So when I took my most recent job, I made a deal with the chef – no Sundays. I need one shared day off with my partner, that’s the day for us.
What blossomed was a quintessential New York, 20-somethings tradition – starting our Sundays with a walk to the bagel shop. Sometimes Heaven’s, down the street from us. Sometimes a trek up to 19th street for our favorite, Ess-a-Bagel. But there’s one constant: pumpernickel bagels.
I wasn’t always this cool though. I began my life, like so many of us, as an Everything Kid. Eating them since I was in diapers. As constant in my tween life as turf burn and unrequited crushes. Everything bagels are irresistible. They have everything on them! The Works!
Some days I was a Cinnamon Raisin Kid, if I was getting a PB&J. And occasionally on dark days when they ran out of everything else, I was an Onion Kid. But one fateful morning, I heard my Ashkenazi ancestors whispering in my ear, the persuasion of myriad New York Jews before me, and everything changed. I became a Pumpernickel Man.
Pumpernickel – molasses-y in flavor, an indiscernible funk. The thinking person’s bagel. The delicate firmness of the rye crust. The gentle spice of the caraway seed. A subtly fermented canvas on which to paint your most hungover breakfast sandwich, pairing as well with nova lox, as a bacon, egg, and cheese.
Everything else in your bagel sandwich contributes to the flavor, why not the bread? Pumpernickel is no topping, thrust upon the bagel once it’s nearly finished cooking. It’s baked in, imbuing its flavor in every rich, malted, bite.
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When you were in college you probably drank what everyone else did at parties. Rum and cokes, gin and tonics. Unsophisticated, brutalist, utilitarian. But now you’re an adult. You enjoy the bite of a martini, the depth of a Boulevardier. You crave the complex pinging and panging of an Aviation.
Do you not expect your bagel tastes to develop the same way? Sure you enjoyed the everything bagel when you were a kid. And sure, it gets the job done. But when was the last time you stepped outside your comfort zone? Took a risk on a Sunday morning, felt the blood rushing through your veins as you ventured into new ground.
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The pumpernickel bagel says, I’m mysterious, I have something up my sleeve. It’s in its nature. The main flavorings of the bagels are rye flour and caraway seed – ingredients so humble they needn't assume the bagel’s title. Not like the indignant poppy or sesame seed, needing to stake their claim forthright. Pumpernickel’s quite the opposite. Sitting on its heels, coyly waiting for you to make the first move like a babe at a high school dance.
And if everything thus far hasn’t encouraged you to take the plunge into FlavorTown, I’ll leave you with this. The name? Well “pumpernickel” is a German word, harkening back to the bagel’s roots in Weistephan, Germany. “Nickel” stemming from the name Niklaus, a name usually attributed to goblins and devilish characters. And “Pumpern,” to flatulate. So, the next time you and your partner take a Sunday walk to the bagel shop, order yourself a Farting Devil. Because everyone deserves to be more interesting.