Sliders!

Alright, I admit it, there were some wiener omissions in my story on Thursday. Having written about one of them, Chi-Town Dogs (4115 66^th St. N, St. Petersburg, 727/343-9003) fairly recently, I decided not to include them. Still, an omission. To make amends, I'd like to alert the local dining public that Chi-Town has begun serving White Castle/Krystal-style sliders, those little babies with the onions on top and the pillowy rolls. Two is about right for a meal, each one running $2.35.

There, I'll sleep better tonight.

Wiener Kings?

HEY, ALL YOU HOTDOGGERS!
I'm thinking of running a "Readers' Picks" list with my own dog drivvel. If you want your suggestion to be included in the piece, can you e-mail me your approval (and full name and town)? lreiley@sptimes.com

Party at the museum

This afternoon I talked to James Canter, the chef at the MFA Cafe. He was helping me out with a chile pepper story I'm working on. In passing, he told me that tomorrow night (Friday), the MFA Cafe launches its first jazz night, sponsored by Peroni beer. Pay $20, and between 6 and 9 p.m. you can enjoy the scat stylings of Lounge Kitty, two complimentary Peroni beers and free hors d'oeuvres (white anchovy bruschetta with preserved lemon, etc.). Canter and staff are also offering dinner entrees tomorrow for those who want something a little more substantial: a Spanish-style shepherd's pie ($16), herbed chicken breast with braised artichokes ($16), a saffron seafood risotto ($17) and more.

Hopefully, this will be the first of many evenings at the MFA. (255 Beach Dr. NE, St. Petersburg, (727) 822-1032)

(Photo DIRK SHADD | Times).

My current preoccupation

I'm working on a story. For Father's Day, I'm testing out gas and charcoal grills under $250, very Consumer Reports. Last Friday I spent the day assembling a whole bunch of them and I'm sure my neighbors are still recovering from the cuss words lobbed from over the fence. Anyway, one of the contenders is The Big Green Egg, only I got the mini Big Green Egg, oxymoron or not.

Essentially, my conclusion is: WHAT CAN'T IT DO? I'm grilling and smoking obsessively. Last night, smoked scallops and shrimp, followed by grilled pizza (ricotta, Italian sausage, caramelized onion, moz and a little gorgonzola). Then I finished up the evening smoking a whole chicken for today. A couple nights before that it was brisket. And before that was some snapper and portobellos with tarragon butter. I did asparagus, but somehow the smokiness seemed too much for the spears.

Anyway, really nothing in my home is safe. This weekend, I'm thinking tofu and some ribs. Honestly, a kitchen sponge or a pair of flip-flops would probably taste decent smoked on this baby.

In honor of my crepe story today

Maybe it's a sickness, but I seem to remember all scenes in movies that have to do with food. One of my more favorites in recent years was in the fine film, Talladega Nights. The scene takes place between Jean Girard and Ricky Bobby. It is excerpted below if you don't feel like watching the YouTube segment (it's got some naughty bits).

Jean Girard: [has Ricky in an arm lock] I will let you go, Ricky. But first, I want you to say...”I... love... crepes."

Cal Naughton, Jr.: Don't you say it, Ricky. These colors don't run.

Ricky Bobby: I'm not gonna say it.

***

Cal Naughton, Jr.: You know, just to put this in there, I had a whole mess of crepes this morning. They're just like pancakes, maybe even better.

Ricky Bobby: Wait, are they the really thin pancakes?

Cal Naughton, Jr.: Yeah. Jean Girard: Yes they are. They are the really thin pancakes. It's just a French word for them.

Ricky Bobby: Oh, my god, I love those.

Cal Naughton, Jr.: Put any syrups you want on them. I'm just saying, think about it.

Ricky Bobby: They come with cheese sometimes?

Jean Girard: Yes, of course, a fromage-crepe.

Ricky Bobby: Well, why didn't someone yell that right-right away?

On a roll

Bread, meat and cheese. Even without condiments, these ingredients brew controversy. The kind of controversy that divides families and engenders interstate blood feuds. There’s the Reuben, the Cubano and the muffuletta, their histories rife with apocryphal tales and simmering resentments. That goes double for the Philly cheesesteak. A whole city takes credit for this sandwich, fiercely protecting its good name.

“You ask for black olives and relish, and we ask, ‘What, are you from Delaware?!’” says Paul Campbell, 43, owner of Philly’s Famous Cheesesteaks in Largo. “And in Philly, if you ask for mayo? Cooks go bananas. They’ll throw you in the river for even asking for it.”

In celebration of the Phillies spring training, Campbell got in touch with me to talk cheesesteaks.

He says the key is the roll. Back in 1990, he couldn’t find the right thing around here, one that was hard on the outside and soft on the inside, able to hold the cheesesteak ingredients all in there without falling apart. He contacted Amoroso in Philly, begging them to allow the rolls across state lines. Then he found a company in Gainesville willing to truck the good stuff south.

Meat? The real deal is ribeye, sliced super thin by the manufacturer. He gets his shipped down from the Philadelphia Cheesesteak Factory.

Campbell then gave me a little history lesson: Pat’s Steaks in Philly is credited with inventing the species in 1933. Pat’s meat is a little different, according to Campbell, sliced a little thicker. And Pat’s uses whiz.

That’s Cheez Whiz, a South Philly variation. The rest of the city chops the meat and scrupulously uses white American cheese (“if you try using yellow American they’ll throw you out,” says Campbell. “That’s WIC cheese [the government assistance cheese in the Women, Infants and Children program]!”). On the other hand, you can ask for provolone without fear of repercussions, and in Reading a little pizza sauce is added to the meat and on top of the provolone (it keeps the cheese from sticking to the wrapper). They call that a pizza steak.

According to Campbell, a real cheesesteak distinguishes itself by its simplicity: A few ounces of caramelized Spanish onions with the eight or so ounces of chopped meat. Top that meat/onion mixture with three slices of white American, let it melt, then slide it gracefully into that foot-long Amoroso roll.

Campbell says anything else and it’s just steak and cheese.

Photo of Pat's cheesesteak from Answers.com

I worship little baby cheeses

Alright, I’ve been waiting for the Big Cheese to write about cheese. But she’s staying mum, evidently. It has recently come to our attention that there is yet another gastronomic reason to get in the car and blow through $15 worth of gas. Sarasota has a new cheese shop. A real one, where you can ask for tastes, describe your dream cheese, kibbitz about textures and runniness. It’s C’est Cheese, the first artisan cheese boutique in Southwest Florida.

Owner Sherri Krams has 75 to 100 cheese, mostly American artisan, not too much European unless it's rare (like an 8-month-aged manchego). She sells coveted American cheeses like Cypress Grove's new Truffle Tremor (it’s like Humboldt Fog but truffle infused), or Rogue Creamery's smoky blue that's roasted on hazelnut shells. She also sells chocolates, crackers, dried fruits and nuts, etc.

4114 Tamiami Trail at Bee Ridge Road, (941) 323-3374.

Roe by roe

Valentine's Day is my least-favorite American holiday. I like Groundhog's Day better. Nonetheless, V-Day is on the way, so here's some ammo.

The sharing of one of the world’s rarest culinary luxuries often provides an indispensable boost to a burgeoning romance. Cupid’s arrows have been reliably lofted for centuries with the unctuous pop and briny flavor of caviar, especially when contrasting with the yeasty effervescence of fine champagne. Beluga, sevruga, osetra — even the names sound sumptuous.

But not so fast.

In January 2006, the United Nations banned export of beluga sturgeon caviar from the Caspian Sea region. Since then the ban has been lifted, but the facts remain: beluga, stellate and Russian sturgeon face extinction unless consumers rely on other sources of roe.

It’s no surprise that we’ve begun farming American caviar in earnest. In fact, the American caviar industry dates back to sturgeon thronging the Delaware River in the 19th century. Roe was so plentiful it was offered as a saloon snack to make customers thirstier. More recently, farmed caviar from Siberian, Russian or Iranian sturgeon stock has made great strides, winning taste tests and savvy consumers’ approbation (hovering around $25 per ounce, whereas Caspian Sea goods come in at $100 an ounce).

California’s Tsar Nicoulai wins plaudits for its Estate osetra, hackleback and paddlefish varieties (all available at Mazzaro Italian Market in St. Petersburg); North Carolina’s Sunburst Trout is praised for its vibrant orange trout caviar (available at Wild Oats/Whole Foods in Tampa); and mild and big-pearled Marky’s Alaskan salmon roe (Fresh Market locations in Clearwater and Tampa) has numerous fans.

To put American caviar to the test you need only to take a seat at Marchand’s at the Renaissance Vinoy Resort. Caviar tastings include a generous scoop of Russian sevruga and another of farmed American bowfin (both accessorized with creme fraiche, capers, red onion and light, buttery Yukon Gold blinis). The takeaway? Russian sevruga may be black gold, but the glossy black eggs and mild, ocean-breeze flavor of domestic bowfin are precious pearls indeed.

Diggin on the staff of life

My peeps are big bread eaters. So much so that two completely different sets of friends sent us shipments of bread from Zingerman's in Michigan this Christmas. I guess in a perfect world it would be crusty sourdough, the kind that makes your gums bleed a little if you're overexuberant, but there are lots of other bread products out there that enthuse me:

Loving it, and not in a "I'm so pious and smug, eating this healthy stuff" kind of way: Sami's Pita Bakery (4920 East Busch Blvd., Tampa, 877/989-2722) specializes in breads and bakes goods for the health-conscious or those with allergies. For breads, this means flat breads, sliced breads and rolls that are made from milled flours other than wheat—from millet and flax spinach lavash to pizza crusts and low-carb seven-grain fiber bread. Even sweets get virtuous, from sweet Middle Eastern walnut baklava to low-carb/high-protein cheesecake. You can find them at Wild Oats/Whole Foods or whatever they seem to be calling themselves these days.

Another place that I've been skulking around recently is Spices of India Grocery (15343 Amberly Dr., Tampa, 813/971-9131), which offers up all the naan, chapati, paratha, and pappadam Indian-food lovers wax rhapsodic about. Located near the Lifestyle Family Fitness gym, the mid-size grocery caters to New Tampa’s growing Indian community, purveying a teeny bit of fresh produce, prepared foods, spices and traditional breads. While many Indian home cooks still make their own breads, Hinal Shingala’s grocery is a boon to busy families looking for a quick onion paratha fix.

Spices of India photo from New Tampa/Wesley Chapel, Florida Blog.

Beefer madness

My friend Dave Davisson (now, Dave, can you fill us in on your parents' thinking there?) got to go out to eat with Brian Ries ("Lucky!"--spoken like a peevish Napoleon Dynamite). He's embarking on a great quest for the Tampa Bay area's best hamburger. Here is his list. I gave him a very random handful of ideas, as have other eager carnivores, evidently. I think it's a noble cause, especially if he's going to be quasi-scientific about it and eschew cheese and other fripperies in the name of The Cause. Dave, does this mean no catsup? Mayo, salt, etc.? This means you gotta eat it as God intended (or whoever)?

Actually, I think that's kind of a reasonable critic's credo: you've got to eat it as the kitchen intended. No substitutions, no amendments, no whining. It comes out and you receive.

That's an aside, really. The subject here is burgers. Who's got them, who doesn't. Discuss.

A half century of little blue men

Smurfs just turned 50. Among Germany's greatest achievements, they are actually called Schlümpfe and I happen to own about 30 of the small, pliable plastic guys. Circa 1979, mint condition.

But enough of my bragging. Schlümpfe make me think of the country's other great triumph, the knödel.

It is among the most misunderstood of German foods. Some Americans see the big white ball rolling around their plate, and they say, “What is that?” with genuine foreboding verging on terror. What you need to know is that these balls, roughly the size and density of a fast-pitch softball, have one purpose: to soak up the various brown gravies that occur with regularity in this cuisine. Made of potato, flour, egg and sometimes even ripped up bread rolls, the knödel’s role at the German table is as medium.

There are other German feats of culinary weirdness that I just can't get behind. Go to a German candy store and browse until you find the right aisle. At first your eyes will not understand what they are seeing. There is a whole aisle filled with little, lifelike fruits, vegetables and animals molded out of colored almond paste.

Why, you ask? Because they can. Purchase several marzipan creatures, maybe a couple small, molded pink pigs. Walk outside the store, put them in your mouth and chew. You may not spit them back in the bag.   

Reinvigorated, it's Monday and there's a smile on her face...

Sure, it was Thanksgiving, which I spent eating gunk with family. But much more importantly, I went to three smallish, independently owned, delicious, worthy-of-review new places. I'd been feeling a little low--a bunch of recent forays yielded nothing worth reviewing other than big, corporately owned chains and hotel restaurants. A food critic loves the thrill of the chase, ferreting out the uncelebrated underdogs.

Here's what's on the horizon for reviews:

Went to Pierogi Grill. It's oxymoronic, yes (what would a grilled pierogi even look like?), but really good. Jeff Houck at the Tampa Tribune did a great story on it, so it's not completely unsung. Still. If you eat a whole plate of pierogis you lapse into a narcoleptic torpor, but I'd recommend the spinach and meat, the cheese, the potato (nice dilly flavor), the one with cheddar, and a combo bite of the sweet dessert blueberry one with the sweet cheese one. Also, there's delicious borscht that looks like pink Easter egg dye floating some little meat dumplings. Stuffed cabbage is mild-mannered but sturdy. The soundtrack was extremely heavy on Bryan Adams. Why? One of life's little mysteries. 1535 Gulf to Bay Blvd., Clearwater, (727) 216-3055

Next stop, Zen Bistro Grill and Sushi Bar in Westchase. Totally lovely hipster-minimalist interior with neat Plexiglas floor tile revealing little sand-and-stone Zen gardens, and floppy living bamboo in towering glass planters. The food is accessible pan-Asian, heavy on the Japanese and Vietnamese flavors. Family friendly, nice little martini list. 9620 W. Linebaugh Ave., Westchase Town Center,  (813) 792-8665

Then my husband talked me into going to a new Greek place called Acropolis in New Tampa, at the site of the defunct and deeply frightening Brickyard Restaurant. The lingering memory of Brickyard had made me gun shy--totally unwarranted. It's owned by the brother of the guy who owns the restaurant of the same name in Ybor City. There's live music, breaking plates, the grapevine dance snaking around the restaurant and people yelling "opa" at intervals. But that's not why you should go. The food is generous, flavorful, fresh-tasting and very inexpensive. I'm reviewing it quick before the portion sizes get adjusted downward. 14947 Bruce B. Downs Blvd., Tampa, (813) 242-4545 (that's the Ybor phone #--the new one doesn't seem to be registered with directory assistance yet).

Any other places I should check out?

Whereby my prayers are answered

Oh mercy me. Today I'm cooking a "Bouillabaisse, Florida Style" for Terry Tomalin's Gulf & Bay section. For this, I need a bunch of Florida seafood--clams, shrimp, grouper, stone crab. I got up and made my grocery list. I thought to myself, "Where can I go for one-stop shopping? Dang, sure wish there were a Whole Foods around here."

I called Wild Oats. A lady answers and says, "Whole Foods, may I help you?"

What?!

I was flummoxed and sputtering. I think she thought it was a crank call, like I was going to ask her if she had Prince Albert in a can.

How has Wild Oats  quietly, secretly, craftily become a Whole Foods right under my nose (alright, it's a big nose)? (Food editor Janet Keeler then told me that the business section had a story about this months ago. But still.)

I know Michael Pollan doesn't like Whole Foods. Fine, Michael, enjoy the Piggly Wiggly or whatever. For me, Whole Foods' cheese selection, meats and sausages, boutique produce (blood oranges, abundant wild mushrooms), dried pastas--it all makes me happy in my heart.

The change occurred two weeks ago and they are slowly sweeping out all the Wild Oats products and ushering in the Whole Foods ones.

I'm going shopping. If you need me, I'll be at 1548 N Dale Mabry Hwy., Tampa, FL 33607. (813) 874-9435.

Gold Dust Memories

Janet's gold-panning story in the paper today got me thinking about gold rush food history.

Really, the West Coast's restaurant boom started when Sam Brannan paraded his vial of gold dust down Montgomery Street in San Francisco, yelling “Gold! Gold! Gold on the American River!” With that he ignited the 1849 gold rush, and San Francisco restaurants have never been the same.

The vicissitudes of supply and demand made rustling up some vittles 150 years ago anything but a cakewalk. Vegetables in early San Francisco were luxuries that only the very rich could afford—apples up to $5 each. Most of those miners went without, risking scurvy and other ailments. Want bread with your meal? That’s $1 a slice, $2 if it was buttered.

Bad planning yielded a glut of some staples—you couldn’t give slab bacon away—and a dire lack of others. Some 49ers were known to have paid up to $100 for a glass of water. And because the miners were largely rough-and-tumble men who didn’t know a bain marie from a melon baller, the womanly art of cooking took on unforeseen luster, creating a little cult of highly-paid celebrity chefs. Hey, that doesn’t sound too different from today.

In 1881, the San Francisco city directory lists 233,959 residents, 428 restaurants, 342 oyster saloons, 90 coffee saloons, and some 1400 bars. That means roughly one eating or drinking establishment per every 100 people. Not bad.

Just what were all those early settlers tucking into at great expense? That would be “Hangtown fry," a sinful amalgam of scrambled eggs, bacon and oysters. One probably apocryphal account attributes its origin to a prospector who had just struck pay dirt and wanted to celebrate with the most costly meal that could be whipped up in camp. Another story gives the honors to a man on death row who dreamed up this final-meal request (oysters were so prized that the oyster beds of San Francisco were depleted by 1851) as a means of postponing his execution a bit.

Pretty luxurious stuff, huh? What are some other great more-is-more, pull-out-all-the-stops dishes?

Brush with culinary fame, watch the crumbs

My friend in Baltimore just sent this:

"So.....I stumble into this hole-in-the-wall Italian bakery near my new office downtown today, and met the mom-n-pop proprietors of this shop.

It is a tiny bakery called Piedigrotta that has cookies, cakes, bread and--yes--tiramisu everywhere. But, it was lunchtime so I asked for a sandwich (no menus or anything like that). So the lady (Brunna Iannaconne) went into the back and made me an Italian cold cut panini on a fresh, homemade (of course) Italian roll.

I talked to them for a while, and it turns out that they claim to have INVENTED tiramisu!

So when I got back to the office I checked wikipedia, and it mentioned this guy! It had a link to a Washington Post article that you have to read.

BTW, the sandwich was UNBELIEVABLE!"

I love Baltimore (in a shallow and superficial way, but also in a deep and profound way; totally different reasons). What has the Tampa Bay area invented so I can stop being so jealous?

Wherein through a cruel twist of fate I find kolaches

Sean Daly gets lots of hits on his blog. I get fewer. He sometimes talks about his daughter (today is a case in point, all Kid Lulu, all the time). I have yet to do so.

In the hopes of boosting my hits, becoming an overnight blog sensation at the paper, I submit to you the following story of my daughter, which ends with a World Class Food Discovery:

First, I do not have my ears pierced. No extra holes punched in my body, please. My daughter? She got hers pierced four weeks ago. Her decision. I'm fine with that, really. This morning, she comes downstairs hysterical because her ear is infected and the earring is missing. Hmm, oh my, it's not missing. IT'S INSIDE HER EAR.

We remain calm. Mostly. We go to the pediatrician. It's ugly in there, serious blood, sweat and tears. Afterward, limp and stricken, we get back in the car and drive toward school. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a sign for KDBox Kolache & Donut (14941 Bruce B. Downs Blvd., Tampa, 813/977-6654).

A donut would make everything better, I said to myself (well, everything except her puffy, red ear). But it turns out kolaches might be capable of fixing even that. It's a Czech bun of yeast dough with a depression or pocket for filling, generally with a fruit jam, meat or cheese. At KDBox, some are plump golden balls, some are Polish sausage-filled long tubes. Some contain barbecued beef, some broccoli and cheese, others simply cream cheese. Delicious, portable, super cheap (99 cents to $1.69)--a meal that is utterly utensil-free, I think kolaches might be poised to change the American culinary landscape.

Now, anyone have advice on how to convince a kid she's fine with just one ear pierced?

What does a goblin eat at the beach?

I'm feeling spicy today. Thus, a double post. After Smedley's delightful harangue of the morning, I'd like to pause for a moment to consider...The Sandwich.

This week’s tips have included the following.

Via blackberry: Check out Press 2315 Sandwich and Wine Bar at 2315 Central Ave., St. Petersburg, (727)327-5544. www.press2315.com

Will do.

And this, from a Mr. Travis:

Dear Editors,
Located at 11402 North 30th St., Tampa, near the USF campus, McAlister's Deli is quickly becoming a certified hot spot for great sandwiches, huge baked potatoes, and sweet tea that will make you slap your mother.  It is a Mississippi-based restaurant franchise that allows customers a huge menu, quick casual service, and most of all great Southern-style charm. It challenges and surpasses the likes of Panera Bread because of the personal attention received by each patron. The manager at McAlister's Deli strives to meet and greet every single customer that enters and exits the building.  He is what keeps the customers coming back!!! You definitely need to check this one out.

Again, Mr. Travis, I'm on it. And I am especially eager to experience the mother-slapping part.

Then there’s this, from Dale Hall, owner:

I own All-Star Celebrity Deli at 13501 Icot Blvd., Suite 100, (727) 523-1332. It’s across from Tuscon’s in the Icot Center. My wife and I have owned it since January 2007 and we have a full but small kitchen. We carry all Boar's Head meats and cheeses. We also have great Philly cheese steaks, chicken, burgers, etc. We are trying hard, we seem to be doing the right thing, and we are extremely busy at lunch. We are open for breakfast and lunch, 7 a.m.-4 p.m. Monday-Friday, 8 a.m.-2 p.m. Saturday.

Ah, Janet, you vixen

Janet's food section story today on sliders has got me preoccupied. Those cute little buns, the diminutive patties of meat. Maybe some squiggles of sauteed onion if you go Old School (see White Castle, left, although it's technically a publicity shot for Harold and Kumar).

I'm clearly going to have to spend the weekend fabricating adorable brioche buns or else wandering the greater Tampa bay area in search of sliders.

So far, I'm thinking Brisket Basket in St. Petersburg, the kobe beef sliders at Fly Bar downtown in Tampa and the very respectable version at Channelside's Splitsville.

Any other favorite sliders out there?

Food of Love

In M. F. K. Fisher’s many decades of food writing, she devoted countless pages to discussing the gastronomy of love, or “the almost vascular connection between love and lobster pâté, between eating and romance.” This is not news. Women have for ages been subjected to the hackneyed, and physiologically incorrect, expression about a way to a man’s heart. In more egalitarian terms, the sharing of a fine meal often provides an indispensable boost to a burgeoning romance.

I'm not naming any names, but I have a grown-man friend who's recently, unexpectedly and fabulously, fallen in love. Here's what he's thinking about:

• Manchego
• Zinfindel (oh my god, it's the other white meat of red wines)
• Scharffen Berger chocolate
• Homemade hummus with curry
• Charles Shaw Merlot (it's like $3 for chrissake!!)
• Blended red wines - the more varieties, the merrier (Menage-A-Trois was a recent favorite, Red
• Truck was also nice - insane at $10)
• Champagne (pretty hard to beat Moet White Star)
• Sheep's milk feta cheese
• Caerphilly cheese
• Avocados (thinly sliced with lemon juice and sea salt - it's like sashimi)
• Artichoke hearts with hearts of palm tossed in tahini
• Sticky toffee pudding

So, extrapolating, the way to a man's heart--or wherever--can be found at the confluence of dry wines and salty cheese?

My Little Dumplings

Bagels led to thoughts of other carbs I have known and loved. Since I started at the paper, lots of readers have contacted me jonesing for dim sum.

The truth is, making it yourself is just nigh impossible. The basics of crepes, souffles, even sushi rolls can be conveyed in just a few cooking classes. But trying to make any of the intricately folded dim sum dumplings is like attempting a scale model of the Lusitania crafted from fresh earth worms. The dough wriggles, it slips, the filling squirms out. It prompts invective and spitting vituperation, preferably in Chinese, but any language will do. Any dim sum master would tell you, if he or she were inclined, that the secret to success is just like that joke about how to get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice.

Fuggedaboutit, leave it to the experts. Around here, there are precious few. Ho Ho Choy (1441 E Fletcher Ave., Tampa, 813/962-2159) makes a fair array of workhorse dumplings, and T.C. Choy’s (301 S. Howard Ave., Tampa, 813/251-1191) offers the classic cart service. To a lesser degree, Mandarin Buffet (30280 Hwy. 19 N, Clearwater, 727/789-8988) gets some dumplings going.

Where am I missing? Anyone got a good dim sum joint they'd like to share?

Bagel Wars: Reaching for the Golden Ring

It's Sunday morning, which means bagel o'clock.

"A bagel—that's a doughnut dipped in cement." —Spike Jones

"The bagel, an unsweetened doughnut with rigor mortis." —Beatrice and Ira Freeman

"A bagel is a doughnut with the sin removed."  —George Rosenbaum

You go to Zabar's. You get a little lox, whitefish, whatever. Maybe some good olives and those big capers. Then, right there, at 80th and Broadway, you step into H&H. The malty, yeasty scent of just-baked bagels hovers in the background while the aroma of onion and garlic sledgehammers you at the door.

They're always warm. Made with the finest New York City tap water (no really, it's good tap water), the bagels are shiny on the outside, crusty without being hard. The inside is soft and moist, with enough tooth resistance to make every bite a bit of a tussle. They are big, ranging in color from golden through burnt umber all the way to deepest brown.

You buy a dozen; you throw a single onion bagel in with the sesame seed and plain to give them a little oomph. You grab a couple freezer bags, gratis, and you're on your way. You get to JFK, settle the bagels into the overhead compartment, watch the movie, and arrive in Tampa, ready for brunch.

Despite the killer frequent-flyer miles, this is not a reasonable long-term Sunday morning plan. So if you live and eat in the Tampa Bay area, you're probably noshing a local bagel. The question is, which one?

Of the big chains, I’d take Einstein Bagels over what are generously described as bagels at Dunkin’ Donuts. Former bagel biggie Manhattan Bagels seems to have been run out of the Gulf Coast entirely.

Of the independents and local chains, Clearwater Bagels (1871 Gulf to Bay Blvd., Clearwater, 727/446-7631) may be my fave, with New York Bagel Shop & Deli (4801 34th St S., St. Petersburg, 727/867-4025) a close second. Bagels Plus (2706 E Fletcher Ave., Tampa, 813/971-9335) puts out a pretty good product, as does Bagel Bagel Café (27607 State Road 56, Wesley Chapel, 813/991-0300, with other locations in Brandon and Lutz).

What am I missing? Any other bagel contenders?