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My sisters and I were raised in the kitchen. Our kitchen was a sanctuary so alluring, it was never unoccupied. On some days, it would hold just the five of us, and those days were rare. Most days, it was the local watering hole for our closest friends, cousins, neighbors, and even strangers. Through spontaneous 3 AM cravings and 5 o'clock margaritas, our kitchen was always open.

On weekends, our kitchen was at high capacity. My mom’s side would travel up from South Jersey on a whim because they heard we were cooking something good. Breakfasts always called for Tetley black tea, freshly brewed, potted, and served with milk and sugar (in Nonnie’s hand-painted floral china cups). My grandma, Roro, would fry up potatoes and cheesy, scrambled eggs while my dad would run out to grab a fresh dozen from the Bagel Club. We’d sit and eat breakfast while planning dinner; each meal leading to the next.

Sunday afternoons were spent hand-crafting homemade pasta. My mama, with flour-dusted cheeks, kneaded dough while my dad commanded the hand crank, rolling out sheets of pasta to the perfect thickness. The youngest of us three sisters, Jordyn, was always so curious (and hungry). “What we got cookin’ today, Ro?” She would squeak from the other side of the kitchen island. My grandma (in her sauce-splattered white crewneck,) would peer up from her glasses for just a moment. Elbow-deep in a steaming pot, she’d turn back to grab the wooden spoon and respond:“Homemade ravs, Jordie.”

No matter the time of day, our kitchen was the only room in our home where you could find us all together; all at once. Only those who've been acquainted with our kitchen could understand its magic—a magic conjured by hearty laughs and wholesome conversations. And though this euphoric atmosphere was built by a lifetime of social connections and family shenanigans, the pinnacle of its power was always the food.When we relocated to Florida in 2021, we quickly realized that the New Jersey and New York foodie influence was yet to be found in St. Pete. We were able to pinpoint an authentic NYC pizza spot, but our hunt for a good bagel was never-ending, and soon we lost hope.Jessie spent a year working in healthcare, utilizing her degree in Athletic Training, but she was tired of working with unmotivated people, and frankly, she was hungry. She was craving change, more family time, and a good New York City bagel.Jessie started experimenting with hand-rolling bagels in her kitchen, using our family of self-claimed food critics as a source of truth. It took months to get it right until one day she did. With her perfect bagel and our family's determination and innovation, we transformed a spontaneous idea into Bagel Babe Co.Bagel Babe Co. has not only allowed us to introduce St. Pete to a true boiled and baked NYC bagel, but also pay homage to our ancestry.