We grew up in the kitchen.

It was our sanctum; our roosting place. Whether the moment called for 3 AM curiosities or 5 o'clock margaritas, our kitchen was always open. 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.

On Sundays, our kitchen was at high capacity. My mom’s side would travel up from South Jersey just to eat. For breakfast we’d brew Tetley black tea 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 ran 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.

In this family, “hungry” is apparently a personality trait.

Sunday afternoons were spent crafting homemade pasta. My mom, flour-dusted cheeks, kneaded the dough while my dad commanded the hand crank, rolling out sheets to the perfect thickness.

The youngest of us 3 sisters, Jordyn, was always so curious (and hungry).

“What we got cookin’ today Ro?” She would peep 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 conjured by a lifetime of social connections and family shenanigans, the pinnacle of its power was always the food

You see, good food to a New Jersey-Italian is not a want,  it's a need

When we relocated to Florida in 2021, we quickly realized that the New Jersey/NYC influence had not quite made it down to the Gulf. We were able to seek out an authentic NYC pizza spot but our hunt for a good bagel was never ending and soon we lost hope. My sister, Jessie, spent a year working in healthcare, utilizing her degree in Athletic Training. She was tired and bored and frankly, she was hungry –hungry for newness, family time and a good NYC-style bagel.

If there is one thing to know about Jessie, it’s that she was a National Champion gymnast. The first 18 years of her life were spent training in the gym over 40 hours a week. She understands what it means to be disciplined and face a challenge, working hard to earn your spot. So when she was determined to learn how to make the perfect bagel, none of us doubted her for a second. Jessie started experimenting with hand-rolling bagels in our kitchen. She soon developed her process using generational techniques established in New York in the late 1800s. With simple, high-quality ingredients she crafts each bagel by hand, rolling and then kettle-boiling before baking them to perfection. She doesn’t cut corners, she does it right.

Bagel Babe Co. has not only allowed us to bring a true hand-rolled, boiled and baked NYC bagel to Florida, but also pay homage to our ancestry. This business is a result of family rituals and the innate desire to fill people with good food, comfort and love. For Bagel Babe Co. and my family, this is only just the beginning.