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| Stay away. |
I had gone on the two-hour drive to that dismal city with a friend who needed to retrieve something that was stored there. Our plan was to complete her errand, have a yummy lunch and then drive the two hours back to Freeport. Easier said than done, since our restaurant choices were extremely limited. Many establishments were shuttered and others were little more than walk-in/walk-out sandwich shops. We might have asked one of the locals for a suggestion but the only people we saw were either lying on benches or slumped over in doorways, apparently drunk and/or high, and I don't mean on life. So we drove around and around and up and down the city streets until finally we spotted a beacon ahead: A sign boasting "Bagel Central," with some Hebrew writing underneath. Two Jewish girls, we high-five'd each other and went inside. Right away I was plotzing as their menu fairly screamed, "WE HAVE BIALYS!"
For the uninitiated, bialys are heavenly baked morsels in the bagel family, but with much more personality. A positive bialy ID requires not a hole in the middle but just a slight depression, filled with tiny bits of burnt onion and garlic. They are rarely found outside of New York's five boroughs, yet there we were in northern Maine and they insisted they had them, and that they were made right there on the premises. Naturally we each ordered one, toasted with a shmear, and let me tell you, calling those things they handed us "bialys" was like calling a tray of Ritz crackers smothered in ketchup "a pizza."
The lady at the next table was engrossed in Stephen King's latest novel. She looked somewhat normal, but most of the other patrons seemed straight out of "The Shining." Anyway, now I know where he gets his inspiration: He just wakes up, gets dressed and walks outside.
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