BAGEL BROTHERS

We're on a fast trip to a slow pace.

Arriving early to our destination, my daughter and I scour the local area for a place to have breakfast.  Our great plan to eat at the airport has been a bust when we realize that nothing ... NOTHING ... is open on the outgoing side of the TSA checkpoint.  No, that's a lie; the bathrooms are open.  Everything else?  Locked up tight.

So, when we land in North Carolina a few short hours later, our first thought is food.  There's a Dunkins, a Starbucks, and a Panera near to our destination but a little bit off the beaten track.  My daughter remembers a bagel place closer to the last hotel we stayed at, about three miles from our current hotel.  She cannot remember the name: Something Brothers.  Brothers Something.  Maybe there weren't any brothers at all.

We drive around, winging it as we go.  There are hundreds of strip malls in this part of North Carolina.  Apparently, the economy is booming.  There is building going on all around, store after store after store packs vehicles in to the parking lots, and it appears that there is an endless supply of disposable income down here.  It's great for us because we can probably find a place to get breakfast.  It's terrifying for us because everyone drives like it's the Autobahn, and everywhere the roads are five, six, eight lanes wide and widening.

We enter one of the less-populated strip malls.  It's still early, but a stream of cars seems to be entering and exiting.  I assure my daughter that this steady activity indicates coffee.  No one would be out this early unless there were coffee nearby.  This decision leads us right to a local bagel shop, the exact one for which we have been looking: Einstein Brothers.

My daughter is hankering for a salt bagel.  I just want tea.  Once inside, though, the smell of bagels is overwhelmingly tempting.  We are the only people ordering (it's still early), and the woman behind the counter talks us through our order ... and talks ... and talks ... and talks.

Oh, that's right.  Everything moves slowly down here.  People are not in a mad-hurried, swear-laden rush like they are up on Boston.  My daughter and I have to take a deep breath or two and remind ourselves where we are and why we are here: to visit family and to relax for thirty hours.

We can do this.

In addition to having a leisurely breakfast, we have two of the best damn bagels that we have ever eaten anywhere or anytime.  My daughter gets her coveted salt bagel; I order a six-cheese bagel.  I don't care what cheeses are in or on this bagel.  All I care about is its fluffiness and the cheesy taste, topped off by a light spreading of cream cheese.

Best of all, as soon as we are done eating and sipping (iced coffee for her, hot tea with honey for me), we get the text that our relatives are ready for company.  Timing and breakfast are both perfect.  But, just to be like the locals, we take it slow and enjoy the morning