Much of my dream space last night was occupied by a dream about bagels, wherein I made several dozen and then inexplicably bought six, hot from the oven, for twenty dollars, grumbling about the price. I am not sure if I bought them from myself or what.

I was the bagel maker at a coffee shop in my youth and once entirely forgot I knew how to make them. On a whim I invited a friend over and once the ingredients were assembled, muscle memory took over and it was as if I had been possessed. I watched my body move efficiently and swiftly through the steps of the process, agape and not knowing how it knew what to do.

About the time the bagels were going into and out of the boiling water, my on-hand lack of a large steel mixing bowl to boil the water in (the 20-inch diameter of the water surface meant you could get eight or so in at a time) FINALLY triggered a clear, conscious memory of mixing, kneading, turning, twisting, and baking.

How it is that one can totally forget something that one loves remains a complete mystery.

I don’t think I will bake some today – twenty bucks is an outrage – but I might roll out on a bagel quest later on. Seattle is in general sorely lacking in east coast deli food but there are indeed a few decent bagel sources. Thank god.