Naomi
Google
My first impression of Tompkins Square bagels was a line that stretched for eons along the frigid streets of New York. I held skepticism toward the reputation of this establishment, thinking it another foolish trap for gulling tourists.
Yet the line moved with swiftness, considering its length, and before we knew it, my companions and I bagged our bagels with haste. But when I did request my much-needed coffee, I waited what seem'd like years whilst the employees dilly-dallied in the back. More disappointing still, I was forced to ask thrice before they began in earnest to brew the latte.
After this long coffee wait, my companions and I set forth to Central Park with bagels and steaming cups in hand—and, upon a sip, I found this to be the vilest coffee ever to pass my lips. I could make better brew in dreams, with broken arms and eyes fast closed. What sorcery is this? How makest thou a peppermint latte—the very notion sounds heavenly!—to taste like milk gone sour?
My doubts did heighten, my hope did plummet. Sitting upon a park bench, I did expect the worst.
Then took I a bite of mine order—Apple Cinnamon cream cheese upon a sourdough bagel—and never had I known what heaven tasted like until that moment. It overflowed with flavour, all in perfect harmony—the bagel itself was even majestic. I could speak on, I could write an essay on the virtues found, mine eyes open'd to sudden possibilities this world might offer—all from this bagel, but I shall not continue. Forget the coffee. Tompkins Square Bagels did make amends swiftly.
Well saved, Tompkins; I shall return to once more savour the delectableness of this cream cheese. I thank thee.
(Edit: I went back today, and my coffee was immaculate. The man taking my order was incredibly kind and gave my companion a free bagel for her birthday. Service is now updated to five stars.)