Relish

Photographs by Kevin A. Roberts

Are bagels and lox Serious Food? You bet your sheitel they are. They’re an iconic meal. Like lobster rolls. A classic Reuben. Chili—real Texas chili: Lox and bagels are one of those foods with which one does not cavalierly monkey. We’ve made that clear on more than one occasion here. And we have been both brutal and swift in condemning those who trespass. Ferran Adria’s still smarting from that tongue-lashing we delivered about his ridiculous Rice Krispie paella. Thomas Keller’s plunked a cassoulet in a crockpot and we’re not supposed to fire a little grief his way? Damned right we will. And you, Rachael Ray, with your “Chicago Dog Salad?” Yeah, we’ll get around to you, my pretty. All in good time.

Indeed, we think Serious Food should be treated like one of the tigers at the Zoo. Appreciate it, enjoy it, but if you climb in the cage and start messing around with it, you deserve what you’ll have coming. Mostly. Mostly, but not always.

Just because we have lobbied to make putting pineapple on pizza a Class B felony does not mean we don’t sometimes, occasionally, just every now and then come across a little, you’ll forgive the Yiddish here since it’s appropriate, hiddush once in a while. A little innovation, a variation on a theme of Serious Food that is not only worth it, but which gives one a fresh perspective. So it is with the lox and bagel brunch dish at Atlas Restaurant. Which is, in point of fact, neither.

Okay, first, there is the moment. Dinner and lunch at Atlas are wonderful. It’s a perfectly splendid eatery, large enough there isn’t a six month wait to get reservations; cozy enough you don’t feel like you’re eating in an auditorium at lunch or dinner. The moment we like Atlas best, though, is brunch.

Brunch on Saturday morning, late enough to feel a touch decadent. Conversation is fine if you must be with family and friends. Brunch, however, is often its most enjoyable when taken alone. Just you and your copy of The Economist. The New York Review of Books would be okay, too, but if one of Michiko Kakutani’s reviews is mentioned on the cover you’re apt to be solicited by one of the tediously self-important (they are the generous gratin of the neighborhood), who will want to comment on what they will believe is your erudition in reading such silliness. Probably just best to stick with The Economist.

As for the selection of what to eat, there is lots of good stuff on the brunch menu. Eggy brioche French toast with fruit compote. Steak and eggs. You will, of course, go for the smoked salmon and English muffin.

It’s not, we’ve already noted, lox and bagel, though it can often be confused for such by lesser souls. You know the difference. Lox is the meaty belly (which is why it was once commonly called “belly lox”) of the salmon cured, but never smoked. Smoked salmon is cured, like lox, then smoked. (Nova lox, by the way, used to refer to the fact that much of the salmon in NYC came from Nova Scotia. Today, it almost always means the brining solution isn’t so salty as would otherwise be used.)

The smoked salmon at Atlas tastes—and looks—like it has been cold smoked. Salmon smoked at a relatively cool temperature always has the silky look of fresh, raw fish, shimmering and appetizingly moist (see left). Smoke it hotter than that and it’s darker and drier; it looks like it’s been baked. Hot smoked salmon is fine. It just isn’t that supple, beautifully aromatic goodness of cold smoked salmon that manages to conjure on the palate of one’s memory, the clattering and chitchatting tummel of a New York deli and simultaneously, the cold, salt smacked breeze of the North Atlantic.

Now, you can, if you want to live a life more ordinary, have a bagel at Atlas (see right). If you ask—and sometimes it’s actually on the menu—you have the option of an English muffin. Go for it. The muffin is an essential part of what makes this breakfast so delightful. Less chewy, lighter, crispy from a brief interlude spent in the oven. The texture is fluffier and airy, more so than a bagel. It’s not so heavy and so the salmon that goes on top gets most of your palate’s attention. But don’t be in a hurry to fork that salmon on. No, no, there’s another element here that’s essential. Cream cheese, flecked with herbs. Lots of it. Enough so you can cover both sides of the muffin liberally with the stuff.

Alongside there’s a small cup of finely chopped red onions mixed with tongue-tickling capers and chopped tomatoes. And a generous spray of leafy arugula. Both of these can be added to your construction project—and should be.

Here’s what you’ll notice as you work your way through this charming, satisfying repast: the salmon lasts as long as the carbs beneath it. In most places, the portion of salmon is so stingy half your bread is left over when the last of the fish slices are gone. Not at Atlas. The delicate rosy pink mound of smoked salmon is so big it lasts as long as the muffin does. Delightful.

And so you can spend Saturday morning breaking off a bite size piece of the muffin, slathering it with the cheese, adding a scatter of the tomatoes, onions, and capers, along with a leaf of lettuce, then topping it with the salmon, again and again, first because only proles cover a whole slice of bread with anything all at once and second because breaking it up like that makes the meal last longer.

Now don’t think we’ve gone all mooshy on the miscreants who tinker with Serious Food. If you’re using powdered gelatin in your jambon persille, we’re calling you out on it. And we shall be pitiless in our mocking of those who proffer vegetarian poor boys, tofu-stuffed moussaka, or pepperjack in mac and cheese. Atlas Restaurant’s English muffin with smoked salmon isn’t an insult to lox and bagels. Rather, it’s a pleasant, utterly delicious innovation, a variation on a theme. And if you’ve never spent a weekend morning enjoying it there, you’re missing some food that may not exactly be Serious in the most precise definition—but which is definitely worthwhile.

Atlas Restaurant
5513 Pershing
314-367-6800
Brunch is served 8 a.m. - 2 p.m. Saturday and Sunday.