Because I like them.
Bagels are as ubiquitous to New York as real sourdough is to San Francisco. You can get them anywhere, and they range from so-so to excellent. (You cannot get sourdough unfortunately.) The best I’ve had come from Terrace Bagels on Prospect Park West. They of course, make them every morning and they are good good: the slightest crunch gives way to dense, soft (if you’re lucky, warm), slightly doughy bread.
Apparently, you can’t get bialys anywhere else in the world.
All manner of New York proprietors run bagel bakeries, and all serve up a similar flavor and texture. The only other commonality these proprietors share is their pact never to pass along their recipe to non-New Yorkers. Seriously. Is it the water? I’m sure I am not the first to write about this serious issue, but this pact has caused a plague upon the rest of the planet. No matter what the heritage of bagel bakers in New York, most can produce a delicious bread product that looks, smells, feels and tastes like a bagel. Outside of the city, they have only really mastered the look. It makes sense that flavors might change to match the local taste buds, like sun-dried tomato in San Francisco and green tea with pistachio in Tokyo (strange, but good), but I don’t understand why the texture can’t be matched.
If I ordered a croissant from a place called Les Meilleures Pâtisseries de Paris!, I’d expect buttery, flakey deliciousness, but in the SF Bay Area, there are a few misleadingly named bagel chains, like Manhattan Bagel and Noah’s Bagels, that haven’t developed beyond a rubbery Kaiser roll (which themselves are only a shadow of the delicious original Austrian semmel rolls…).
This isn’t to say that Northern California doesn’t have some of the best eats in the world; it’s just that they can’t get a good bagel down.