Photo credit: Sherrie Niedermeier
Egg salad and tuna salad
It’s been two years since I’ve seen my son. Two years filled with late-night prayers, WhatsApp check-ins, cautious optimism and a kind of quiet ache that only a mother can understand. He lives in Israel now — a soldier, a man, a world away. But soon, he’ll be home. And when he gets here, the first thing I’ll do is feed him.
Because for me, food has always been love.
Today, that love looks a lot like a dozen bagels from Marx Hot Bagels in Blue Ash. Tuna salad, egg salad, thick slabs of cream cheese and lox so silky it almost melts on contact. Tomatoes from our garden, sweet onions and a small mountain of pastries — rugelach, baklava and maybe even a chocolate babka if we’re lucky. This is more than just a meal; it’s a reunion menu. A welcome-home ritual.
Marx Bagels has been feeding families like mine since 1969, and they’ve never strayed from what they do best. Founded by John Marx, a Brooklyn native who brought his East Coast sensibility to the Midwest, the bagel shop began as a kosher-style haven in a city that didn’t yet know how much it needed one. For over 50 years, Marx has remained a community staple — Jewish enough to satisfy the strictest bubbe, but welcoming enough to draw in neighbors from every background.
Located on Kenwood Road in a modest strip mall, Marx doesn’t shout for attention. It doesn’t need to. Inside, the scent of baking bagels, briny pickles and fresh coffee speaks louder than any neon sign could. The deli cases are filled with smoked fish, kugels, salads and sweets, all made with the kind of care that feels more like memory than manufacturing.
Their bagels are the real deal — dense, chewy, golden on the outside and soft on the inside. My grandfather, a bagel purist from the old country, always said he liked a bagel that “bit him back.” He would have loved Marx. Each bite has just enough resistance, that satisfying tug that makes it more than bread — it’s tradition.
But what makes Marx more than just a bagel shop is the feeling that comes with eating there. When I bite into their tuna salad, I’m instantly transported to childhood lunches with my grandmother. It’s creamy, savory and nostalgic, like the best version of something you’ve had a hundred times before. The egg salad is equally comforting — simple, unfussy and deeply satisfying.
And then there’s the lox, arguably the crown jewel of Marx’s menu. Thinly sliced and smoked to perfection, it’s silky, salty and just a little decadent. Paired with a plain bagel, a healthy smear of cream cheese, some capers and red onions — it’s a meal that tastes like Shabbat mornings, family brunches and special Sundays.
When my son finally arrives — jet-lagged, sun-kissed and probably starving — I’ll lay out the spread. I’ll watch him eat and remember when his meals came from a bottle while I held him in my arms. I’ll try not to hover, though I inevitably will. I’ll ask if he’s had enough, if he wants another half a bagel, if he’s sure. It’s what Jewish mothers do. And if he rolls his eyes, I’ll remind him that feeding someone is the highest form of love I know.
Later, when the house is quiet and we’re still talking at the kitchen table, I’ll bring out the rugelach — chocolate, cinnamon, maybe raspberry. There’s something about the way the pastry flakes apart that feels like comfort distilled. If we have baklava too, we’ll break that open and share it, sticky fingers and all. And in those quiet, late-night bites, I’ll remember not just the worry of the last two years, but the sweetness of simply loving him.
Marx Bagels has this way of anchoring you — to your past, to your people, to your table. Whether it’s a casual weekday breakfast or part of a long-awaited family reunion, their food doesn’t just fill you — it connects you. In a world that often feels unpredictable, that connection is something I’ll never take for granted.
So, if you’re craving more than a bagel — if you’re craving comfort, history and a place where food means something — head to Marx. Order the tuna, the egg, the lox and maybe a dozen assorted bagels while you’re at it.
And if someone asks what you’re having, just smile and say: I’ll have what he’s having.
A Hole Lotta History: The Rise of the Bagel
Long before it became the crown jewel of every respectable brunch spread, the bagel was just a humble circle of dough doing its thing in 17th-century Poland. Legend has it that it was invented as a gift for a king — because nothing says royalty like carbs with a hole in the middle.
Early bagels were boiled before baking, which gave them their signature chewy bite. (And let’s be honest, anything that fights back a little is just more satisfying.) The hole wasn’t just cute — it made them easier to stack on dowels for street vendors and probably helped harried bubbes carry six at a time in one hand while holding a toddler in the other.
When Jewish immigrants brought bagels to New York in the early 1900s, they stayed a best-kept secret until someone had the brilliant idea to add cream cheese. Enter: bagel world domination. By the 1960s, machines got involved, mass production happened and suddenly you could get a bagel in places where gefilte fish feared to tread.
Today, whether you like yours plain, poppy, sesame, or “everything” (aka “I want all the toppings and none of the decisions”), the bagel is a cultural icon.
So next time you bite into a perfectly chewy Marx bagel, just know — you’re not just having breakfast. You’re taking part in centuries of doughy diplomacy.
