My memories of Nana, my paternal grandmother, are vivid. She taught me the proper way to place a single slice of lox on top of a bagel smeared with cream cheese. The trick was to spread the lox out so thinly with the back of a fork that you could see the hole of the bagel and the white of the cheese through it. Lox was a true luxury food in the 1950s and not to be eaten lightly. Nana’s emphasis on frugality was, I now understand, the psychological residue of her experience of multiple life crises – immigration from Poland to San Francisco in the early 20th century, the 1906 earthquake, World War I, the Spanish flu, the Great Depression, and World War II.

When you live in a city that freaks out over a rainbow bagel, and then freaks out when it can no longer get a rainbow bagel, you tend to know a thing or two about our round, doughy friends. Though not as ubiquitous as I thought they would be in New York City, bagels still play a major part in New York living. The hangover bagel. The brunch with parents bagel. The desperate dinner bagel. And the bagels keep on spinning.

McDonald’s might have taken off in France years ago, but it was the introduction of something even more casual that has the trendiest of Parisians talking today. Within the past year, something very American has been stirring on the streets of Paris. In a land that very recently was at the forefront of declaring that American food was nothing more than grease and a lack of imagination, suddenly, there is no greater praise for food amongst the young Parisians than “très Brooklyn,” a term that has come to symbolize something particularly cool and of high quality, not in spite of but because of its informality and creativity.