Aussie bagel boy discovers flour power in New York bagelfest

When Michael Shafran, the Brooklyn-born man behind Sydney’s iconic Brooklyn Boy Bagels enterprise first heard about BagelFest in New York, he was determined to take part. Shafran had perfected his bagels in Australia, built a business from scratch and earned a reputation as the guy who could bring New York to Sydney’s Inner West.

Naturally, a trip back home to showcase his skills and compete against 48 bagel vendors felt like a no-brainer; Shafran was a competitive speed skater in a past life after all. But what started as a simple plan to test his bagels against the best in the world quickly became an odyssey full of mishaps, headaches, and dough-induced ancestral reflection.

“There’s a Yiddish curse,” Shafran explains, eyes twinkling. “May you be reincarnated as a bagel maker in the afterlife.” It sounds quaint at first — until you picture the original bagel-makers, sweating in New York City basements so hot they resembled furnaces, kneading dough with their toes.

“They didn’t have mixers back then,” Shafran adds. “Just their feet and these giant mounds of dough. Imagine the heat, the endless piles of bagels, and the never-ending cycle of kneading.” After this trip, Shafran gets it. But like many Yiddish curses, there’s a comical flip side. 

Shafran’s original plan was to take his head baker Ritesh to BagelFest; an event described as the world’s premier bagel celebration which celebrates the stories, traditions, and community surrounding the iconic New York fare. “I thought it’d be a great chance for him to visit bagel mecca, to experience real bagel culture.”

Ritesh however is Nepalese, and getting a visa? “The consulate told us the next available appointment was in February 2025. I was like, great, so I’m doing this solo.”

Insert Shafran’s Rocky Balboa-style training montage, complete with aching muscles and existential doubts. “These days I’m running the business, on quality control and I don’t have my hands on the dough,” he admitted. “I’m also turning 58. I’m not exactly in baker-shape.”

So, Shafran found himself back in the kitchen “getting back the feel” of the dough, which, to his surprise, also worked wonders on his skin. “Bagels are like a secret spa treatment. After hours of hand-rolling dough, my hands were softer than a baby’s.”

The next hurdle came when he decided to use his own flour from Australia. This wasn't just any flour; it was artisan, from a single farm in northern New South Wales. “I thought, if I’m going to be representing this country, I’m doing it properly. So I arranged for the flour to be flown over.”

And then customs stepped in. “I get a call saying, ‘Good news, your flour is on its way. Bad news, you have to physically go to Port Newark and get it out of customs yourself.’”

What followed was a Kafkaesque journey through the depths of New Jersey’s industrial hellscape. “I went from one building to another. No one knew anything.” One grumpy guy scribbled an address on a scrap of paper and sent him on a scavenger hunt. Hours passed.

“I’m jet-lagged, starving, the internet was dropping in and out. I was losing it, you know?’” Finally, after nearly 15 hours of running around the dodgiest parts of the city, Shafran triumphed. 

But the small victory was short-lived. Shafran was presented with more hurdles in the shared industrial kitchen. “It was chaos,” he shakes his head. “The mixers broke down, the oven was miles from the boiling kettle, and there were other bakers everywhere fighting for space. I felt like I had run a half-marathon, trying to get everything ready.”

Arriving at the festival felt like entering the Olympics of bagels. For one thing the event was held at Citi Field, home of Major League Baseball's New York Mets. Shafran was armed with 400 bagels, including the four he would be entering in the official competition (plain, tiger, smoked malt & freekeh and zatar) and four types of bagels schmears (Tim Tam cream cheese, shichimi butter, labna and bacon, bourbon & maple “for the bad Jews”).

He also had another secret weapon: a small, motley crew of helpers - none of whom were his head baker. In fact, some weren’t even in the food industry. Like the son of Shafran’s childhood friend from Solomon Schechter Day School in New Jersey, “he’s a budding body builder.” Somehow, this enhanced the Rocky-Balboa energy Shafran brought to the unfolding Yiddish-cursed comedy of errors. 

Despite the insanity, Shafran’s bagels were standouts. His Tim Tam Cream Cheese was a total crowd-pleaser. “I only made it because the festival organiser joked about it, but honestly? It was good.” An Aussie twist on a New York cheesecake classic.

By the end of the competition, Shafran had managed to clinch third place in the international category — a feat that, given all the hurdles, felt like a victory. “Would I have liked to win? Sure. But coming third, by myself, against the best bakers from Montreal and Portugal? I’ll take it.” Shafran was also the first Australian bagel vendor to take part and the only artisan from Asia Pacific. 

Reflecting on the experience, Shafran’s New York pride shines through, albeit tinged with the self-deprecating humour of someone who’s been through the wringer. “I’ll go back next year,” he laughs. “But next time, I’m bringing my head baker.”

But for now, he is back in Sydney, crafting his dough with an eye on the future. Perhaps still cursing the grumpy customs guy who scribbled the incorrect address on a scrap of paper in Port Newark. “May he be reincarnated as a bagel maker in the afterlife.”