In the world of baked goods, there’s a strange kind of hierarchy, an informal tiered system so pervasive even amateurs can recognize it. The humble bagel, however, is generally assigned the lower ranking — useful as a vehicle for lox and cream cheese or a convenient teething ring for the very young.
This dichotomy is troubling for Chicago chef Eric Reeves, founder of carb-heavy local pop-up Salt Spoon Bakehouse. “I have a big appreciation and affinity for high-end pastry places,” he says. “[There’s a] feeling you get when you to Lost Larson or something and open these beautiful pastry boxes and have that glowing treasure chest moment. I want people to have that same experience when they have my bagels — it’s precious.”
Earlier this month, Reeves, swamped by private events, expanded pickups to three days a week versus the prior Saturdays-only schedule. He’s excited about giving more people the opportunity to try his bagels. His distinctive technical approach and creative culinary flair — think flavors like cacio e pepe and roasted garlic with dijon — have earned him a passionate fanbase among some of the city’s most discriminating bagel-eaters. Traditionalists rave about the immaculate crisp exteriors and perfectly chewy middle of classic submissions like sesame, poppyseed, onion, and everything spice, all sourced from Chicago’s Spice House.
Reeves is a suburban Chicago native and graduate of Kendall College. A veteran chef with a resume that includes Michelin-starred Boka, LA’s notable Son of a Gun, and the opening team at Cherry Circle Room, Reeves is a self-described Francophile. He’d long felt a reverence for the symbolism of bread — “pan,” in French (and Spanish), and the root word for “company” — and its capacity to bring people together.
Reeves has spent quite a bit of time thinking about bagels and their status in the baking world. Born in Yonkers, New York, his family moved shortly after to his mother’s hometown of Evanston and his father remained on the East Coast for a year working to sell their house. Reeves didn’t see his father much during that timespan but was always delighted to receive the family’s version of a love note: New York bagels shipped overnight for maximum freshness.
His exposure to bagel making, however, was relegated to a single class in culinary school until 2020, when his tasting menu series, operated out of his home, came to a screeching halt thanks to COVID. Suddenly, Reeves had time on his hands to launch a new endeavor where he could notify house-bound fans via Instagram and facilitate no-contact bagel and bread pickups.
Reeves’s interest rapidly took on a technical tenor as he observed the important role of tension in creating the shape of a sourdough boule, which allows it to prove evenly and rise equally in all dimensions. Why, he pondered, couldn’t the same thoughtful approach apply to bagels? “[Bagels] are sort of always made with a little less intention — they’re kind of thrown together,” he says. “Of all the breads and pastries, there’s this focus on quantity over quality. I wanted to go for the opposite. I don’t make as many as I could, but I spend time on that shaping process. I punch through them [instead] of rolling out the rope and try to make them so there’s no seam.”
Reeves is also a frequent collaborator, teaming up with inventive culinary minds like chef Jennifer Kim, who knows a thing or two about bagels from her shuttered Lakeview cured fish deli Snaggletooth, and chef Jasmine Sheth of Tasting India.
“I’ve worked with Eric on a few different pop-ups [and] events, and he’s a wonderful, open collaborator that puts the idea of community at the center of everything he does,” Kim writes in a text message. “Also, he makes bomb-ass bagels.”
Bagels, now ubiquitous in the U.S., originated among southern German Jewish communities and came into their own in the Polish shtetl. Reeves isn’t Jewish (though the late, great Lenny Bruce would disagree), but he’s mindful of the cultural heritage at his fingertips. He doesn’t, for example, advertise for Rosh Hashanah to help keep customers from mistaking his affiliation.
A look at Salt Spoon’s specialty flavors, however, is also likely to disabuse folks of a possible misapprehension, as bubbes tend to have little patience for blueberry crumble or cranberry orange blossom bagels. Still, Reeves says he does his best to avoid the inevitable trends that tend to crop up on social media. “I think I kind of pushed the limit with the pumpkin spice bagel,” he admits. “I cringed a little at myself.”
Salt Spoon Bake House, order online.
