The internet lost its collective mind over a picture of a cardboard box. In March 2019, a man named Alek Krautmann posted a photo of Panera Bread bagels—known as St. Louis Bread Co. in its hometown—sliced vertically like a loaf of sandwich bread. He called it the "St. Louis secret." People didn't just disagree; they were offended. New Yorkers called for an investigation. Twitter branded it a "crime against humanity." But if you actually live in the Gateway City, the St Louis style bagel isn't a crime. It’s a utility.
It’s weird. I get it. Most of the world views a bagel as a sturdy, circular canvas for a thick slab of cream cheese. You cut it once, horizontally, and hope you don't slice your thumb in the process. But in St. Louis, some people want more surface area. They want the "bread-sliced" experience.
The Anatomy of the Bread-Sliced Bagel
What are we actually talking about here? Basically, you take a standard bagel—cinnamon crunch, sesame, whatever—and you run it through a high-speed industrial bread slicer. Instead of two halves, you get eight to twelve thin, vertical discs. Think of them as bagel chips, but soft and fresh.
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There’s a practical reason for this madness. When you’re at an office meeting and there’s a giant box of bagels, nobody actually wants a whole bagel. They don’t even want a half. They want a nibble. The St Louis style bagel solves the "shameful half-bagel" problem. You know the one. That sad, mangled crescent left behind in the box because someone didn't want the full carb load. With the vertical slice, you just grab two or three "chips." It’s cleaner. It’s faster.
Also, the cream cheese ratio is superior. Honestly, it is. If you dip a thin slice into a tub of schmear, you get a much higher percentage of topping to dough. It’s basically a delivery vehicle for lipids.
Why Panera (St. Louis Bread Co.) Is the Epicenter
You can't talk about this without talking about St. Louis Bread Co. Founded in 1987 in Kirkwood, Missouri, the chain eventually became the national giant Panera Bread. In St. Louis, however, the original name stays on the signs. Locals are fiercely protective of the brand, even if the rest of the country thinks their slicing methods are unhinged.
The bread slicer is right there behind the counter. It’s standard equipment. If you walk into a Bread Co. in Ladue or Chesterfield and ask for your bagels "bread-sliced," the teenager behind the counter won't blink. They’ll just toss the bag into the machine, and zip-zip-zip, you’re done. It’s a workflow thing.
The Great Bagel War of 2019
When Krautmann’s tweet went viral, it reached the highest levels of "food law." Even the New York Police Department’s 121st Precinct weighed in, jokingly thanking the public for reporting the "crime." It was a moment of rare national unity—everyone agreed St. Louis was wrong.
But here’s the thing: St. Louis didn't care.
The local response was a collective shrug. Regional food quirks are funny like that. St. Louis also eats "provel" cheese on thin-crust pizza that tastes like a cracker, and they eat "gooey butter cake" which is basically just sugar and bricks of butter. The St Louis style bagel is just another entry in a long list of culinary choices that prioritize convenience and local tradition over "authenticity."
Is it a "real" bagel experience? Probably not by Brooklyn standards. A bagel is supposed to have a tug. It should be boiled, then baked. It should have a crust that puts up a fight. When you slice it into thin strips, you lose that structural integrity. It becomes flimsy. But for a Tuesday morning staff meeting in the Midwest, flimsy is fine.
Nuance in the Crust: Why New Yorkers Hate It
If you ask a bagel purist from Montreal or New York why they hate the St Louis style bagel, they’ll talk about the "crumb." A bagel is a closed ecosystem. The steam stays trapped inside the crust during the bake, creating that specific chewy texture.
When you slice it into ten pieces:
- The moisture escapes immediately.
- The bagel goes stale in about twenty minutes.
- The "tug" is replaced by a "snap" or a "sag."
It turns a bagel into a pile of crackers. For someone who grew up on Ess-a-Bagel or Russ & Daughters, this is a desecration of a cultural icon. It feels like eating a steak that's been put through a blender.
The Social Utility of the Vertical Slice
Let’s look at the logistics. Imagine you have a tub of honey walnut cream cheese and a tub of chive and onion. If you have a standard bagel, you have to choose. Or you do a half-and-half thing that’s messy.
With the St. Louis method, you have twelve slices. You can do three with honey walnut, three with chive, three with plain, and leave three for the guy down the hall who forgot his lunch. It turns a solitary food item into a communal snack. It’s the "tapas-ification" of the deli world.
Is it lazy? Maybe.
Is it genius? Sorta.
How to Order (Without Getting Laughed At)
If you find yourself in Missouri and want to try this without the internet mocking you, there’s a protocol. You don't just say "make it weird." You ask for it "bread-sliced."
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- Choose a bagel with a strong flavor profile. Everything bagels or Cinnamon Crunch work best because the vertical slices maximize the "crust-to-crumb" surface area.
- Get the large tub of cream cheese, not the little individual portions. You need a dipping bowl.
- Eat it immediately. As mentioned, the surface-area-to-volume ratio means these things dry out faster than a New Mexico desert.
There are actually local bakeries in St. Louis that don't do this. If you go to a place like Bagel Union or Protagonist Cafe, they treat the bagel with the respect a boiled-and-baked ring deserves. The "bread-slice" is specifically a Panera/Bread Co. phenomenon that leaked into the general culture of the city. It’s a fast-casual hack that became a regional identity marker.
The Science of the Slice
There’s actually a bit of physics involved here. A standard bagel is roughly 300 to 400 calories. By slicing it into thin strips, you are tricking your brain into thinking you are eating more than you actually are. It's a volume play. A pile of twelve bagel chips looks more substantial than one lonely doughnut-shaped hunk of bread. For those watching their intake, two slices feel like a snack, whereas half a bagel feels like a commitment.
Actionable Steps for the Curious
If you want to experience the St Louis style bagel without traveling to the Midwest, you can do it at home, but you need a very sharp serrated knife. Don't use a chef's knife; you'll just squish the bread.
- Step 1: Buy fresh, high-quality bagels. Don't use the pre-packaged grocery store ones that stay soft for three weeks; they don't have enough structure.
- Step 2: Stand the bagel up on its edge. Carefully cut vertical slices about a quarter-inch thick.
- Step 3: Arrange them on a plate with several types of spreads.
- Step 4: Don't tell your friends from New Jersey. They won't understand, and you don't need that kind of negativity in your life.
The reality is that food evolves. It changes based on how we live. We live fast, we share snacks, and we like dipping things. The St Louis style bagel isn't trying to replace the classic deli bagel. It’s just a different way to interact with a carb. It's practical, it's efficient, and honestly, it’s a pretty good way to feed a crowd without wasting food.
Next time you have a dozen bagels and only six people, try the slice. It might feel wrong for the first five seconds, but once you start dipping those thin, crunchy-edged pieces into some jalapeño cheddar schmear, you’ll realize why St. Louis has been keeping this "secret" for decades. It’s not a crime. It’s just lunch.