Published on March 31, 2026 at 2:10 pm
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PopUp Bagels is hardly hungry for attention. Hundreds of influencers and influencer-adjacent bagel enthusiasts converged on the Connecticut chain’s first Jacksonville location when it opened in Town Center this past December.
The company, which bills itself as a “social media phenomenon,” is expanding aggressively across the state, with similarly rapturous receptions anticipated in Miami, Orlando, and Rockledge, among 30 other locations planned statewide.
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“So many people are seeing us through TikTok,” spokeswoman Anna O’Keefe says of PopUp’s popularity, so intense in certain markets that the company’s website assures prospective customers, “Trust us, the wait is part of the experience.”
Yet while press coverage has made liberal use of adjectives such as “viral,” “cult,” and (not incorrectly) “good” in describing PopUp, most objective assessments of the sensation have somehow missed what might be most significant about its contribution to bagel culture. Namely, the brand’s poised to reshape the nation’s relationship with cream cheese.
For those not acquainted with the PopUp model, which was pioneered in founder Adam Goldberg’s Westport, Connecticut, backyard, “simplicity” is central to it. What that means in practice is the takeout-only menu’s sheared of the choices that patrons usually confront when placing bagel orders: Bagels are served whole, not sliced; hot, not toasted; and with cream cheese, rather than seven different elements that add up to a sandwich.
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More puzzlingly, from a customer’s perspective—although it surely makes sense for the bottom line—is there’s no such thing at PopUp as ordering a single bagel. Perhaps that notion escapes people’s minds when they’ve been waiting in line long enough; O’Keefe dutifully suggests that PopUp bagels are so good that eating just one is impossible. Regardless, the minimum purchase is three bagels and eight ounces of cream cheese for $15.
In other words, that’s 2.6 ounces of cream cheese per bagel, applied at the customer’s discretion. Remember, slicing’s off the table at PopUp, so it’s up to whomever bought the bagels to either find a knife or comply with the company’s directive: “Grip, rip, and dip.”
Historically, the traditional amount of cream cheese on a bagel is a schmear, which isn’t a precise measurement—unless “too much” counts as a definition. As a Z100 host recently pleaded in a Facebook video devoted to the perennial complaint, “Can I just have a half schmear?”
Honestly? No. In defiance of economic logic, nutritional advice, and agreed-upon good taste, New York City bagel shops—along with bagelries in Jacksonville and elsewhere that take inspiration from them—continue to put way too much cream cheese on bagels. Bagel fans are resigned to unwrapping even their favorite bagels and discovering scads of smooth, cool, and relentlessly mild cream cheese smothering defenseless slices of lox, seeping over the bagel’s edges, and clogging its signature hole.
As Gilad Edelman pointed out in Slate more than a decade ago, it’s the rare instance where a restaurateur’s apparent charity makes the eating experience worse. Disrupting the ratio of cream cheese to bagel throws off flavor profiles and creates food waste that challenges even the most scrupulous eaters. It’s the unusual to-go breakfaster who’s prepared to pack up and store three ounces of undesired cream cheese to enjoy later.
Yet massive amounts of cream cheese still prevail in the Jacksonsville area, and not one of the bagel store owners contacted by Jacksonville Today reported hearing any objections. In fact, they said they’re dedicated to upholding their current portion sizes even in the face of rising prices.
At Holey Moley in Baymeadows, the standard is four ounces, or one-quarter of a pound. “The idea is to give a generous ‘schmear’ so that every bite has plenty of cream cheese, which is what most people expect from a traditional bagel shop,” owner Ronald Peretti explained. “We try to maintain that classic generous portion and adjust other things when necessary, rather than cutting back on what customers expect.”
Four ounces is also the rule at Joint Bagel Co. in St. Augustine. It “seems to be accepted by the majority of our patrons,” owner Scott Keeperman said, although he allows the occasional customer will ask for a “light” serving or cream cheese on the side.
Bagels R Us owner Abhi Somaiya declined to specify ounces, but wrote in an email, “We rarely have customers that ask for more!”
In the PopUp world, though, the relationship between bagel and cream cheese is entirely reordered. Even though cream cheese isn’t a buyer’s first impression upon tearing open a PopUp bag, since a logoed white container can’t complete visually with seeded orbs of hot bread, it’s the component that they might later recall—and even crave.
As O’Keefe says, “There’s a lot of flexibility with our cream cheese,” which comes in cheffy flavors such as Guiness Chocolate Stout Cake for St. Patrick’s Day and lemon poppy butter, salted maple banana bread, and cacio e pepe when there’s nothing on the calendar to celebrate.
Just as salsa is inevitably the star of chips-and-salsa, cream cheese finally gets a leading role when cast as a dip instead of dead weight. Or, to use an old saying that doesn’t rhyme as cutely as PopUp’s tagline: less is more.
