Dispatch 01: The 25 CHF Bagel and the Illusion of Luxury
It was a Monday morning in Zurich. I was meeting a friend who had just returned from a month in Sri Lanka and the Maldives—a needed reconnection before he started his shift at 1 PM. He suggested a well-known brunch spot behind the Opera. I was skeptical, remembering the steep prices from years ago, but agreed, recalling a decent experience when they first opened.
What we found was a masterclass in manufactured luxury.
A line spilling out the door at 10 AM on a Monday. A cavernous room operating at maximum capacity. We were seated at the very back, in a corridor completely cut off from the street, staring at torn, unreadable QR codes on the table. No 5G, no WiFi.
Let me be clear: the staff was the sole redeeming quality. They were incredibly kind, smiling, and seamlessly switched to Spanish upon hearing us. True hospitality in an otherwise mechanical environment.
But then the food arrived.
For the price of roughly 25 CHF, I was served a "breakfast bagel" and an Americano. The bagel was cold, un-toasted, with a rubbery, defrosted texture. Inside: two sad, transparent strips of bacon that didn’t cover a quarter of the bread, and a smear of cream cheese haphazardly dropped from a spoon. The Americano was little more than hot distilled water.
We are in Zurich. We know it’s one of the most expensive cities in the world. The standard justification is always the same: rent is high, wages are high, everything costs more. But that is a lazy excuse for a deeper problem.
The problem isn't the price; the problem is the absolute absence of care.
Zurich is filled with wealth, but wealth does not automatically equal an understanding of quality. We have been conditioned to follow the herd. We are told a place is trendy, artisanal, and "the place to be," so we line up. We pay 25 francs for a soulless bagel and 7 francs for watery coffee without a second thought. We consume the brand, not the product.
Where is the pushback? When do we stop to question a 6 CHF cookie?
As soon as we finished our rubbery bagels, we were politely rushed out because the table was reserved. No time to truly catch up. The transaction was complete. And as we walked out, the line was still there. People waiting one by one to pay for an experience that, if they paused for two seconds to actually taste and feel, they would realize holds absolutely no value.
We follow the herd without realizing that every purchase we make frames our environment. Every time we accept mediocrity disguised as luxury, we validate the system. If we are surrounded by places that prioritize turnover over connection, and margins over craftsmanship, it is because we are paying them to do so.
