What happens when a tech entrepreneur who sold a startup to Spotify buys a long-abandoned gas station? He turns it into one of New Hampshire’s best hand-rolled bagel shops.
The building is a classic 1952 Getty station that sat empty for nearly 15 years before being transformed. Unlike traditional New York bagels, these take three days to prepare, using a unique process meant to be distinct to its city.
The owner launched a “schmear campaign” that started as a simple text message to locals, inviting them to test creative cream cheese flavors like blueberry sumac and chili crisp scallion. The result is a bagel that stands on its own, served from a spot that once sold gasoline.
So which Portsmouth gem rose from a vacant gas station to become a regional favorite? Look for the historic canopy and the line out the door. Your first bite will tell you everything you need to know.
A 1952 Getty Station Turned Bagel Haven
Pulling up to The Getty Bagel, you can still read the bones of the old service station, and that is what makes the first impression land hard in the best way. The roofline carries that roadside honesty, though now it frames a place built for lingering rather than passing through.
You glance at the corners and spot old sightlines turned cozy edges, and it feels like the building exhaled and decided it wanted conversation.
Inside, the counters feel friendly without trying too hard, and the team moves with that calm, rhythmic flow you only get when craft is second nature. You notice flour dust caught in the light and a stack of cooling racks like a quiet promise.
If New Hampshire mornings had a soundtrack, it would be the thrum of kettles and the shuffle of parchment here.
The transformation hits that sweet line between preservation and reinvention, so you never forget where the walls came from, but you also never feel stuck in a memory. You pick up a bagel, warm and weighted just right, and the building’s history becomes a backdrop to that first bite.
It is a before and after story you can taste, and the after wins.
The Faded Red Became A Soft Moss Green
The color shift is what stops you for a second, because the old hard edge of faded red gave way to a soft moss green that feels like a deep breath. It wraps the building in a calmer voice without losing its grit, which suits Portsmouth’s pace perfectly.
You look at the paint in angled light, and it reads like a gentle nod to the trees lining the side streets.
That green pops against the brushed metal details and the clear glass that now frames the entry. It does not shout, it invites, which is rare for a space that used to bark at passing traffic.
The address sneaks into your phone maps once, and then your feet remember quicker than your brain: The Getty Bagel, 361 Islington St, Portsmouth, NH 03801.
New Hampshire places carry color well when the tone feels earned, and this one absolutely does. On gray mornings it warms the block, and on bright ones it settles into a mellow balance.
You stand there, sip your coffee, and the green feels like a promise that the day is not in a rush.
The Old Garage Doors Open For Patio Seating
When those big doors lift, the room changes, and suddenly the line stretches into a breeze that smells like toast and city morning. It is the kind of move that makes you linger, even if you promised yourself a quick grab and go.
The seating spills just enough to catch neighborhood chatter without losing the hum of the kitchen.
The patio scene never tries to be a scene, which is why it works. There are mismatched conversations, dog leashes looped under chairs, and napkins tucked into elbows while someone laughs mid-bite.
You get that New Hampshire ease, the practical kind where a sturdy table and a warm bagel count more than anything polished.
Light bounces off the open doors and turns the crumb of a just-cut bagel into something you want to describe out loud, even if it sounds funny. It is a seasonal kind of joy without feeling seasonal, because airflow and sunshine are always a good idea.
Those doors do not just open space, they open time, and you feel yourself slow down.
The Aroma Of Rosemary And Togarashi Spice
You step inside and hit that rush of steam and spice, and the scent map draws a straight line to the racks. Rosemary lays this piney warmth that feels downright friendly, while togarashi throws a bright, citrusy spark that wakes the room.
Honestly, you smell it before you spot the label, and the anticipation flips a switch.
There is a point where bagels stop being background carbs and start being memory anchors, and this is where that happens. The balance lands right on the chew, with seasoning tucked into every edge so each bite changes a little.
New Hampshire mornings can be brisk, so that rosemary glow feels like someone pulled a blanket over your shoulders.
Togarashi keeps things lively without pushing too hard, so even cautious spice folks find their lane. You finish a bagel and immediately imagine the sandwich version, because your brain is built to plan joy.
If curiosity had a scent, it would smell like this counter on a busy morning.
Three Days To Make Each Hand Rolled Bagel
You can taste the time even if you never see the schedule, because the dough has that calm, developed confidence. Hand rolling sets the shape with small quirks you learn to love, and the slow rest builds flavor that does not rush your bite.
Boiling seals the surface, and the bake lands the color just shy of shiny perfection.
Watching the crew move tray to tray feels like choreography without any showing off. There is a rhythm in the flick of flour, the lean toward the kettle, the quick glance at color for doneness.
New Hampshire kitchens have a practical poetry when the work is honest, and this room hums with it from open to close.
What you get in the bag is a circle that pushes back slightly, then gives, then keeps going. That balance makes toppings behave, so the sandwich stays intact while you wander toward the water.
You finish the last bite and immediately think about tomorrow morning, because once your jaw learns this chew, it remembers.
Unique Schmears Like Blueberry Sumac And Chili Crisp
Here is where your decision-making goes a little haywire in the best way, because the schmear board reads like a mood ring. Blueberry sumac swings tart and jammy, so the first swipe paints the crumb purple and bright.
Chili crisp brings a warmed oil shimmer with a gentle pop of heat and crunch that makes your bagel feel alive.
You start mixing in your head, then you actually mix, because curiosity wins. Half and half tastes playful, and the herbs tucked into the base keep everything grounded.
There is a generosity here, like the kitchen wants you to find your lane rather than guess the house favorite, and that makes the whole counter feel personal.
New Hampshire is not shy about bold flavors when they earn their keep, and these do. You look around and spot people trading spoons, making tiny edits to their orders, and smiling about it.
If a schmear can be a conversation starter, this set does it without trying, and you carry that buzz out the door.
Cartoon Doughberts Greet Guests Everywhere
The first time you spot the Doughberts, you grin before you know why, because they look like the building finally learned to doodle. Little round faces peek from corners, wave from the menu boards, and nod from the to-go boxes.
It lightens the room without tipping into kiddie-land, which is a neat trick.
Branding often tries to be clever, but here it is simply kind, and that tone matches the way people talk at the counter. You end up pointing at a tiny character holding a sesame flag and thinking, yes, that is my mood today.
The illustrations feel handmade, a little wobbly in a way that suits a shop where every bagel shows its own edges.
New Hampshire humor tends to lean dry, and these little mascots sneak in just enough wink to keep things buoyant. You tuck a sticker into your pocket and forget about it until later, when it makes you smile again.
If hospitality can be drawn, these sketches pull it off, and the room keeps that warmth even when the rush hits.
A Former Tech Founder Purchased The Eyesore
Every neighborhood has that building people cross the street to avoid, until someone steps in and decides it can be loved again. The story here starts with a founder who swapped product roadmaps for dough schedules, and the pivot shows.
You can feel the focus in the systems, but you also feel the softness that only comes from feeding people.
I love when a turnaround has both brains and heart, because then a place grows roots fast. The workflows feel dialed, the register dance makes sense, and the handoffs are almost musical.
That kind of clarity does not erase the quirks, it gives them room, and the whole shop benefits.
New Hampshire towns rally when a good idea lands with care, and you can see it in the regulars who treat this counter like a porch. The building no longer drags the block down, it lifts it, one bag at a time.
If you are into redemption arcs that you can chew, this is exactly that, and it tastes like relief.
The Schmear Campaign Built Local Excitement
Before the doors even settled into their hinges, people were already talking about the schmears like they were a local election. Call it a playful campaign if you want, because every new flavor leak turned into a block conversation.
Folks swapped guesses, picked early favorites, and started planning first bites like they were mapping a morning parade.
What I love is how the team let the neighborhood shape the menu voice without crowd-sourcing the craft. Feedback turned into refinements, not compromises, so the counter now reads like a chorus with a solid lead.
It feels grown in place, and that is why the energy in line is more glow than buzz.
New Hampshire communities run on word of mouth, and this stretch of Portsmouth is especially good at it. You can see it in the way people hold the door, pass napkins, and point a newcomer toward the good stuff.
If hype can feel neighborly, this is the blueprint, and it lands as a smile you can taste.
A West End Connector Open Since Late May
The location ties the room to the neighborhood in a way that feels intentional, like someone traced the footpaths and put the door right where people naturally drift. It acts like a little bridge between errands and mornings that deserve a pause.
You can finish a bagel here and still make it across town with time to spare.
What strikes me is how quickly it became a reliable waypoint, a gentle anchor for regular routines. You watch folks sync their steps with the line, trade hellos with the staff, and make micro plans for the rest of the day.
It is not loud about it, but the steadiness builds trust, and trust is what turns a shop into a habit.
New Hampshire’s coastal towns know how to fold a new spot into the daily loop when it brings something honest. This one does, and the proof is in the comfortable shuffle of the patio and the doorway.
If you want a place that connects you to the morning rather than rushing you through it, you will find it right here.
Dear Reader: This page may contain affiliate links which may earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. Our independent journalism is not influenced by any advertiser or commercial initiative unless it is clearly marked as sponsored content. As travel products change, please be sure to reconfirm all details and stay up to date with current events to ensure a safe and successful trip.
