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The irony here is that
many years ago, in my former life as an assistant to a notorious Hollywood
douchebag, I was once told to fetch a turkey sandwich from "The Edison."
Like many of the adventures on which I was sent by Mr. Super-Producer,
my instructions were vague and arduous. After calling all around (the
Internet was in its infancy and completely useless), I came to the
conclusion that I was apparently going to have to hop on a bus and
find a place in Edison, NJ. This, of course, would not have been below
him to do. In my desperation (the clock was always ticking with this
guy), I walked out on the street and started asking people who looked
like native New Yorkers if they knew anything about "The Edison" and
if I could, in fact, get a turkey sandwich there. Being fresh from
Los Angeles, and a little naive about how the city worked, I got mostly
"screw you" looks, until a little, old Jewish lady pointed me to the
Hotel Edison. A hotel? Typical of this bastard to send me somewhere
to get something that they don't even have. (He sent me once to a
specific Big&Tall shop to get him a swimsuit and flip-flops in
the middle of winter.) So I show up, and to my surprise, there is
an actual cafe attached to the hotel. And I was saved--until I got
back and found out that apparently mustard makes him puke (despite
him asking for it), and that I would have to go back and have them
wipe the mustard off the sandwich and give me new bread. So, I could
go on and on... And this brings us to the present; a present in which
the Cafe Edison hasn't changed a drop in ten years. Handwritten signs
adorn every wall, touting the fresh pastrami and the smoked whitefish.
There are signs written about the chicken soup and the potato pancakes.
You have signs about meatloaf specials and even soft-shelled crabs
if you want 'em. Why they even bother with a menu is beyond me. The
oddest part about those signs is the fact that every word on every
sign is underlined multiple times. I had a great aunt who lived in
Vegas and told people's fortunes who always underlined every word
in every birthday card she ever sent me with four lines. Apparently
there are others out there that feel this somehow enhances or highlights
the sentiment being conveyed either about how much love they feel
for their nephew, or how great their kreplach is. In any case, walking
in here feels like New York--or some parts of Florida. It just has
that old school flavor that makes this city great. And then you open
the menu and see the old school prices, and everything is right with
the world. In the ultimate irony, I ordered a turkey sandwich, and
it came piled high with fresh turkey (none of that pressed, Boar's
Head crap), and really hit the spot. Pair that with a nice, cold Coke
and my week was complete. Despite the specter of my old boss floating
around the place, I enjoyed my meal thoroughly, and could see making
this a weekly destination once I retire to those woolen, old-man-pants,
am on a fixed income and don't want the hassle of being asked "make
it a combo?" everywhere I go. [MF]
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