The Wedge Table, 3 November 2018

I don’t go to the Wedge because when I go there, I feel intimidated, out of my element. I grew up eating out of boxes and cans (just clap your hands) and learning about budgeting because there were my parents, me, my brother, and whatever animal had to be fed. I also have never been hip, my hair has never been shaved on one side, I don’t own a keffiyeh, and the frames of my glasses aren’t neon. I am very clearly of a working class background and I feel kind of looked down upon when I go in there.
So there was some resentment, I guess, a few years ago when the Wedge opened up the Wedge Table where Hai Nguyen (I always called it High Noon), my favorite Asian grocer, used to be. Which is half a block from my apartment. I feared more snobby IPA swillers in my hood then tried to put that stereotype out of my head, seeing as how I didn’t like feeling stereotyped, especially since it was always internalized. In all honesty, the Wedge staff are nothing but friendly. And Wedge customers, I’m sure, could sell me some grass.
Anyway, I went there to day because I’ve been up since a quarter to six and I still haven’t eaten and I’m going to see Suspiria in about an hour and I need to eat something but Jimmie John’s is fucking gross and I’m sick of everything on the strip (not really) but then I realize I’ve never eaten at the Wedgetable.
So I stop in there and I’m all, “Wha?” at the sandwich board because nothing looks - I mean, is this is Aramaic? Where’s ham & cheese? Where’s… They have a tuna melt but the description is from another planet entirely. I feel so very very out of my element.
I ask the guy behind the counter, “How’s the turkey apple bagel?”
He says, “It’s really good. I like the pickled apple.”
“OK, let’s do that.”
“Do you want chips & salsa?”
“Nah, I’m good on that.”
“Well, it comes with it.”
“OK, yeah, cool.”
He hands me my ticket and tells me it’ll be right up and I walk over to the cooler for a Coke and, no, this is the Wedgetable. No Coke. No Pepsi. Not even my beloved RC.
I get a cranberry pomegranate sparkling Yerba Mate instead.
Jesus fuck.
This is not my world.
So I take my Yerba and my ticket to the register. The young woman rings me up, misreading TAB on my ticket as TPB so instead of ten dollars (fuck) for my sandwich, I pay seven dollars for this imagined bowl.
Oh, and I should mention that Jewel, the nineties chick that lived in her van, was playing this entire time.
I’m beginning to think that maybe if they stocked Mexican Coke, fuck, some Jarritos and played some old school thrash metal, I could handle going in there.
I brought my food home, opened the sandwich and had to break out the bread knife to cut it in half.
So, I got it on “discount” but would I say it was worth ten dollars?
Yeah, actually.
The turkey was oven roasted and sliced medium, the gouda came in irregularly shaped pieces, the rosemary bagel was just right amount of savory, the arugula was arugula, I mean, it’s lettuce…

… but the real teenage intravenous narcotics addict on the road to redemption in this after school special titled It Happened to Tina and Anyone Could Be Tina: A Cautionary Tale Against Teenage Intravenous Narcotics Addiction would be the pickled apple slices, playing against and in harmony with the savory bagel and the umami of the turkey; the pickled apple slices were the right amount of sweet & sour and not overly so in either category. It was actually quite perfect for autumn and would have been better washed back with a cider than a Yerba.
Now, would I do this again? Yeah, now that I’ve gotten over my hesitance. It’s like getting tested for HIV: You think that needle’s going to fucking hurt but then it doesn’t feel like anything and you get to know that you don’t have HIV.
Unless you took it and it turned out you did have it, then I’m really really sorry for that analogy.
Do I still have to get over my own internal bullshit about being the scrubby white kid born in a trailer park walking into the rich folks’ store? Yeah, I really do.
Anyway, I have to jump in the shower before I go to the theater. Y’all can give them your money if you want but I kind of got a discount. Your mileage may vary.