This week we went to Nijiya Sushi in Medford Square, and we had a lot to celebrate: a birthday and a girl both gorgeous and COVID-free.
After a short wait where we discussed writing, as good soup columnists do (especially those trying to show their pre-med friends that they are intellectuals who are really, really cool and smart and have super large vocabularies and find more pleasure in good verbs and never adverbs because we hate adverbs so much; we hate them greatly), we sat down in the corner by a window. The red and green awning reminded us of Christmas, but we are Jewish and in search of good soup. No time for mistletoe fantasies or gifts from old men.
We started the night with miso soup. We were curious as to whether an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant would put as much effort into an appetizer as it does its sushi.
Also, we wanted to bring attention to an often overlooked, "basic" soup. But how do we really define basic? To us, basic means a solution with a pH above seven and a girl with chunky highlights taking a duck face selfie. Our soup, thankfully, did not ask us to rush its sorority, though it was an Alpha Beta Soupa sister.
The beauty of miso soup is that it prepares you for the meal ahead. For us, that was important because we were at an all-you-can-eat restaurant: we had to eat all we could eat. It’s the first battle in a long war, and you always win — like playing an eight-year-old in chopsticks.
We noticed the cloud first. All good miso soups create clouds when stirred. Imagine you are laying on the ground with your friends in the suspiciously warm February wind: staring at the clouds, staring at the shapes in the sky, trying to define them as bunnies or dinosaurs. Your miso soup should transport you.
Our dear friend, the scallion, was back. He made the bowl once again. However, this time he brought with him another green guy. Seaweed. Together, they gave us something to play with and chew on. If you remember, we love to play with our food.
As we swirled our soup, we found cubes of tofu hiding between miso clouds. We appreciated the small bites because large mouthfuls of tofu often leave you feeling some kind of way. There are some things you don’t want in your mouth.
The biggest accomplishment of the night was touching bowl-bottom. Sadie reached it first, with an exclamation. “I reached the bottom!”
Ellie was confused; as a broth girl, she had never gone that far before. But then she reached it for the first time, and she felt a warm feeling in her tummy.
With our final slurps, we were satisfied. And we had an answer to our question. Miso soup. You so soup. We so soup.
We rate this soup 8.0085 spoons. We’re still not telling you the scale. Deal with it. Maybe even write us an angry letter. Or a nice one. Clearly, we’re lonely; we’re writing a column about soup. Anyways.
