A delinquent, an anti-nut guest columnist and a Cabbage Patch Kid walked into Foundry On Elm in Somerville. It was a Thursday evening. The air was frigid and the weather daunting, but they had one goal in mind — French onion soup. And they were prepared to trek in any conditions, be it snow or hail or Sharknado, to fulfill their deepest desires of warming their frosty souls with a steaming bowl of salty, cheesy, gluten-filled goodness (except for the ginger girl … she doesn’t have a soul).
But then they ended up getting a ride: cold weather threat averted.
The atmosphere was dark and ominous except for the bar illuminated in a powdered-egg yellow. Around us were a bunch of old people, which terrified us because there is nothing three English majors fear more than graduating college. The scene reminded us of a ship, and we were horribly underdressed for a restaurant so expensive you can only attend with parents or sugar daddies.
We took note of the bathroom sign. It was "swaggy," so we assumed they thrifted it.
The waitress was less swaggy. She lost points for judging our sweatpants and decision to order one soup for three, but she did regain points when she offered us drinks. Shame we couldn’t afford them.
For a restaurant that charged $14 (75% of Ellie’s bank account at the moment) for a bowl of soup, they moved pretty glacially. Fortunately, our French onion appetizer did not disappoint.
It arrived with a beautiful top layer of cheese. We tapped the cheese with our spoons. When we felt it, it was hard. Time for business, we thought.
We dove in, and immediately the smell of steaming onion broth wafted toward our nostrils. The scallions were back. They were showing up for us. It meant they cared — unlike the Tufts men who tell you that they would love to see you again, and then you do not, in fact, see them again.
It was super salty, and we love salt. Ellie loves it so much that she carries around a personal saltshaker. Beneath the cheese, broth-soaked bread and onions worked in perfect harmony.
We were so smitten, we were sure we’d reach bowl-bottom again. We’d never done it with three people before. It was sweet, it was adventurous and at the end we all released a satisfied sigh.
It was a perfect meal. The only thing that had trouble coming was the check. Sadie even tried a fancy hand movement to try and catch the waitress’s attention. She was brutally ignored. The rejection should’ve crushed her, but she was used to it.
We left with full stomachs and empty pockets. We reentered the chilly streets but it hurt less knowing we would be back outside in a couple hours. “Why?,” one may ask. Wouldn’t you like to know. But you might know. Especially if you, like us, are parched on Thursday nights.
We rate this soup 6.66 spoons. We were feeling sinful. Maybe even a bit devilish. Blame the ginger.
