Edit: the good people of J.J. Foley’s have informed us that their cheese is actually melted on-site, and is not from a box. We apologize!
From Nacho Patrol World Headquarters, J.J. Foley’s–located in the South End–is a bit off the beaten path. If you’re feeling especially adventurous, you can get there on the Silver Line. Or you can do what we did and rent a Zip Car.
First of all, we have nothing against the South End. On the way we passed both The Bean Sprout Co. and Grey Bar (it’s not a bar…we checked). On both our entrance to and exit from J.J. Foley’s, we got hassled by drunks (keep in mind, this was a Sunday night), who pronounced “beer,” bee-ya and ended their flirtations with the ever popular, “Yeah, well, fuck you” (commas added). If you’re a girl in this part of town, we might recommend Doc Martens and a burka for your upcoming night out. But for Nacho Patrol, dodgy drunks and sketchy high schoolers be damned! We’re here for the nachos!
- Appearance: ( 8 ) You know when you’re at a bar and you see some fly honey from behind and you’re like, “damn, that girl is a fly honey” and then she turns around and she has a mustache and no teeth, and you’re like, “damn, that girl’s got a mustache and no teeth.” Well, that’s kind of how the nachos at J.J. Foley’s made us feel. It’s like when you hook up with some totally hot guy and then the next morning you realize that he makes the elephant man look good. Okay, maybe it’s not that bad. But in any case, when these nachos came out, we were nearly beside ourselves with excitement. It only took us a moment to come to a horrifying realization: in lieu of cheese, they had concession stand queso dip. Dun Dun DUNNNNN! Minus the cheese, these nachos were quite beautiful. With three colorful mounds of sour cream, guac, and salsa and a smattering of beef chili, we were ready to dig in. The noxious queso, though, left us rather nonplussed.
- Distribution of toppings: (7) let us take a moment to discourse on the use of round chips in nachos: though a chip is ultimately just a chip, we have noticed the tendency of round chips to nest in a way that almost guarantees the phenomenon known as the “naked chip.” The lack of corners encourages them to get a little too cozy for our comfort, inhibiting proper topping distribution. That brings us to the issue of queso cheese. Queso is a distribution god-send. Its viscosity allows for nearly full coverage, but toward the end, the whole mess might as well be soup. For awhile, this is fine, but as the plate empties, you can practically feel your arteries clogging. There was also a sad lack of chili–actually, calling it chili might be a little strong. It was a little more like a thin broth garnished with hunks of gorund beef, chunks of tomato, and a few kidney beans. I suppose if you’re into a slightly upscale concession stand nacho outside of the arena or stadium, these would be perfect for you.
- Quality of toppings: (6) pre-melted cheese directly from a box, jarred salsa and largely flavorless chili. Quite lemony guac, but that’s not a bad thing!
- Price: (7) $10, but $2 extra if you want to add chicken. It made a full meal for two people, but not the best deal in the world.
- Overall: 28/40, the perfect snack after a night of hard Irish-style liquoring, J.J. Foley’s provides drunk-munchy-connoisseurs with a sloppy melee suitable primarily when wearing nacho beer goggles. Sure, you may regret it when you wake up in the morning, but at least they probably won’t make you chew off your arm.