START THE INSANITY Nearly everything at the Friendly Toast is a bit odd, but its namesake — and the rest of the menu — delivers. |
| The Friendly Toast | One Kendall Square, Cambridge | 617.621.1200 | Open Monday–Thursday, 8 am–10 pm; FRIDAY and Saturday, 8 am–1 am; and Sunday, 8 am–9 pm | AE, DC, DI, MC, VI | Full bar | ramped access to restaurant | bathrooms down full flight of stairs |
There was some in-office debate about reviewing the Friendly Toast in our "On the Cheap" column. After all, its menu of diner favorites, retro-'50s filler-uppers, and contemporary vegetarian options are pretty inexpensive. And their motto is "Great Food. Cheap." (The original Friendly Toast in Portsmouth was a hangout for UNH students and woulda-beens; the new one is primed for MIT students and the overflow of the Kendall Cinema. So that's a budget-minded crowd, right?)But while the Friendly Toast may seem like a gimmicky interloper with a limited number of offerings, it is actually a divine all-day eatery with five cartoon-filled pages of impossibly tempting fare.
I knew what I was getting into, having done research at the other location, in New Hampshire, and tasted the astoundingly delicious raisin-bread French toast ($4.50/one piece; $6.50/two; $8/three). Which is why I argued successfully that this was no mere student dive decorated with campy old advertising signs, but in fact a worked-out postmodern conceptual dining experience. I mentioned that the sweet-potato fries ($5.50) are the best I have ever had. I even promised to trade back some significant pupuserias and a Nepali joint. (The things one has to do in order to get the scoop on a mojito milkshake ($5).)
As you may have gathered, Friendly Toast is kind of wacky. The cuisine stretches the envelope of "comfort food" between sinfully rich and over-the-top bonkers. The décor is stuff the art director of Pee-wee's Playhouse rejected as being too arch for kids. ("Arch" is really an issue, as they have collected quite a few promotional objects relating to brands of shoes from the 1930s, such as Goodrich Sports Shoes and Red Goose, whose tagline on display is "half the fun of having feet." What's the other half, "Hokey Pokey" time?) Foundation garments are represented well, as are signage from long-gone local bakeries and bachelor-pad objets d'art.
It would be difficult to do food as jumbled as the décor, so the owners apparently just transcribed years of stoners' munchies ideas and put it all out there. (See, this is the kind of post-structuralist deconstruction you just don't get in most restaurant columns.) But jumble is a style, and it's a moment.
So there you are, seated on sticky reproduction plastic banquettes at a replica Formica table, maybe the orange boomerangs, maybe the even-more typical carmine marble pattern. And you have this hyper-cheerful Good Morning, Vietnam–style menu full of incredibly tempting goodies. Which ones do you have?
Well, let's talk about French toast. You can get it with six kinds of house-made bread. I favor the cinnamon raisin, as I said, though the annadama has its devotees. The main thing is that it's really soaked in eggs, so even with an inch-thick slice it's like eating custard-like bread pudding.
