Babies should not be permitted to defile the sanctity of my repast

Babies, their Locustlike Omnipresence, and Why they Should Not Be Permitted to Defile the Sanctity of My Repast

A Culinary Review of Maya Del Sol, by PsyCHO ButCHER

Oak Park. Earnest Hemingway called it the city of broad lawns and narrow minds, and despite their unflagging liberalism, this continues to be the case today. Liberals often fail to see how they can be narrow-minded, always assured that they are completely correct in their beliefs, and thus, having arrived at their narrow-minded opinions through the best of intentions, recontextualize their mental arthritis as a perverse virtue. Oak Park is the sort of place people are scowled at for not recycling plastic by housewives who commit far greater sins to the planet by their overconsumption of gasoline for their mini van. It is a safe, reasonable, and banal place to grow up-and thus, it produces a profusion of babies. Babies should not be allowed in restaurants unless their owners have given the other patrons of the restaurant to discipline the child for its misbehavior, with sharp knives, if necessary. My rhythm guitarist, a female, assures me that crying babies result from a failure of parents to apply a program of operant conditioning on their hellspawn. Children who eat cocoa puffs in front of the TV, with a plastic spoon and a sippi cup, are so overstimulated at meals, and so unused to sitting still, that in every restaurant they must run around with a fish stick in their hand or face the angst of a life spend in the waning days of a great civilization, with doom on every horizon. Our children know it is their fate to suffer for our collective sins. They hate us for it. Thus, they cry.
Maya Del Sol is the most promising restaurant to spring up in this culinary wasteland for a great span of time. Usually, Oak Parkers, mild in their dispositions, fail to recognize good food when they encounter it. Oak Parkers mistake snootiness for good food. Their suburban lives have given them so few experiences by which to judge anything, every piece of shoe leather served on the right table setting passes for fine cuisine. Maya Del Sol is a Latin Fusion restaurant, meaning that the chef has license to serve up food from anywhere on the globe that Che Guevera would have sought to convert to communism. This, generally speaking, is a good idea. The empanadas we ate, though wrapped curiously in spring roll wrappers, were presentable. Their salsa verde was truly incredible, curiously, served with an unpalatable alternate that tasted like Campbell's tomato soup out of the can. The Tilapia tacos I had were decadent, extraordinary, apocalyptic in their glory. Best since Mas, on Division street.
I recommend this place. Knock over a stroller on your way in.