banner of papalo leaves chihuahua cheese and chipotle gem of the west side west of homan side too far for the average foodie to risk missi...
banner of papalo leaves
chihuahua cheese
and chipotle
gem of the west side
west of homan side
too far for the average foodie to risk
missing the 72 bus
a new siren call
so far from comfort
haven for the adventure white
willing to slum it to savor the same salsas
Some minimum wage underage busboy
Would one day have the gall to present
to me with the audacious question in all its Naperville’s stank
“you guys know about our salsas?”
Our salsas
like he inherited handfuls of sazon
Our salsas
like he chopped chipotles in feeble attempts to replicate your secrets
Our fucking salsas
like he gave up time after time
walked his happy ass salivating
up the same street that once took him to church
only to pivot the other direction to a new temple
portraits holy hanging from every space
in reverie of the father, the sons, and the entirely too happy grins
of customers satisfied by something so far beyond a torta
that any foodie network that called you such should be deemed guilty of goddamn blasphemy! Our fucking salsas!
So imagine my surprise when I heard you went and got yourself a new management
New soft hands rolling in your dough
Fulton market money keeping the doors open
wider than the investments opportunities
vultures snorted when you were North
When you were Humboldt
When you were home
When you were any other siren call
So far from comfort
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