Maravillas - the reconquista meets its Alamo

As I write this, I am watching Hitman, a warmed over rehash of convoluted cliches - an apt parallel for Mexican food in Chicago. Growing up in California, mexican food is taken for granted. Though it falls short of the source material, the underlying essence, or what the french dubbed, "l'essence" remains. LA's taco trucks alone caused a legal and regulatory raucous due to their criminal deliciousness (sidenote: if I were a 15-yr old teeny bopper sensation a la Miley Cyrus, my first album would be called Criminal Deliciousness and I would be on the cover in a skimpy sailor suit and pigtails).

This week ToucanSam suggested Maravillas Restaurant in Hyde Park (5506 S. Lake Park Ave), less so for the food than the opportunity to rape the language of Cervantes and Octavio Paz with his gabacho pronunciation.

I have to compliment Maravillas on service. Friendly waiters refilled our water promptly, we got extra chips on demand, and the server was a sport about posing for pictures.



Unfortunately the colorful ambiance could not seep into the bland food. I ordered carne asada and chorizo sopes, ToucanSam got vegetarian tostadas; other than the consistency of the corn-based carb, I would venture that there was little difference between our gustatory experiences: same heat-lamp congealed refried beans, overly generous portion of lettuce, and a smattering of tasteless white cheese (generic mozzarella instead of crumbly queso fresco?) topped with sour cream (note: I had specifically ordered sour cream on the side). A heapin' of sour cream is a giveaway that the kitchen does not have confidence in the dish and hopes the eater will accept an abundance of toppings for a dearth of spice. I couldn't tell you which was chorizo or carne asada by taste. All in all, I was overwhelmed by the mediocrity of my food.

Unlike the meal however, the conversation was complex and ambitious, switching from a discussion of Paul Krugman's New York Magazine article on efficient market theory, to my colorful and delightful impressions (ToucanSam's response: "you sound like a raspy, throaty geisha"), to ToucanSam's passionate insistence that we watch 500 Days of Summer on our next ManDate. If we were a reality show, Toucan and I most resemble The Hills with our breezy chats, who's-with-whom drama gossip, and our trend-setting fashion forward sense of style.


Conclusion: an acceptable choice for the untrained palates of the Midwest, taking no chances and asking for none. Inarguably low prices, adequate quantities, friendly staff, and comfortable setting.
For the more demanding, Pilsen neighborhood supposedly more 'authentic', but my experience has not borne this out. The search for interesting Mexican food in Chicago continues. Suggestions?