Sunny's "YELP" review of Chez Mom Restaurant

YELP! Review Chez Mom Restaurant 

 Sunny D. - Chicago, IL  

I had such expectations for this place. The smells drifting from it made my mouth water every time I walked past. I saw the smiles on the faces of others as they left. Then I walked in, tail wagging. The hostess was surly, looking at me and saying, “It’s too EARLY for snacks.” I have heard that word TOO EARLY before, which never bodes well. 

She showed no change in demeanor, shooing me out of the dining area while she bustled around putting down plates and silverware for the HOOMAN customers. I was appalled. So, I will simply review what I could dine on instead of a snack.

A slice of cheese on the counter. Cheese is always a treat. When Dad makes a sammich, one always finds its way to me; he’s SO careless with cheese.  I took this one from the serving platform without paying. It landed on my head. If the manager says something, I’ll tell her it’s a hat. 

A paper towel. The ones that sopped up bacon grease are the best, but as far as an early bird special, it wasn’t bad. If fresh, that paper will rip into a gazillion pieces, which you can leave like drool-infused confetti all over the clean restaurant floor. Even better if you can order seconds; that look on our server’s face as you get it all soggy in your mouth and then spit it on her clean pants before you can choke on it – elevates the dining experience like no other.

An unsliced loaf of warm bread. Oh, I so wanted to try this, but it was just TOO big for me to get my mouth around. Let’s see, a knife? No, Mom won’t let me play with knives. Shoot it with Great-Grandpa’s WWII Army rifle? I’m a Dog. HELLOO? BACKGROUND CHECK?! The plastic Ginsu banana slicer was too small and it looked like the sketchy banana (which usually contains a disguised pill). On to the secret menu. 

A slipper – My favorite from the SECRET MENU. You won’t see it on everyone's menu. You will have to request it. By request I mean find it lying under the kitchen caddy by the back door or even better, dangling from the Maître D's foot while he waits for Chef Mom in the next room. 

A spatula. These are rarely seen on the menu. They’re sort of like those Japanese puffer fish—eaten wrong, they can hurt you, but if you get them just right, that chewy rubber goodness almost makes up for the vaguely medicinal aftertaste of the plastic handle. So, diners, beware, but if you’re flexible on your eating times (eating at 5:00 instead of 4:58), you might enjoy this place.