Tasti D, are you my Mommy?

Because every time I eat you, a reliable 35 seconds after my last bite, I spit up just a tiiiiiny bit. Perhaps people are not meant to suckle at the teat of iced narcotic cement two or three times daily? Hmm.


Well hey, at least, unlike Meerkats, we humans don't have to eat other Meerkats.

Max Soha's

Max Soha, the uptown offshoot of Max's on East 4th Street, rules. HOWEVER. Something about that place just doesn't quite fit-- let's seeeeee...

- Homey, rustic italian food
- Brick walls
- Lopsided, art-fair pottery displayed on shelves installed accidentally by a hurricane.
- Menus written by hand on antiqued paper.
- A staff that looks/sounds like it is the crew on a Spanish pirate vessel circa 1510. Special props to creation of new hostess/wench hybrid, the "hostench."
- INCREDIBLY LOUD, TWILO-ERA TECHNO MUSIC, LIKE THE SOUND OF A TRIBE OF ELECRTIC PYGMIES BANGING THEIR BONERS AGAINST A TIN ROOF.


The [apparent] spirit of Max's?????

I mean, I know we're European, guys, and I'm not asking for Puccini, but when your subwoofer shakes my uterus into an early period, I have to ask you to turn it down.