I hadn’t been to the Luna Grill and Diner in ages, but last night after re-joining the National Capital YMCA we needed something close by and relatively uncomplicated for dinner.
Not to mention the minute I remembered the place I began to obsess about their sweet potato fries. There’s something about the sweet potato that makes me think of autumn leaves and cool breezes. Maybe its role at Thanksgiving dinners has something to do with it.
Ummmm… deliciously roasted sweet potato steak-cut fries with a hint of caramel…
Luna Grill was just as quirky as ever, with its offbeat murals and rustic wooden tables. It’s a charming spot with basic good food – “slow food served fast” as their motto says. However, I could’ve done without sitting on my neighbor’s lap, as it were. The tables for two are ridiculously close together, so close you can hear all the slurping and chewing, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the guy next to us had joined our conversation. It also made for some interesting aerobatics on the part of our waiter as he attempted to refill our glasses.
But those fries were heavenly!
Now I just need to find some sweet potato pie, perfect for autumn.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs
As one of the founding editors of We Love DC, Jenn’s passions are theater and cocktails. After two decades in the city, she’s loved every quirky, mundane, elegant, rude minute of her DC life. A proud advocate for DC’s talented drinks scene, she’s judged the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s ARTINI contest, the DC Rickey Month contest, the Jefferson Hotel’s Quill Cocktail competition, and is a founding member of LUPEC DC. A graduate of Catholic University’s drama program, she toured the country as a member of National Players, and has been both an actor and a costume designer before jumping the aisle to theater criticism. Writing for We Love DC restored her happiness after a life-threatening illness, and she’s grateful to you, dear readers. Send your suggestions to jenn (at) welovedc (dot) com and follow her on Twitter.
