You hear whispers about a place like this long before you actually see it. People across Washington talk about this specific kitchen with a kind of hushed reverence usually reserved for family legends.
It is a delightfully unfussy, no-nonsense diner where the coffee is piping hot and the atmosphere feels like a warm hug from a long-lost relative.
I stopped in recently because I simply couldn’t ignore the rumors about their chicken fried steak any longer. When it arrived, it was roughly the size of a hubcap, smothered in a white pepper gravy so thick it should have its own zip code…