Florida Avenue Grill, Washington, D.C.

There is an old restaurant just above the U Street Corridor that has been open since the days of the Roosevelt Administration that many consider to be a Washington institution called the Florida Avenue Grill. Saturday afternoon I happened upon it, so I decided to try the place.

It's a very old, small restaurant dominated by a long counter with round, spinning stools affording views of the short order grill. A few booths line the opposite wall along the windows. Photographs of famous patrons and visitors cover the walls. It was mid-afternoon, and yet the place was packed with loud and happy diners, and I just did squeeze onto a stool at the counter. They had a lot of staff, many rather elderly, and I noted from plaques on the wall that a decade ago, several of them had been recognized for over twenty years of service.

The cuisine here can best be described as "soul food" or "Southern cooking," so I ordered the fried chicken platter for $9.95. My waiter brought me two cornbread muffins to start. They were good, though I was surprised how sweet they were. I got a leg quarter that had been fried, but it had been held after cooking, so the limited breading on the chicken was soft from the steam table. For my two side dishes, I got the "fresh cabbage" and the macaroni and cheese. The cabbage had been cooked for such a long time, the pieces were about to fall apart on the fork; it lacked any particular flavor, even when I was searching for hints of butter or maybe a ham hock. The macaroni and cheese was cold and overcooked, both in terms of the pasta internally and the undesirable dry crunchiness of much of the surface. It, too, lacked any real flavor or sense of cheesiness. There was nothing outstanding or even remotely interesting about any of the food. It was, really, a very disappointing meal.

What concerned me more, though, was that from my perch at the counter, I was able to watch a lot of the food preparation going on, and quite a number of their practices caused me to raise an eyebrow, remembering usual food service and health code standards. I watched a cook from the kitchen bring out a big pan of biscuits in one hand and a handful of more biscuits in the other, resting both against the top of her dress as she walked out. I saw the grill that looked like it hadn't been scrubbed down in years. I watched many of the staff grabbing glasses and dipping them into a crushed ice bin to prepare drinks for patrons, with no ice scoops or gloves or hand-washing apparent. I saw many of the waiters going to a common steam table with side dishes and, again with no hand washing, dip out and serve food, oftentimes with the same spoon between dishes. And, all this time, I saw the waiters handling money, wiping down tables, and clearing dishes, again with no gloves or hand-washing in between. In addition to that, judging from the tepid temperatures of my food, I'm not convinced that their steam table keeps cold foods cold and hot foods hot, and I've no idea how long that food has set out.

After I got home, I checked some of the reviews about Florida Avenue Grill, and I am perplexed. Many people rave about the food—and the place certainly had lots of business while I was there. Many also recommend the breakfast foods. None of these were my experience. Perhaps if I ever go again (blindfolded, so I can't see their sanitary practices), I'll try breakfast. But, the question is, will I ever go again?