Nothing against foie gras cotton candy, boutique gin and reclaimed barn wood tables, but occasionally you
just want something a little more...vintage.
A stool, a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and a gruff waitress in a hairnet at 3am should do just fine.
Introducing Capital City Diner, a sepia-toned, Norman Rockwell-esque throwback, bringing the siren call of all-night breakfast to the H Street corridor.
Imagine if someone lifted a 1940s-era New York State diner and relocated just up the hill from your favorite H Street watering hole. Well, that's exactly what this is, complete with original counter stools, linoleum floors and enough chrome to officially be categorized as bling. And just to enhance that Marty McFly feeling you're experiencing (your DeLorean is double parked), the owners have also installed a vintage cash register, milkshake maker and old-timey icebox.
As you might have guessed, you'll find a plastic-laminated menu full of simple, old-school, red-white-and-blue sustenance served 24 hours a day on the weekends—scrapple, grits, Western omelets and that staple of haute cuisine the world over: pigs in a blanket.
It's just the kind of post-debauchery greasy spoon that just makes sense after a night of Belgian brews, mussels and indie rock on H Street.
Think of it as pre-late-late-night.
A stool, a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and a gruff waitress in a hairnet at 3am should do just fine.
Introducing Capital City Diner, a sepia-toned, Norman Rockwell-esque throwback, bringing the siren call of all-night breakfast to the H Street corridor.
Imagine if someone lifted a 1940s-era New York State diner and relocated just up the hill from your favorite H Street watering hole. Well, that's exactly what this is, complete with original counter stools, linoleum floors and enough chrome to officially be categorized as bling. And just to enhance that Marty McFly feeling you're experiencing (your DeLorean is double parked), the owners have also installed a vintage cash register, milkshake maker and old-timey icebox.
As you might have guessed, you'll find a plastic-laminated menu full of simple, old-school, red-white-and-blue sustenance served 24 hours a day on the weekends—scrapple, grits, Western omelets and that staple of haute cuisine the world over: pigs in a blanket.
It's just the kind of post-debauchery greasy spoon that just makes sense after a night of Belgian brews, mussels and indie rock on H Street.
Think of it as pre-late-late-night.
