Porch and Pie

linq: Moonshine Grill

There is a heaviness to Moonshine Grill. I have dined here several times, and this revelation has only been driven home on this, my last visit.

I should elaborate. I have eaten at Moonshine grill several times in the last three years, since I first learned of their being nearby to my workplace. I have worked my way slowly around the menu, hitting the highest points as they occurred to me, and enjoying much of what I ate. The health and correctness of my diet, I should also add, was the furthest thing from my mind.

Lately, I am back on the program, watching my intake and working toward something resembling health. This has made me conscious of my intake in a way I had not previously been. I consider the foods I eat, and I consider more the foods I avoid.

There is a heaviness to the food at Moonshine. It is never unpleasant, and it does not ruin the focus of any particular dish, but it is present in every bite of every dish. I shall avoid duplicating Jack Hare’s main thrust by avoiding any specific mention, and instead take a jab toward the interior.

The Porch

The place is unremittingly nice.

The staff are pleasant and present, and the interior is well constructed to leave you in

anxiety.

Not really, but Hi, Dad.

The porch is a blessedly cool oasis in the heat of the pavement of downtown. The rustic indoors stands in stark contrast to the ultra-modern cubes that comprise the architecture of downtown Austin. The building suggests age without the fragility which so often accompanies it.

Going is always a good time. The food is tasty. The waitstaff is busy but courteous, which is often the sign of a good restaurant, much like high turnover in a fish monger. These are, I fear, the sum of my current impressions of the place, wrapped as I was in the warm haze of having eaten a little too much food that was an uninterrupted collection of a little too rich.

There exists pie at the place. I feel I have built up the requirement in myself to mention it. The peanut-butter pie is kind of cheating, as it is really a sort of mousse cheesecake. The server refused to bring an apple pie, as she informed us fearfully that it was not for a single diner, or even for a pair.

“It’s a whole pie,” she said. “It’s really, really too big.”

We made other selections.

“Good,” she said, “I wouldn’t bring that unless there were” she trailed off, indistinct, perhaps still calculating the size of heard she would require to make the titanic pie worthwhile.

When she brought the desserts, her arms bulging under the weight, I was left poleaxed. If these monstrosities are A-OK, the idea of what must actually be the Gargantuan Abomination which is the Apple Pie must dwarf even the very mountains.

The point is, I can’t really speak to the Apple pie. I haven’t tried it. It might be fine, though.

Six out of four, twice over, with whipped cream, a side of olives, or your choice of side