(Credit: Dan Piepenbring)
It's easy to see why Hon enjoys such a great reputation in Baltimore; it has a great location, great food and a name that classically capitalizes on our "unique" lexicon. The servers are all female -- at least, they were during my visit -- and they're eager to help. When I sat at the bar, three different waitresses asked if I'd been served. Then, however, tragedy struck: a man with a baby arrived on the premises. Maternal instinct kicked in, and all the waitresses swarmed the child, cooing compliments. "He's getting big," said one. "He's so small!" said another. "His complexion is perfect," offered a third. The kid (and his flawless skin) were inundated with attention and the dissenting opinions of experts. I thought I was a distant memory.
Even against such stiff competition, though, I received first-class treatment. The Café Hon is small enough so that someone is always around to help, but big enough to avoid feeling cramped. The walls are painted in varying shades of bright green -- lime, chartreuse, shamrock -- all of them inviting. A 1950s-era red bicycle is mounted near the ceiling, and classic diner signs advertise bread pudding, hot fudge sundaes and homemade pie. (Mmm -- pie.) The Hon Shop, tucked in a corner by the front door, boasts an exhaustive supply of Hon-related memorabilia, including the simple, ubiquitous bumper stickers, and the Hon Bar is right next door. Menus have the front page of a local Hampden newspaper on the front, thus confirming Café Hon's dedication to the community.
There was only one thing haunting me as I hunkered down and enjoyed my open-faced turkey sandwich and, later, brownie a la mode. When my order was taken, the waitress said, "Sounds good, sweetie." After I thanked another for refilling my water, she said, "You're welcome, honey" -- close, but not quite. I began to think it might not happen. It wasn't until I got my check that I found what I was looking for, both emblazoned on the receipt and on the lips of the ever-kind hostess: "Thanks, Hon!" And then, dear friends, everything was right with the world.
Dish: Café Hon has a lot of typical diner fare -- B.L.T.s, chicken tenders and the like. The wine list is deliberately labeled "unpretentious," to match the come-as-you-are atmosphere. Despite the summer heat, I settled on a hot turkey sandwich with a side of fries; it was everything I'd hoped for, simple and satisfying. I had expected the sort of fries that barely conceal their freezer burn, but these were fresh, and they were great after being slowly soaked in gravy. The aforementioned signs lured me into ordering dessert, and I'm glad I did: the brownie a la mode, still steaming when it was served, offered one of those rare moments when a man wonders if maybe food is actually better than sex.
Damage: For those on the verge of bankruptcy, the Café Hon may not beat your average fast food joint in sheer cost-effectiveness. Lunches run from $7 to $12, on average, but they're very filling and certainly tasty. If you're looking to stay under 10 bucks, you might want to look elsewhere, but at the Café Hon you can rest assured that you get what you pay for. My sandwich was $9.95, and the brownie sundae was $4.95. I spent $14.90 total.
Decision: With its enormous pink flamingo visible from a block away, the Café Hon is downright iconic -- something of a Baltimore landmark. While it may never deliver a life-changing dining experience, you can get good food without breaking the bank, and without feeling like an unwelcome guest. If you ask me, that's just about hon-beatable. The ultimate soluti-hon. The most hon you'll ever have. I'll stop now.
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