Home > Baltimore Restaurants > Restaurant Review > You're broke. Eat here.

No surprises at this Hampden hang. The Bachelor of Arts crowd was out en masse. The hostess' rumpled Waldo tank top and disheveled hair was proof enough for me that she had just stumbled bleary eyed out of bed and directly into work. The bus boys spent a lot more time getting ready for work, sporting well-preened ducktail hair-dos and squeezing in far too tight jeans. The bartenders, unshaven and in T-shirts, seemed to say I'm cool and you're not, but in a really friendly way. There were so many thick-framed hipster glasses that I thought I might have walked into a poetry reading by mistake. And don't get me wrong; these are the things I love about the place. I'm tired of pretentious dinner venues and dressing up to grab a beer. What is great about Holy Frijoles is that you really can come as you are. (Don't hold me to this, but I don't recall seeing a sign that read no shirts, no shoes, no service. So have at it ...)

Before I tell you what it is I hate, let me just get this out. I like beer. I don't think too many people are going to argue with me on this point. Beer is my friend. Frijoles sells Tecate. It comes in a can. It costs $2.75. What the hell is that? A can of beer for almost three bucks. I thought I was in Hampden not Camden Yards. Sure it's an import, but Mexico's not that far away. If it can't get me cheap beer, what the hell good is NAFTA? Once I got over that bullshit, I had a seat and resigned myself to the dinner menu.

Our waitress, pigtails and red patent leather shoes, was very friendly, but also very busy. She spent a lot of time running about the restaurant making, in her haste, the cutest "Kids Say the Darndest Things" faces. There was no way I could be angry about the beer fiasco anymore. I got a soda instead, and we ordered dinner. My girlfriend ordered a burrito and I got a chimichanga.

I was watching my girlfriend play with her food, when she noticed me and revealed that she doesn't like beans so much. She said she thought the black beans looked like ants pouring out of her punctured burrito. Cockroaches, I said. Shocked that someone who doesn't like beans so much would order anything here, I asked her what it is she thought holy frijole meant anyway. It means "Holy Cockroaches?" she asked. I'm pretty sure she was kidding, but then again ...

Dish: To make anything better, deep fry it. That's the theory behind a chimichanga. Take a burrito, drop it in hot oil and -- voila! The girl had a regular old burrito, and we both opted for chicken.

Damage: So as far as being broke and eating here, you're going to be hard pressed to eat dinner and have a drink for less that ten bucks, but it's close. Chicken burrito: $7.25, chicken chimichanga: $7.95 and one high brow can of imported brew: $2.75. Total damage: $17.95. This is sans tip, sans soda, and we're pushing the envelope a bit.
Total Damage: $8.98 per person (don't be such a math dweeb, I rounded up the half cent).

Decision: The food was good. The atmosphere was chill. Save up, cheapskate, it might be worth it.

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