By Charles Doxzen
Baltimore Watchdog Staff Writer
Strolling along Hampden’s main drag, known as “The Avenue,” I find an array of skate shops, dive bars and unique restaurants. I pass a sea of dyed hair and tattooed skin. Skateboards whiz by me, en route to the skatepark, which draws its personality from its extensive and eclectic graffiti art.
It is a world away from what I recall as a kid going to see the Christmas lights on 34thStreet. Being back as an adult, I explore the town’s funky character. It has a homey feel, despite the cultural divide between young hipsters and Hampden’s old guard.
Where the Christmas lights sparkled on 34th Street, one yard displays a flock of purple, blue and luminescent flamingoes for Halloween. There is a big flamingo population in this community. Above the door at Café Hon, a restaurant that celebrates the Hampden down-home culture, I notice a huge flamingo, going up two stories.
The flamingo craze may be traced to Baltimore native John Waters’ film ‘Pink Flamingos’, which was filmed in Baltimore and released in 1997. Protip: if you’re new to Hampden and want to fit in, get yourself a flamingo.
Looking for something to eat, I wind up at Papi’s Tacos. The outside eating section is Day of the Dead inspired, decorated with flowered skeletons.
After getting a table, chips and salsa are swiftly placed before me. Soon after, four cheesy quesadillas with chicken tinga arrive at my table, golden brown and grilled to perfection.
I dive in, making a mess of my meal, stuffing my face as if time was of the essence. Garnished with shredded lettuce and pico de gallo, the combination of flavors and bright colors pair magnificently.
I pay my tab and go about my way, unable to think of a better Mexican restaurant I’d been to in recent memory.
Continuing my walk, I’m drawn to a sign on Falls Road reading “Jerk Chicken”. Neil, the man running the store, Leaf Walk, tells me he’s been working the corner for three weeks selling jerk chicken and snowballs.
Within minutes, multiple people came to check if he was still serving chicken. While Neil’s pitbull, Russian, undoubtedly helps draw in the customers as well, people are coming to see Neil, who loves what he does and tells a good story.
Neil told me he grew up in Jamaica and had worked at a 5-star restaurant in his past. Wanting to get the full Leaf Walk experience, I ask Neil what snowball I should try.
With no hesitation, he recommends I get the coffee flavor. “It’s addictive,” he says. “People say it’s better than Starbucks.” It was a great variation on the snowball and coffee. I shake his hand goodbye, knowing I’ll be back again.
I was ready to retire when a blue neon sign reading “The Bluebird” beckoned me off the street. What appeared at first as an unremarkable hole-in-the-wall spot revealed itself to be a high-end cocktail lounge.
Upon entrance, a literary theme materializes. A piano plays softly as a woman sings a wistful ballad. I can barely read the menu because the place is so dark, lit by candles and fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
My eyes peruse drink names like “Sleep After Love”, “Be Like the Fox” and a $25 drink entitled “National Prosperity.”
Keeping up with the literary theme, each drink has its own poem, although the bar’s lighting is not conducive to poetry reading. Barely able to read the menu, I decide on “Laughing at Funerals.”
When I’m given my glass, I notice two lavender flowers sitting atop my drink. Taking a sip as I look around, I begin to think the Bluebird may be too upscale for me.
Hitting The Avenue again, I encounter two homeless men. The first had a long pirate-esque beard and carried a ukulele. He didn’t speak to me, seemingly put off by my notepad as if he had a deep mistrust for reporters.
The next chatted for a minute and told me how he slept in the park and had been feeling particularly down on his luck as of late: alone on the streets of Hampden with no family or money.
I wished him the best and told him he never knew if his situation was going to turn around, but his faith in people seemed to have hit rock bottom.
The night comes to an end with a drink at Frazier’s, one of the only spots open until 2 a.m. Frazier’s is your typical bar and features a pool table as well as moose and caribou heads on the wall. Here is where the locals come together and share a sense of comradery; whether they’re from Hampden originally or not, they all belong to this tight-knit community.
Once again, I find myself across from Café Hon, with the biggest flamingo of them all looking down at me.
To me the flamingo symbolizes Hampden’s community well, with its bright pink hue and flamboyant nature. Here, people are free to express themselves how they wish. Authenticity is praised; feathers and all.
I leave Hampden with a better sense of the people and culture. Days spent meandering on The Avenue and into the park. Nights spent popping in and out of dive bars, making friends with new people. I say goodbye to the flamingo town for now, until I find myself in Hampden once again.