Baltimore natives might have noticed the recent rise in coverage by national publications like Bon Appétit and visits from foodies across the East Coast, shining a spotlight on some hometown favorites and a few newer spots. But my mind wanders to the places that aren’t going viral — the spots that may no longer exist, yet hold lots of memories for locals and Baltimore natives. What are the gone-but-not-forgotten Baltimore gems in the culinary scene? And how does continuing to discuss them help us keep a long memory of Baltimore, particularly for working-class families?
With stagnant wages and endless inflation, the cost of gathering in public is staggering. The economic cost of socializing is hitting working-class people hardest, and this extends to where we eat. What happens when poor and working-class people are barred by menu prices, and the familiar, wallet-friendly spots are all lost to time?
What happens when poor and working-class people are barred by menu prices, and the familiar, wallet-friendly spots are all lost to time?
I followed my curiosity into conversations with Baltimore natives who’ve witnessed the shifting culinary and cultural roadmap over the last twenty years. Speaking with other writers, cultural workers, and artists about their beloved Charm City classics invited me into some intimate and warm memories. Jenné Matthews, a filmmaker and culture worker from Baltimore’s Westside, is a time traveler in her memory of Micah’s Soul Food Cafeteria, a restaurant that used to serve up delicious, homestyle meals off of Reisterstown Road. “I’m thinking about fried fish on Fridays and the Catholic of it all. Somewhere me and my mom used to go was a spot called Micah’s,” Matthews says. “Those fish dinners from Micah’s were really special.” The storefront building where Micah’s Soul Food Cafeteria fed many is now a beauty supply store.
Matthews, like many Baltimoreans I spoke with, mentioned that eating out was a special treat usually reserved for big family gatherings. Juju Bae, a spiritualist and writer from Baltimore’s Beechfield neighborhood, echoed the sentiment. “We ate in the house!” she says with a hearty laugh as we exchange memories back and forth. As she continues, she mentions that taking trips to Old Country Buffet in Catonsville and other spots along Route 40 was usually the plan.
And without fail, each Baltimore native I spoke to mentioned Lexington Market. Particularly, the vast and varied options of the market as it stood before redevelopment changed the architecture and the offerings.
The history of Lexington Market dates back to 18th-century Baltimore, when future Vice President John Eager Howard donated land from his estate for the market. At one point the market served as a marketplace for the sale of enslaved Africans, like one girl known as Rosetta who was owned by Howard’s son — Maryland Governor George Howard. Altogether the marketplace has endured fires, redesigns, and changes for nearly 300 years.
Going to Lexington Market with my mom and grandmother was a staple of my childhood. Holding my mother’s hand while traversing Baltimore’s unpredictable subway system (pre-Transit app) as we made our way from Mondawmin to the stop at Lexington and Eutaw. The sounds of downtown traffic and vendors hustling oils and bulk boxes of toothpaste on the train platform let me know we’d arrived. Soon, I was tugging on my mother’s arm, my small fist demanding satisfaction, asking if we could get lunch from Konstant’s hotdog stand once all the shopping was done. The opportunity to get an all-beef hot dog with their chili, a cup of vegetable soup, a bag of chips, and a large half-and-half for under $15 for both of us was too good to pass up.
Matthews and I share a love of Konstant’s offerings, and of Lexington Market. “I will never forget how you could smell Lexington Market for blocks by the smell of Konstant’s roasted peanuts. The smell transported me and grounded me, and let me know that I was home. I associate Lexington Market with my father. He’d go down there and get lunch with his friends at Parks or the candy from Rheb’s.”
The latest iteration of the market features an epic collage mural from Baltimore native and renowned artist SHAN Wallace, whose memories of the old building run deep. “I used to go to Sandwich King in Lexington Market. I been going there since I was like five or six. It was my favorite because you could get a full breakfast platter for like five bucks. I still was going there when I was doing [a Lexington Market] photography series, and the prices never changed. I would get the French toast platter.” And for Juju Bae, Lexington Market was home to her favorite gyro: “It used to be on the second floor, and it was the first place I learned what a gyro was.” Many vendors, like Konstant’s and Sandwich King, didn’t return when the market reopened in 2022.
Within the tender memories of everyone I speak to, I hear longing for food and physical space.
Within the tender memories of everyone I speak to, I hear longing for food and physical space. My questions on food and menu items led to stories about family, childhood friends, and the intimacies of being near one another. I suspect that part of what we miss about many hometown classics is being able to eat a hot meal and have a moment of human connection for less than $10. And how much of that is about resources?
Shae McCoy, the photographer behind West Baltimore Ruins, has documented Baltimore’s west side neighborhoods for years. Her memories of carryouts in Poppleton make it clear that lost restaurants are one part of a larger story about lost real estate and the people left witnessing the remains. “There’s carryouts that I frequented when I was younger that were flattened. They’re gone.” The spots, like Charles Carryout and Wu’s, served some of the best chicken boxes McCoy remembers from the early 2000s. The bulldozing of these restaurants, despite some debate about the nutritional value of carryout menus, is the loss of space to roam freely. Where do people go when their neighborhoods are clusters of leveled dirt?
As more buildings become steamrolled blocks, residents start to get the picture that their majority Black and low-income neighborhoods are sites of demolition rather than long-term neighborhood stewardship. And the devastating truth is that these lost blocks are decisions codified in the budget. The same city budget responsible for the growing development of Roland Park and communities in Northeast Baltimore is responsible for divestment in others.
In Baltimore City and surrounding counties, the changes in culinary options are accompanying shifting real estate markets and a drive by city officials to invite out-of-state residents to build lives here. Food, and where to find it, plus who’s cooking it, can be an indicator of the ebbs and flows of development and alert us to where resources are being invested (and where they continue to be withheld).
Food, and where to find it, plus who’s cooking it, can be an indicator of the ebbs and flows of development and alert us to where resources are being invested (and where they continue to be withheld).
As Baltimore’s stock rises with those outside the area, I hope that we can sustain a long memory of the places, food, and people who’ve always called Charm City home without serving the city’s low-income neighborhoods and the people living within them, up on a platter.