In 2019, as Denise Whiting thought about closing Cafe Hon, she approached restaurateur Tony Foreman to see if he knew of anyone who might be interested in opening in the iconic space on Hampden’s 36th Street.

After giving it some thought, he said he did know someone—himself.

“That is literally the best corner in Hampden,” he recalls thinking. “And my thoughts started percolating about how this particular corner was important for the community, not just the neighborhood.”

Even a great location, however, could not prevent terrible timing. Just as plans were formulating, the pandemic hit, and the project was put on hold. By 2022, demolition finally began as Foreman continued to think about reimagining the former diner space known for its 30-foot-tall pink flamingo.

“When I saw that corner, what was in my head is that I love an English public house where the space manages to be very comfortable and worn-in at the same time,” says Foreman. “But a public house has nothing to do with being English. It has to do with a place where people get together and life happens.”

Just as Foreman signed the lease, another curveball was thrown. An ongoing congenital heart problem required a life-changing heart-kidney double-organ transplant and put the project in peril. So, when the pub, dubbed The Duchess (a sly wink to Baltimore’s divorcée duchess Wallis Simpson), finally opened in early December, Foreman had reason to rejoice.

The Duchess is a pub, but don’t expect shepherd’s pie or Yorkshire pudding here. Rather than serve traditional pub grub, Foreman hired longtime Foreman Wolf chef Kiko Fejarang, a native of Guam, to be his partner and cook the Pacific Rim cuisine of her heritage.

“The Duchess is an homage to where I grew up,” explains Fejarang (her hometown cuisine is known as Chamorro and her nickname came from Kikkoman soy sauce—her birth-given name is Cherese). “Guam is similar to Hawaii in that it’s a tropical island with a melting pot of Asian flavors, including Filipino, Japanese, Korean, and even some Spanish cuisine.”

Whatever the provenance of the place, The Duchess is a true original, fitting right into quirky Hampden with its playful yet polished vibe, thanks to handmade ceramics from Surrey, England, and various other pieces imported from across the pond, including mix-and-match tables and Windsor chairs.

One side of the space is a lively bar with oak booths, a purplish marble bar, and TVs for watching British soccer games. The other side is a dining room with a long communal table, private nooks, window-side seats that overlook The Avenue, and a small stage for live music several nights a week.

Wherever you sit, dining here provides a much-needed sense of kinship and community. On one visit, Foreman got the dining room to join in a rollicking round of “Happy Birthday” for a patron. On another, the bar was crammed with patrons intently watching a football game, as well as Christmas revelers who stopped by for a quick umbrella tiki drink en route to see Hampden’s annual light display.

Every plate is festive and fun and mirrors the mood. And sharing is not only encouraged, but practically compulsory. In fact, The Duchess works best when you go with a crowd and try a forkful of everything.

The menu of shareable snacks starts with garlic-chile cucumber salad dressed in chile oil and ends with Asian-style Typhoon fries sprinkled with furikake (a Japanese condiment consisting of seaweed, sesame seeds, and sugar).

In between is a pleasingly umami-leaning stir-fried lotus root bathed in black truffle sesame vinaigrette with ribbons of bok choy; sushi-grade ahi tuna poke glistening with spicy soy vinaigrette and served with crisp wonton chips; crimson-colored, ginger-scented beets showered with chile roasted peanuts; and a delectable ceviche-style bowl of shrimp kelaguen with a kick of Thai pepper served with flat, doughy discs known as tatiyas (a cross between bread and a flour tortilla).

And while the plates are mostly small—three or more will make a meal, depending on your hunger level—the flavors are bold. To wit: smoky barbecued chicken marinated for 24 hours and served on skewers and a standout rendition of Spam musubi, Hawaii’s signature sushi-style snack, containing a slab of the pork product and pillow of sushi rice, wrapped in nori, lacquered with soy glaze and pressed to perfection.

The end of the menu features four to five items that are listed as “More Than a Snack,” though they’re anything but an afterthought. While we focused on the shareable snacks, we loved the fish-’n-chips, a generous hunk of impossibly crisp, tempura-fried hake served with yuzu tartar sauce and waffle fries sprinkled with furikake. (I have my eye on the donburi rice bowl with grilled duck for my next outing.)

As you finish your meal, consider at least one order of coconut shave ice (Hawaii’s answer to a Baltimore snowball) to cleanse your palate and sate your sweet tooth.

As you’d expect from a Tony Foreman project, hospitality points run high. Servers were attentive but unobtrusive, helping to interpret unfamiliar ingredients as runners cleared the collection of small plates to make way for new ones in their place. Bonus points for the $10 valet parking that gets automatically added to the bill for convenience. By the time you make your way to the curb, your car will magically appear.

In other words, the wait was worth it. The Duchess rules—long may she reign.

Leslie Stevenson, the doyenne of The Avenue, with her shiny shampoo-commercial hair, dimpled smile, and signature spectacles, opened her beloved shop, In Watermelon Sugar, at a friend’s nudge.

Stevenson’s pal was launching an Italian deli at the corner of Chestnut and 36th Street in Hampden but only wanted half the space. “Why don’t you open up a little home furnishings store,” she suggested.

And that’s really all it took.

“I signed a lease without knowing anything,” she says, laughing.

At the time, Stevenson, who grew up in Ruxton and graduated from the Maryland Institute College of Art, had worked at the Wine Merchant slinging sandwiches and at Dvorine Associates, a high-end design firm on Falls Road. “I’m sure my father was just absolutely ready to keel over and die because he knew I had no experience whatsoever.”

Nevertheless, she persisted and signed a lease. “I did everything backwards,” she says. “I did no research. I had no knowledge of business—I went to art school. I just knew what I liked. And what looked good together.”

Even when it came to the name for her new business, Stevenson was unruffled. “Not having had this lifelong dream to open a store, I had no thoughts on a name, so I was like, ‘Does anybody have a good name for me?’”

The crowdsourcing worked and a friend, who was a huge Richard Brautigan fan, suggested In Watermelon Sugar, Brautigan’s post-apocalyptic novel set in the aftermath of a fallen civilization. She thought it sounded colorful and wonderfully vague, since she still wasn’t quite sure what her store was going to sell. Her naivete most likely saved her from panicking.

“There were plenty of times where I feel like I probably should have seen the writing on the wall,” she says, referring to signs that the business might not be a success. “But I didn’t because I did not have that knowledge to know when to say when. So, I just kept plugging away.”

She emphasizes that she could never have done 25 years on her own. Stevenson gives all the credit to her support system—her husband, Bill Stevenson, the owner of Waverly Tattoo; their 16-year-old son, Xan, who grew up at the shop; and the people of Hampden, who have shopped in her store and welcomed her to the community. Everyone but herself.

“She’s so self-effacing, so chill,” says Libby Francis-Baxter, who owns the Modest Florist across the street and serves as the Hampden Village Merchants Association’s vice president. “She never takes credit for anything.”

But anyone who has stepped foot inside the magical corner shop, with its sunlight dancing across the wood floors, knows it’s all Stevenson. It’s clear in the store’s East-Coast-meets-West-Coast vibe, its perfectly placed displays, and even in that unmistakable scent—is she piping it through the air vents?—that smells like pure happiness (and a kiss of coconut). Her merchandise sits firmly between whimsical and practical. There are candles and cards, trinkets and baskets. Each nook holds books and room sprays, jewelry and lamps. There’s always a stack of seafoam-green or chocolate-brown tissue paper for wrapping gifts and her telltale pink sticker on each bag and box. And no matter how times you’ve walked through the shop—even just the day before—there is always something new to find.

“I think I was her first customer,” says Cameron Barry, who was working at the Mill Centre in 1998 and would pass by the shop every morning and afternoon. “I’m sure I just drove by and decided to check it out— and the rest is history.” She’s been a loyal shopper ever since. “I’ve never seen Leslie sit,” says Barry. But Stevenson never hovers either, allowing customers to peruse at their own pace. “She’s just incredibly warm and welcoming,” says Barry, “and has an interesting selection.”

Barry has story after story of Stevenson pointing her in the direction of other Hampden businesses instead of trying to force a sale. “Go next door,” she told Barry when she was looking for a mirror. When Barry told the folks at the Antique Exchange Stevenson had sent her, they said, “We love Leslie—she’s always sending people over here.”

Francis-Baxter isn’t surprised. She considers In Watermelon Sugar an “anchor institution” for Hampden—part of that first wave of businesses that turned the neighborhood into a shopping mecca and continues to be one of its biggest draws.

“She’s got an incredible eye—there’s no question. Anyone who has ever walked by her windows, you just stand there in awe,” says Francis-Baxter. But, she says, the windows are just an entry point into Stevenson’s world. “She’s really got the insight into those things that make you feel good and make you want to give good.”

The storefront windows on Chestnut weren’t always part of the equation. Remember those friends who encouraged her to open a shop next to their deli? In an ironic twist, they closed their business a year after Stevenson opened hers, and the landlord gave her the chance to take over the entire space. (“All the murals of the Sistine Chapel that are on the walls were left over from the Italian deli,” says Stevenson, clearing up something inquiring minds have often wondered.)

Initially Stevenson was hesitant, but her father insisted. He told her if she ever wanted to grow her business, which she would have to do in order to survive, she’d need room for more merchandise and storage. “I mean, none of this stuff entered my brain,” admits Stevenson. “So thankfully, it entered my father’s. He got me started on the right path—in every way.” They put a doorway between the two spaces, and it was a pivotal moment for the shop. She started selling less hand-painted flea market finds and more eclectic home goods. And she started to get a feel for who her customers were.

“Hampden is a unique area in the sense that you get so many different people,” she says. There are the college kids, folks from nearby Guilford and Homeland, tourists who find their way to The Avenue, plus a huge swath of regular customers that constantly come back, because they rely on Stevenson for certain staples. “Sometimes it’s hard, because you’re trying to accommodate all these people. But it’s also what’s great, because you have so many different types of people coming in.”

“IT’S HARD TO THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE OTHER THAN BEING GRATEFUL.”

Stevenson was 28 when she opened the store and now sits squarely in her 50s. “There’s a big difference between your mindsets. I don’t think you’re capable of absorbing the magnitude of time at that age. I don’t even think I had an idea when I opened the shop—how long am I going to be here? It just seemed like the next best move. Like, you live in the moment at that age, and everything is new and fun.” At that point, In Watermelon Sugar was her whole life. She’d work, close up, go out to bars, and rinse and repeat. There were no obligations other than making sure she was there the next day to turn the key.

Now she understands the weight of owning a business, having employees, paying bills, placing orders, and a new wrinkle: surviving during a pandemic. “There were times when I wished I had a boss, you know, someone to tell me what to do,” she says with a wry laugh. The freedom that came with owning a business—“I’m in control”—was also the burden that kept her up at night.

Other (fun) stresses include those beautiful seasonal windows where Stevenson really lets her creative juices flow. She realized early on she couldn’t put too much inventory inside the windows because the sun would bleach the goods, so instead she started creating displays with the product being almost secondary.

“It’s fun, but after 25 years it’s a little stressful only because I feel like I’ve done so many themes.” She starts rattling off previous fall windows—“I’ve done mushrooms, owls, woodland, farmers market, apple-picking, pumpkin patch… ” The shop’s basement is full of random items she’s collected for over two decades. Friends bring her rocks, branches, moss, and stumps for potential use in the window. And she’s caught the bug, too. She laughs. “I mean I can’t walk around outside without being like, ‘Ooh.’”

Indeed, on her frequent trips to California to visit her sister, she’ll often ship back boxes of rocks. Everyone is on the hunt. “Even my brother-in-law would be out surfing and find these crazy rocks and shells. And he’d box him up and send them to me for display. I know it’s ridiculous, but you open a business, and it just becomes all-consuming.”

But somehow Stevenson still makes it look effortless—like she’s almost embarrassed this milestone anniversary would cause any sort of fanfare. And in true Stevenson fashion, it’s her shoppers she’s focused on.

“It makes you reflect on your own life, when you see an anniversary for somebody that’s sort of big, because all of a sudden, you’re like, I’ve been going there for 25 years.” She’s watched customers have babies and now those babies are graduating high school or driving themselves over to shop for a girlfriend. “It’s a weird position that you don’t think of when you open something in your 20s. So, in your 50s, you reflect back. It’s hard to think of anything else other than being enormously grateful that you’re still there, and you’re able to witness this passage of time and see these people that you wouldn’t normally see unless you had a shop. It’s definitely wild.”

She also knows how lucky she is—especially during those darkest days of COVID-19. “I mean we lost Trohv,” she says solemnly. “And because we lost Trohv, I feel like I’m sort of reaping the benefits.” So that was sort of a bittersweet fluke. “[There are] a lot of variables that go into measuring success. And I think it’s not always [about] patting yourself on the back, thinking that you did the right thing.”

But when pressed, Stevenson says she does allow herself the occasional moment to soak it all in.

“I’m lucky to be in a neighborhood where I know so many people and they’ve kind of become a family. There’s a sense of ease that comes after 25 years. So, it’d be a shame to leave that now.”

For the foreseeable future, her plan is simply to keep showing up and turning the key.

“I’m grateful to have this to come to every day,” she says.

Alan Kolb knew his salon wouldn’t last forever. He had opened Sprout, an Organic Salon, in the fall of 2006 on “The Avenue” in Hampden. Offering organic products and minimal packaging, the salon’s eco-friendly mission was trailblazing at the time and has since gone on to become a major beauty trend.

Seven years later, in 2015, Kolb launched organic hair care line Organic Chemistry. The brand was supplied to salons across the country and was a mainstay at Sprout, whose clients were among some of the first to test each new product.

“There was always a plan for Organic Chemistry to live beyond Sprout,” says Kolb. “My idea was that one day soon, I’d sell Sprout to the people who have worked there all these years.”

But things changed in a way Kolb couldn’t have have seen coming. In 2020, like many small businesses, Sprout was hit with financial hardships stemming from COVID-19 and was forced to close. In turn, Organic Chemistry took off.

“Even though a lot of the salons we sold to are now closed, a lot of people have begun to buy online, and Organic Chemistry has been there,” says brand co-founder Davina Grunstein.

Today, Organic Chemistry carries on the environmentally conscious mission Sprout once held. Each product is formulated and packed in small batches right here in Baltimore.

The packaging is made of recyclable plastic and filled with ingredients that are organic and natural. The suppliers Organic Chemistry chooses to work with also must have a low carbon footprint. And sometimes, for customers close to home, Kolb might even ride his bike to hand-deliver orders to doorsteps.

As the former owner of Ruby 8 Noodles & Sushi in Locust Point, chef Chil Chong has plenty of experience preparing Asian cuisine. But with his new Hampden venture, he is hoping to fine-tune his dishes and cater to the neighborhood’s sophisticated palette.

“There are more foodies here,” Chong says of the Hampden dining scene. “People are more understanding of sushi, so I’m excited to tweak the menu a little bit.”

Expected to open in the former home of Corner Charcuterie Bar this weekend, Nori will feature Chong’s elevated take on colorful sushi rolls and traditional Korean dishes, as well as an Asian-inspired bar program.

After being introduced to the space by community connector—and 2020 mayoral candidate—Lou Catelli, Chong agreed it was an ideal fit to launch the concept. He has updated the old aesthetic by painting the walls a cream color, bringing in new furniture, and adding a sushi bar so that patrons can see their rolls being made.

“Some places make the sushi in the back of the house,” Chong says. “But I don’t like the idea of customers not knowing what they’re getting. Or not knowing whether the fish is fresh. This way, people can sit at the bar and watch us make the sushi order as it comes in.”

The back bar area adjacent to the dining room, which was most recently a members-only cigar club, now has more of a lounge feel with sofas, high-top tables, television screens, and wood paneling. Chong opened the bar quietly last week, serving Asian cocktails like lychee martinis and sake old-fashioneds. He will also offer a sizeable collection of bourbon, Scotch, whiskey, and local beer from the likes of Heavy Seas and Union Craft Brewing.

“Opening the bar first was a good opportunity to introduce myself to the neighborhood,” he says. “It’s very tight-knit, so their opinion is important to me.”

When the full dining room opens this weekend, the menu will highlight sushi, sashimi, and nigiri options, as well as Korean bibimbap, ramen with miso or chicken broth, and refreshing poke bowls that incorporate fresh fruit. Chong plans to rotate the sushi menu based on what is in season—making use of proteins including lump crab meat, lobster, and thin-sliced fish. All of his ingredients are hand-picked from local Asian markets like HMart in Catonsville.

“I’m a hands-on guy,” he says. “Customers recognize it when they see you bringing the fresh produce in yourself. The restaurant is my investment, and I have a responsibility not only to myself and my family, but to the neighborhood to serve quality ingredients.”

One of the things that Chong says he has enjoyed most about opening the new restaurant is getting to know the other businesses on the Avenue. In particular, he mentions chowing down on burgers at Five & Dime Ale House and tacos at Holy Frijoles as highlights.

“I feel heavier,” he says with a laugh. “My stomach is used to noodles and rice, so I’ve definitely been stepping out of my diet. But it’s great how all of the business owners support each other. That’s what makes Hampden, Hampden.”

In recent months, there has been a trend around the country of young people taking matters into their own hands. Most notably, the students of Parkland, Florida, led the charge for harsher gun laws and students from around the country joined in solidarity for the March For Our Lives rally.

Similarly, in Baltimore, students are looking for platforms to express how the state of the country and the city have affected their lives. Mayor Catherine Pugh and her team at CharmTV—the city’s news station that launched in 2014—came up with the idea for a television program featuring Baltimore youth. 

The Avenue will be solely run and operated by Baltimore City high school students under the direction of CharmTV’s general manager Tonia Lee and will debut on April 21 at 11 a.m. The 30-minute show will discuss topics chosen by students, including violence in Baltimore, entrepreneurship, philanthropy, as well as lighter topics like fashion and entertainment.

“There was clearly a void of platforms for young people to talk about what’s going on in the world,” Lee said. “We really felt like bringing this type of concept, particularly to Baltimore, was a tremendous way to further engagement and allow young people in this city to really express their views.”

The program will feature in-studio interviews, news packages, and roundtable discussions. It will air on Saturdays at 11 a.m. and will re-air on Saturdays at 2 p.m. and Mondays and Wednesdays at 7 p.m.

Run by six students with two of them hosting and the other four splitting various production roles, the show put students through auditions and casting calls in order to be selected. Lee says that this is considered work-study and the plan is to recast the students each year to open up the opportunity to other young people in the city who have an interest in broadcast journalism. In addition to discussing relevant news topics, the students will also be trained in all aspects in media production, pre-production, writing, shooting, and, editing.

“I think it’s a wonderful opportunity to engage our young people in the city,” Lee said. “We can not only reach young people, but also provide them with skills that they could viably use moving forward in their careers.”

Baltimore School for the Arts senior Kyla Jackson and Kamari James, a senior at the Seed School of Maryland, are The Avenue’s current hosts. Jackson, who will be studying broadcast journalism in the fall at Drexel University, says she’s excited to have the opportunity to share her views with not just other youth, but everyone in Baltimore. 

“This type of programming is important because we really need to have something for the youth to share their opinions,” she said. “We are going to talk about a lot of things that people wouldn’t expect. We always hear about people dying, but we want to talk about the survivors in the city.” 

An aspiring filmmaker, James loves that the entire show is youth-led and says the show has taught him about accountability. He’s proud of the work that he and his fellow production team have developed.

“We’re all bringing fresh ideas to the table,” he said. “We’ve all heard about the different conflicts in Baltimore told from an adult’s perspective, but it’s not really heard from youth, the people who are going through it the most.”

In the early hours of the morning on August 15, 2016, Geoffrey Danek awoke to a knock on the door at his home in Hampden. 

“It was probably the loudest banging I had ever heard,” he remembers. “I just had a feeling like, ‘This is not good. Something is wrong.’”

Scrambling out of bed, he made his way to the door to find his neighbor. “He had this look on his face,” Danek recalls. “And he said, ‘Geoff, I don’t know how to tell you this, but there was a fire at Holy Frijoles last night.’”

In what the Baltimore City Fire Department deemed an “undisclosed electrical fire,” Danek’s Mexican restaurant on The Avenue suffered significant smoke and water damage. Fortunately, no one was hurt (Holy Frijoles had already closed for the night by the time the blaze broke out), and the fire department was able to put out the flames in time to preserve the building’s structure.

“I was in total shock—all of the wires in my brain were flying around,” Danek says. “It was devastating.”

Now, nearly one year later, Danek is preparing to reopen the restaurant in conjunction with its 21st anniversary. A grand reopening slated for August will reveal a renovated interior, a few additions to the menu, and plenty of the spot’s signature pinball machines.

Throughout the past year, the community has come out in droves to help the eatery get back on its feet. Danek says that the support (everything from organized fundraisers to neighbors lending a hand with renovations) reminds him of the restaurant’s beginnings in 1996.  

“When we first opened up, we didn’t really have any money,” he says. “So people were coming in swinging hammers and helping out in exchange for pizza and beer—all because they believed in it. Now we’re going through that again. After all these years, seeing that same amount of love and support is amazing.”

Though management is keeping a few interior details under wraps until the official debut, Danek says that the most notable changes include a new carry-out area up front with its own express taco menu, and an expanded kitchen boasting equipment like a chargrill and  flattop—which the restaurant never had before.

The larger kitchen will now take over the restaurant’s original dining space at 908 W. 36th Street, and the expanded space next door—with its signature bar, pinball machines, and dining area—will pretty much remain the same.

“Saying goodbye to that old side was tough,” he says. “I know people are going to be bummed because that’s the place where the magic started, but it’s still there. That’s where the cooking magic is going to happen now.”

Danek—who got his start cooking at spots like Thairish in Mt. Vernon and Giuseppe’s in Charles Village—says that, while he has been toying with a few new dishes to add to the menu at Holy Frijoles, his main priority is staying true to the restaurant’s style with classics ranging from nachos and tacos to an array of burritos and chimichangas.

“We are who we are,” he says. “Years ago, when the neighborhood started getting fancier I was embarrassed that we were just this taco place. But then I realized, you have to just be true to yourself and do it well.”

Above all, Danek is enthusiastic about bringing Holy Frijoles’ relaxed atmosphere back to The Avenue. He was able to restore some of the artwork and tile from the site after the fire, and plans to incorporate those pieces into the new design. And, of course, Danek assures that the spot will also remain a hub for pinball, boasting more machines than ever before.

“This is a huge chance for us to really shine again,” he says. “It’s kind of like being in a band and recording an album. You work on it for so long that you become immune to how much it means to you, until people come in and enjoy it. When I see people coming in and having a great time—that will be it for me. That will be the point where I say, ‘We’re back to normal.’”

How did you get the name for your boutique?
AG: Milk and Ice is because we both grew up loving milk with ice, specifically with pasta. We found out that a lot of people don’t like it, but we thought the name was just very us.

Do you have a go-to saying or motto?
AG and KT: “Work smarter not harder.”
AG: It’s kind of “dad-ish.”
KT: We really do work smarter, not harder, though. I mean, we work pretty damn hard.
AG: But we’re learning.

No outfit is complete without . . .
KT: A jean jacket. All year round, it really completes an outfit.
AG: If you don’t wear it, at least have one in your car.

What are your current favorite and least favorite trends?
AG: We’re both kind of tomboys so when that starts to become popular, which we’ve been seeing lately, it’s easier and very comfortable for us to embrace that.
KT: And it shows no limits for women. We don’t have to wear dresses and stuff to feel confident. We can wear jeans and T-shirts and feel good. My least favorite: It’s got to be a mini-backpack.
AG: Yes! A clutch is a much more chic way to have a small purse.

Our top picks:
Lumberjack plaid puffy vest ($21); Patty Boyd dress ($65); Bow pins ($5/each).