The Dish: What happened to Baltimore’s diners?

The pancake batter sizzles against the hot griddle as chef Kionna Lawson pours it from a cloudy pitcher. She grabs a spatula and folds the edges away from rows of frying eggs and bacon while, somehow, keeping an eye on the door and smiling at every customer who walks in off West 25th Street.

Though Kay’s Place feels like home to Lawson, the diner and its red-cushioned booths are part of a rare and, some experts says, disappearing breed of restaurants.

Once seen as a beacon of affordability and an emblem of the working class, diners are becoming less commonplace and financially viable, with the few city eateries promising to carry on the tradition needing to evolve to survive.

In Baltimore, diners used to be a watering hole for blue-collar families. Filmmaker Barry Levinson immortalized Baltimore’s storied diner culture in his 1982 film “Diner”, which turned the now-defunct Hollywood Diner on Saratoga and Holliday streets into a city landmark.

“Diners were built for ordinary people,” said Preservation Maryland spokeswoman Dana Cohen. She said the nonprofit group pushed to protect the Bel-Loc Diner in Baltimore County from demolition in 2016 because it embodied a “disappearing piece of Americana.”

“These places carry cultural meaning,” she said.

But so much of what made diners distinct — vinyl booths, chrome exteriors, neon signs, marble counters and 24-hour shifts with novel-sized menus — are no longer feasible for small-business owners amid rising prices.

Richard Gutman, a diner historian, says diners need to be “chameleons,” defined by much more than their looks. The eateries still promise quick service, particularly at long countertops in narrow, efficiently used spaces, with a broad enough menu that they can serve breakfast any time at a reasonable price. But they also must adapt to their community, he said.

The bestsellers at Kay’s Place are grits in gravy, fried fish and coco bread, a buttery Jamaican staple made with coconut milk.

“They give you so much that I get sleepy,” said Midtown Academy teacher Reggie Holmes, who called Kay’s one of the few authentic and affordable breakfasts in the neighborhood.

Everyone knows each other there, he said — shortly before his student, 8-year-old Kerrington Lott, wandered in with her mother and embraced him. The young girl said she considers herself a part-owner because of how often she eats there.

“I like to be here even though I don’t get paid,” she said, devouring French fries at the counter.

Her breakfast of eggs and fries costs just over $10, along with most of the food Lawson and her team fry up on the eatery’s large griddle. Hanging just above the heat are signs taped to the wall, warning customers of rising costs: “Due to inflation some food items will have an increased price. Thank you for your support and understanding.”

Lawson said the business has had to balance increasing food prices with being a community spot where even low-income customers can feel welcome.

“It’s a concern,” she said. “More of these places are going out of business and becoming less affordable.”

Kay’s Place owner Cia Carter, who did not respond to requests for comment, took over the space from New Wyman Park Restaurant, a diner that operated for 80 years before shuttering in November 2020.

Ray Crum, who owns Pete’s Grille in Waverly and formerly managed Werner’s Diner and Pub downtown, says the pandemic destroyed diners and led to nearly half of his sales coming from carryout orders. “Before COVID hit, you couldn’t even get in the door,” he said.

His business is built on nostalgia. The restaurant’s long, lone counter is often filled with people that Crum said are looking for connection and treat his staff like therapists. They order intimidatingly large portions — meals that brought in Olympian Michael Phelps between training sessions.

And while the restaurateur still prides himself on serving heaps of food, margins are much tighter, especially when chains like IHOP are able to offer pancakes, eggs and meat for just over $6, Crum said. He spends mornings calling around Baltimore looking for the most affordable options to source his ingredients, but franchise prices are still nearly impossible to beat.

He’s raised some prices but fears that continuing to do so will alienate the large part of his customer base who are on pensions.

“If I raise something a nickel, customers will tell me,” Crum said.

Chris Van Horn, who manages The PaperMoon Diner in Remington, said to keep prices affordable, they’ve started slicing tomatoes thinner and cutting back on large servings of the increasingly expensive fruit, which now costs $150 a case.

His restaurant caters to mostly young, vegetarian customers and provides a more eclectic menu and scenery than the traditional diner.

“It’s not for everyone, but our community wants more than the typical things,” he said.

Nick Karvounis, who owns Southside Diner on Fort Avenue, said diners need to evolve to survive.

Like the others, his popular, 14-year-old Riverside spot isn’t open 24 hours. “That business model doesn’t work,” he said.

It at times makes him uncomfortable knowing how much he’s raised prices over the last year to keep up.

“Sometimes I’m embarrassed to have the words ‘diner’ up there,” he said of the restaurant’s name above the entryway.

But then he recalls the nights as a young man he spent dipping fries in gravy with his friends at Towson’s Howard Johnson’s diner. He looks at his restaurant , where community members are crowded into a similarly small space, dining just the same as he did. For all the exhaustion that comes with keeping Southside running, he believes there should be far more diners across the city.

“Every neighborhood should have one,” he said. “It’s like a heartbeat.”