As a Brit raised at least partially on American television, cinema, music and literature, one develops certain preconceptions about the country.

There are the Great Lakes.

There’s the Grand Canyon.

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There’s the notion of the Great American Novel.

There’s a prevailing sense that America is a country of extroversion and bold gestures.

Size is clearly an issue.

But on arrival everything seems just a touch smaller, newer, and perhaps a little less permanent than you might have expected.

And the breakfasts aren’t quite as grandiose as you’d been led to believe.

Which, in my case anyway, is a particular disappointment.

But that was before my quest for the Great American Breakfast led me to Hampden, Baltimore.

Café Hon (as in: “It’s a café, honey”) is hardly unassuming, its exterior dominated by a pink fibreglass flamingo.

But still it barely prepares you for what goes on inside.

Stepping through the door, I was greeted by a life-sized plastic Elvis and waitresses wearing polka-dot dresses and beehive hairdos.

Breakfast – if that isn’t too unassuming a word – began with a Bloody Mary.

Fiery with horseradish and served in a glass rimmed with Cajun spices, it left my lips tingling and eyes watering, but the ferocious hangover which had accompanied me all morning – courtesy of the alchemists behind the bar at Pazo, Harbour East – had all but disappeared.

As I marvelled at the medicinal properties of the café’s magnificent Mary, my waitress returned with coffee and a large plate of food.

A stack of buttermilk pancakes managed somehow to be rich, sweet and gossamer light beside a glorious mountain of creamy, golden scrambled eggs and crispy fried bacon.

Just as I was losing count of the number of times my coffee mug was refilled, I was asked if I might like dessert.

While pudding at breakfast is an indulgence I’d usually forego, my attention was directed towards the establishment’s cake cabinet – a chromed colossus, glowing gently and groaning under the weight of gateaux and pies.

After a slab of coconut cake as big as a tombstone I staggered out into the autumn sunshine, irresponsibly full but perfectly contented, my faith in the American breakfast more than restored.

As I browsed the neighbourhood’s ramshackle auction house and kitschy second-hand stores, I reflected on the extent to which some destinations benefit from their portrayal in the media.

The very mention of New York conjures images of Audrey Hepburn peering longingly into Tiffany’s windows, Carrie and Co sashaying down Fifth Avenue and Harry and Sally crunching through Central Park’s golden leaves.

And in this respect at least, Baltimore might be justified in feeling just a little hard done by.

In recent years the city, whose social history is no more chequered than many of its North American counterparts, has surely become best known – in the UK at least – as the setting for The Wire and Homicide: Life On The Streets, two of the most popular, yet unremittingly bleak, crime dramas ever to grace our screens.

The previous day I had been taken on a tour of the city in the company of Charlie Armstrong, a location manager who worked on The Wire.

After meeting for breakfast at the very comfortable Hilton Baltimore, he showed me the housing projects of the city’s east and west sides – patrolled in the show by Dominic West’s hard-bitten cop McNulty.

Even during our brief tour the deprivation in these parts of town was clear.

From the long streets of derelict rowhouses to the small knots of men waiting to be picked up for a day’s casual labour these are tough neighbourhoods, which feel a million miles from the chirpy hospitality of Café Hon.

But Baltimore is nothing if not a city of contrasts, and while some parts of town obviously still have a long way to go, there are others as welcoming as any I’ve experienced in the US.

To the east of the city’s Inner Harbour district lie the cobbled streets and handsome brick buildings of Fell’s Point, a picturesque neighbourhood with a colourful history as a seafaring stop-off.

And while thirsty naval officers may now be in short supply, their influence clearly endures.

Amongst Fell’s Point’s 120-odd hostelries can be found The Horse You Came In On, which describes itself as America’s oldest – and possibly best-named – saloon, where visitors can sample foaming pints of local ales such as the delicious Heavy Seas brews.

Just around the corner lies Shuckers, an unpretentious restaurant and bar where I enjoyed a juicy crabcake burger while admiring the fabulous view across the harbour.

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For visitors with slightly more refined taste, The Baltimore Museum of Art is well worth a trip – thanks largely to the Cone sisters’ astonishing haul of modern master painting.

Donated to the city in 1949, the BMA houses the largest single Henri Matisse collection in the world.

But while the sisters were particular fans of Matisse, their patronage didn’t stop there.

Thanks to their insatiable appetite for contemporary art and generosity in leaving it to their city, the gallery now numbers Cezanne, Gaughin, Picasso and Pollock amongst a collection estimated to be worth in excess of $1billion.

And should one tire of gazing at such 20th Century masterpieces as Matisse’s Blue Nude (1907) and Large Reclining Nude (1935), there’s always the restaurant, Gertrude’s, where you can enjoy a sophisticated interpretation of hearty Chesapeake dining in the rarefied atmosphere of the gallery’s ground floor – where I partook in some exceptionally fine oysters and a mischievous Moonshine Manhattan.

From the cheerful red bricks of the Orioles’ baseball stadium to the paint peeling forlornly from derelict rowhouses, Baltimore is a city of light and shade.

While Baltimore gave America its Star Spangled Banner and icons including Billie Holiday and the baseball player Babe Ruth, it’s also been home to such celebrated antiheroes as Edgar Allan Poe, grand master of the macabre, and the transgressive contemporary film director John Waters.

Baltimore endures, still many things to many people, and so it will remain.

But whatever you do, get there for breakfast, no matter what.

FACT BOX

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