City Limits Sports Bar
If you’re ever driving around stoned and suddenly end up in a place where beautiful, identical people race by in Day-Glo ‘active wear,’ you might be lost in Temple of the Cult of Under Armour, Locust Point. And now you’re hungry. You can settle for the amazing but omnipresent RoFo chicken on Key Highway, or you could roll a little further down Fort Avenue to City Limits (1700 E. Fort Ave.,  244-8084, citylimitssportsbar.com) and order a literal nirvana of stoner food. Meet the Goodfella ($10.99). The person who came up with this beefy masterpiece must have been stoned as fuck when they threw together an 8 oz. hamburger, marinara sauce, banana peppers, pepperoni, and...wait for it... fucking mozzarella sticks. Yes, mozzarella sticks. On a hamburger. Let that sink in for a second. They were like, “you know what? Fuck ordering appetizers, let’s just put it all on a burger. I’m starving.” And the best part is that it is strangely satisfying. It’s juicy and messy. The mozzarella sticks really bring a taste that’s needed on a hamburger: something deep-fried. Every burger from now on should have something fried on it. Judging by this work of art and the Fatty Addie, someone at City Limits is a fan of the weed. And we can’t wait to go back. (J.M. Giordano)
Mac & Cheese Ramen Dog
The most effective treatment for weed-induced cravings (of which I suffer from and submit to more intensely than any living person should, concerned friends keep telling me) hits as many flavor spots at once. And not just flavor, but cuisine categories as well. Ejji Ramen in Belvedere Square Market (529 E. Belvedere Ave.,  435-8688, ejjiramen.com) has created the most ideal solution I have personally encountered: the Mac & Cheese Ramen Dog ($5). It’s exactly what it sounds like: a beef hot dog encased in a crispy shell of cheesy ramen and tempura. So we have America’s favorite meat tube with Japan’s favorite noodle—or, at least, America’s favorite Japanese noodle—plus cheese, the most perfect ingredient/thing. The cheese here is spare and mild, which is probably a good thing when you have all this going on. Not to mention the accompanying apricot wasabi mustard, like damn. This dog hits all the right spots: savory, spicy, sweet, and, the most important, greasy.
Not only is this clearly catered to the hungry stoner, but it’s specifically designed for the #faded millennial. Macaroni and cheese is a go-to meal for us dorm-inhabiting (or just broke) youngins, as is “ramen” à la Cup Noodles; or, more particular to our tastes, high-quality, more or less traditional ramen from one of Baltimore’s several new Japanese noodle joints. There’s a lot of unfounded drivel on Gen Y, but what they say about millennials and our fetishization of quality food and food culture is pretty legitimate. The people at Ejji know it, too; every week they give a free bowl of ramen to a selected customer who posts their meal on Instagram. (Maura Callahan)
The Monte Cristo
Lost City Diner
Weed smoke in Station North is as ubiquitous as oxygen. The Crown, Club Charles, and The Windup Space are home to secondhand smoke highs on a weekend basis that result in legions of partiers wandering around hungry and stoned at about 1 a.m. And while we’re in total love with the numerous Korean offerings and the Salvadoran cuisine outpost, it’s hard to find that balance of sweet and salty that we crave when we’re high. That’s why we need a place like Lost City Diner (1730 N. Charles St.,  547-5678, lostcitydiner.com). Everyone knows about the amazing shakes and diner grub, but if you look closely at the menu for a moment, you’ll find a sparkly precious gem of a dish called the Monte Cristo sandwich ($13.99). Think deep fried, Corn Flake-encrusted French toast stuffed with three layers of ham, turkey, and cheese. Then take that image and add powdered sugar and a mini-pool of raspberry Melba sauce and you’ve got a dish that will satiate any Friday night cravings. This fried sandwich is nothing new, but adding that raspberry dipping sauce is goddamn addictive genius. We ordered the Cristo after smoking up in the alley while getting a free listen to some shitty jam band from the Depot. Between the moans of pleasure, the sandwich lasted about 45 seconds between two high individuals. You don’t have to venture to one of the galleries in Station North to experience a work of art. Lost City’s Monte Cristo should be in the fucking Met of stoner food. (JMG)
The Meatball Chub
Luigi’s Italian Deli
When I’m high, my stomach is a bottomless pit into which all of my snacks fall. So loading up elsewhere, away from home, is not a bad idea. Luigi’s in Hampden (846 W. 36th St.,  438-4195, luigisdeli.net) (who we mistakenly left out of our annual Eat dining guide, sorry guys) offers a variety of delectable and filling hot and cold sandwiches, salads, and more. And they’ve got front and back patio seating, so you can really appreciate the multitudes around you through all of your senses at the same time.
I opted for the Meatball Chub ($10.50). That is what it’s called. Three or four or five, maybe (I lost count), house-made meatballs jammed into a hollowed-out squat/chubby half-loaf (that’s why it’s called the Meatball Chub, right? Like, it’s chubby? That’s the joke, right?) of delicious, crusty Italian bread. That comes loaded, of course, with a flavorful onion- and garlic-laden marinara sauce and provolone cheese. The Chub sounded and looked overwhelming—when I ordered it, the dude at the counter asked me if I knew that it came in a half-loaf of bread and I said yeah, pal, of course I know. That’s why I ordered it. But anyway, I grabbed the sandwich (and a few napkins) and attempted to eat it. “Attempt” is the key word, as it is an awkward size and shape. If you’re an anxious stoner, you might want to find a more private place to eat this, so as not to feel self-conscious about your approach to this monster. I found that I had to do this weird rotating motion, biting off of one side and then turning it around and taking a bite from the other side, all while thinking hard about maintaining the structural integrity of the bread—which is crucial. And guess what? I ate the whole thing. I was surprised, too, and a little disappointed to not have leftovers. But mostly I was proud. And stuffed. (Rebekah Kirkman)
City Limits Sports Bar
The basic tenet of stoner food creation is junk foodstuff A + junk foodstuff B = delicious. That’s why Taco Bell’s Doritos Locos Taco Supreme and KFC’s Double Down are the stuff of food legend: eaters enter another plane of gorging self-satisfaction when the bun/shell is something even more delicious and fattening on its own.
A local specimen that follows this maxim can be found at City Limits Sports Bar in Locust Point (1700 E. Fort Ave.,  244-8084, citylimitssportsbar.com): the Fatty Addie ($12.99), your standard 1/2 pound bacon cheeseburger—topped with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise—stuffed between two grilled cheese sandwiches. A typical burger bun is merely a bread conduit for keeping the sandwich together and your hands (relatively) clean; using two whole grilled cheese sandwiches to get the burger into your meat hole ramps everything up to the next level with its hit of buttery, cheddar goodness. The sandwich stack has to be held together with a steak knife shoved through the top, for Chrissake.
The towering burger is intimidating as hell at first. With it standing so tall on the plate, I wondered, how am I going to get my mouth around this thing? Luckily, the grilled cheese sandwich top and bottom compress nicely—without smooshing—making the task a little more manageable. Still, it felt like I was coming close to unhinging my jaw during the first couple bites. All that cheese is what first hits your palette, kinda like a Philly Cheesesteak slathered with Cheese Whiz. But the nicely charred patty and bacon add a tasty savory finish. Eating the whole thing and the plate of fries felt like an accomplishment, and I was ready for a nap almost immediately after, which is a perfect way to cap off your high. (Brandon Weigel)