Bar Dalí Gives Baltimore’s Mount Vernon a Surreal Spanish Turn 

But what would that concept be? As he explored the property, Donnelly uncovered a wealth of quirky details that endeared him to the structure and its ramshackle charm. Downstairs, an enormous oak bar commanded the room, its surface worn smooth from decades of use. “It had clearly been there forever,” he says with a laugh. “It was actually leaning forward, like it might fall into the room.” Upstairs, meanwhile, took a more eccentric turn. The lofty room brimmed with theatrical props and surreal decor, from suits of armor to an Egyptian mummy affixed to the ceiling. “It was bizarre, but once you looked past all that, the building had a real warmth,” he recalls. “It felt like it could easily return to being a neighborhood restaurant, somewhere casual. It also demanded a certain humility—anything too polished would feel wrong there.”  

The team soon gravitated toward a rustic Spanish tapas bar and landed on the name Bar Dalí, a nod to the surrealism embedded in the building’s past. The restaurant, helmed by James Beard Award–winning chef Spike Gjerde, channels the communal spirit of Spain’s bustling tapas bars, which draw people together over vermouth, beer, and an ever-changing array of shareable plates. “One of our goals in taking over this space is to honor the community spirit of Mount Vernon Stable & Saloon and introduce a new space for the neighborhood to convene,” explains Gjerde, who devised a seasonal menu with highlights including pan con tomate and eggs diablo, a take on deviled eggs with Spanish pickled vegetables and pimentón. “I can’t think of a better way to do that, given the ease, joy, and connection built into tapas culture.”  

Given that sense of ease, Donnelly approached the interior with a light hand. Interventions remain purposeful and spare, guided by a desire to let the building speak. “We didn’t want it to feel like a designer had come in and imposed something,” he says. “It needed to feel like it evolved naturally, like the person running it had made those decisions over time.” That meant restoring the monumental oak bar, preserving its worn surface and distinctive tilt, and stripping back patchy layers of plaster and paint to reveal the brickwork beneath. New wood panelling carries the same depth of tone as the existing millwork, allowing old and new to sit comfortably together. Overhead, the tin ceiling gleams in a glossy, vermouth-inspired burgundy. 

Deliberately understated artwork dots the walls, many with Spanish provenance. “We collected vintage pieces, including ceramics from Zaragoza, and mixed those with things we found locally in Baltimore,” Donnelly says, focusing on objects that introduce winks of color and texture. Overhead, a restored ceiling mural stretches across the bar in a dusky tableau of entwined figures rendered in warm, burnished tones, remaining one of the few decorative elements retained from the structure’s past. Despite extensive searching—Donnelly asked around and even tried reverse image searching—its origins remain completely unknown. “There’s something great about that,” Donnelly muses. “You can’t manufacture that kind of mystery.”  

That feeling of wonder overhead gives way to something more immediate on the floor. Donnelly carried forward the saloon’s easygoing charm, drawing in part from time spent in Spain, where restaurants tend to encourage more fluid gatherings and eschew overly fussy rules. Here, that attitude manifests through unfussy furnishings, standing ledges that ring the bar, and easily movable stools. The 50-seat dining area avoids fixed arrangements while a tucked-away corridor reveals a handful of booths behind arched openings for a more secluded option.  

Though Donnelly initially worried about forging tighter conceptual links between Bar Dalí and Hotel Ulysses, that concern eventually waned. “Both have a sense of being slightly outside of time,” he says. The check can wait.