Alright, let’s dive into this pancake-flippin’ drama that’s got an upscale Maryland suburb flipping their lids like a Denny’s short order cook on a Saturday night shift.
In the usually serene and carefully manicured community of Honeygo in Perry Hall, Maryland, a proposed 24-hour Denny’s has become the epicenter of a sizzling neighborhood standoff. Yes, Denny’s—the place where you can get a Grand Slam breakfast at 3am and overhear some of the most random life stories from complete strangers—is now the center of controversy among locals who say their peace and quiet is about to be buttered up and fried to a crisp.
And the kicker? The restaurant’s future location is so close to residents’ homes you could “literally throw a football” and hit it, according to Delegate Kathy Szeliga. That’s not metaphorical exaggeration—she means it. We’re talking steps from people’s front doors.
Now, let’s zoom out. The Shops at Perry Hall already hosts a 24-hour Wawa, a Valvoline, and an Autobell car wash. So clearly, the area’s no stranger to around-the-clock action. But neighbors say Denny’s would be the tipping point.
Lifelong resident Thomas Castello didn’t hold back. He listed off a laundry list of concerns: loud cars, loitering, street racing, police calls, and trash—all signs, he says, that peace and property values are on the decline.
A local council bill, introduced by Republican Councilman David Marks, aims to draw a hard line in the syrup: no restaurants within 250 feet of homes can operate between 10pm and 5am. And guess what? The bill already has serious momentum. Marks asked, “What would you think if you bought a home and then suddenly found out the restaurant you were promised would be open 24 hours a day?” That’s the million-dollar rhetorical question right there.
But developer Ron Schaftel isn’t flipping over easily. He says this isn’t just opposition—it’s legislative sabotage. In his eyes, the bill is designed for one thing and one thing only: to kill the Denny’s deal. The lease was signed in 2024, he argues, and if the county pushes the bill through, they’re not just messing with zoning—they’re inviting lawsuits, broken leases, and an empty restaurant pad nobody else wants to touch.
To try and meet residents halfway, Schaftel’s offering a menu of concessions—think surveillance cameras, resident-only parking, even traffic control tools—but it’s not winning over many hearts or stomachs.
So here we are. A 24-hour diner known for bottomless coffee and late-night hash browns has become ground zero in a suburban showdown over what kind of neighborhood Honeygo is—and what kind it wants to be. Is it a quiet cul-de-sac, or a late-night pitstop? One thing’s clear: this isn’t just about pancakes. This is about identity, property values, and who gets to decide what “neighborhood character” really means.
The debate is far from over. But if anyone thought zoning laws were boring, this spicy Maryland saga just proved them wrong.
