Every town has one or two. The neighborhood restaurant where people go to see people they know and eat food they recognize. Fresh lemonade is probably on the menu, along with grilled cheese sandwiches. Your fingers are probably a little greasy at the end of the meal, and you don’t mind.

Capitol Hill has its own handful of these places, each with its own history and character. Mr. Henry’s, one of the first and few remaining, is certainly not lacking in either.

You probably notice it more when the weather is warm. The patio fills with people during the lunch hours and again after work. Sometimes there’s a line on Saturday nights; growling stomachs pace the sidewalk, noses curse the smell of hamburgers and frying grease. Dogs lounge outside the iron fence with dishes of water, and servers swish between tables carrying trays full of fresh iced tea.

The place has been here a while and been through a lot. Before it was Mr. Henry’s, it was the 601 Club, a country-western bar with a loyal following. In 1966 a man named Henry Yaffee took it over.

He never closed the doors during his renovation, a complete overhaul from cowboy chic to Victorian pub. Instead, he went section by section, all the while introducing new people to his restaurant and convincing the salts to stay.

It was a jazz club for a short time, and a popular one at that. The bar’s greatest claim to fame is having been the home base for a young Roberta Flack, then just a schoolteacher with a trio on the side. Yaffee knocked out the upstairs apartments and created a performance space just for her. As her name grew bigger, so did her famous following. Burt Bachrach, Carmen McRae and Johnny Mathis filled the pews Yaffee bought from a local church, while acts like Jerry Butler and even Liberace joined Flack on stage.

“It was a really fun time back then,” says co-owner Alvin Ross, who was just a server back in those days.

Flack got too big for the place to hold, but it remained a jazz club after she left, reeling in the hottest acts for another year or so before the buzz settled down. Yaffee opened sister restaurants around the city, all of which eventually fell to the wayside. He gave the original up to Larry Quillian, still a force in the Capitol Hill real estate market, in 1970.

It was around that time that Ross showed up. A graduate student in philosophy at American University, Ross needed some cash and had a friend working at Mr. Henry’s already.

“I was waiting tables, got married, had a child and was finishing my master’s,” says Ross, who had visions of getting his doctorate and teaching. “When Larry bought the place, he asked if I wanted to be a manager. It was all on-the-spot training. I had no experience other than waiting tables.”

He eventually made his way to the top, working out a deal with Quillian to become part-owner. Quillian became a silent partner years ago, leaving Ross to be the muscle – and public face – of the business.

Having put in more than three decades’ time on that corner, Ross has seen the major transformations that have taken place on the Hill.

“Back then, Capitol Hill really ended at Fourth Street,” he says. “If you crossed over Seward Square, it was a big deal. This was a much rougher area.”

That probably contributed to the mixed crowd that Mr. Henry’s attracted: leftovers from the country-western and jazz days, a sprinkling of people from the neighborhood and a strong gay crowd that Yaffee, who was gay himself, was happy to give a comfortable place to.

As the years passed, new crowds of regulars appeared – real estate and Washington Evening Star employees, more residents. A rich blend of people became even richer as the Hill began to pick itself up and spread back from the Capitol.

“The biggest change,” he says, “is that the whole Hill has turned into young families. There used to only be older people, very few kids. Now it’s families who like the residential, small-town feel of the Hill. I’m still surprised when I see a row of strollers outside on a Sunday afternoon.”

The Hill may have changed, but Mr. Henry’s has stayed largely the same. The most noticeable difference, if you happen to have hung around long enough, is that the menu has expanded significantly. What was once a list of a few sandwiches, platters and a couple of salads is now a full-on American bar selection of burgers, sandwiches, salads, appetizers, entrée platters and desserts.

With a kitchen smaller than some in our Hill row houses, Ross is particularly thankful for the skill and loyalty of the help, many of whom have been around for up to 20 years.

“I’m amazed sometimes at how much food comes out of that kitchen,” he says. “People get so used to being served in 10 minutes that when we’re busy and it takes 20, they get upset!”

It’s not just the kitchen staff that has been around a while.

Michael Fry, assistant manager, has more than a few years of Henry’s under his belt, working as a server and overseeing things when Ross is away.

Despite his insistence that he stayed because he “got too old to do anything else,” Fry says it’s his customers that keep that mischievous grin on his face.

“I really enjoy my regular customers,” he says. “I met my best friend here when he was 18, and now he has three kids. People bring their kids in, and you get to know their whole families.”

“I have one group of regulars who are good friends now,” he continues. “When it’s their birthday I go out and buy these crazy hats and play this obnoxious birthday song on the jukebox. This place has become part of my family.”

There is a permanence about Mr. Henry’s, and not just because it’s been around for so long. Those relationships between staff, between staff and customer, and between tables of lunching neighbors are what make it such a supremely comfortable place to be, no matter who you are.

An eclectic crowd is how Ross puts it, noting there is still a wide variety of characters that come in from day to day. It’s something that he and his staff take pride in.

“I’ve been in when Remington’s is having a drag show and four queens will have dinner in full regalia, and no one else in the room will even bat an eyelash,” he says. “No one here really cares that someone else is different.”

The only people who should feel uncomfortable, Ross says, are those who aren’t comfortable with diversity.

“They’ll have to find another restaurant,” he says.

Ross calls Mr. Henry’s: “The still point in the ever-changing universe.” Leave it to a philosophy major to come up with that.

But it’s about as spot-on as a description can be. There’s still jazz upstairs on Friday nights, and Rudy, who has been a bartender there “probably since the Last Supper” still works one night a week. The place even looks about the same as it always has.

The stillness of things, the timelessness that makes Mr. Henry’s what it is, is perhaps its best feature.

“People can come in here after 20 years,” says Ross, “and they’ll always be able to say ‘Yup. This is it.’”

Mr. Henry’s, located at 601 Pennsylvania Ave. SE, can be reached at 202-546-8412.