There's probably sexier pie than Barry Hamlin's. There are almost certainly sexier places to eat pie than Hamlin's lunch counter, tucked in the back of an office building at the desolate terminus of Nicollet Mall. But the salt-of-the-earth volk who frequent Hamlin's know real pie when they taste it. They know that crust, too often textured like wet wood pulp, should be firm and sweet. They know that the chunks of banana swimming in the thick custard of a cream pie should taste like, well, banana. Hamlin's pies, like the Fifties rock wafting through the air and the juicy hamburgers dancing on the griddle, are familiar, no-nonsense classics. Plus, if you're nice, you might get your waitress to call you "hon" when you order your second slice. What more can you ask for?