woof, woof, my best friend
I woke up this morning with a wicked craving for Americana flavours. The result of which would be this posting and the one below. I was last in New York several months ago, and am drowning in the emptiness I feel. Excuse the melodrama, it’s been a rough start to the week.
If someone could FedEx me the Grey Dog breakfast, I’d much appreciate it. There is nothing quite like it in Toronto. And although Montreal is my favourite for brunch, Grey Dog is a quintessential coffeehouse. It’s the place I’d go on a late Saturday morning, New Yorker in hand, hipster glasses on face, and urban hottie on arm.
This place is a must for anyone who steps into the West Village (although I hear there’s one in Chelsea now). She’s familiar and personal (meet Moose and Goose), and I’m quite partial to her village vibe: wood, stone, and ceiling fans.
Grey Dog is co-op in nature, so don’t expect to be waited on hand-and-foot. She’s self-serve meets no frills service. The menu has a wide array of choices, including a Cobb salad, tofu burger, omelettes, and my favourite:
|Melt my heart...coffee, poached eggs, hashbrowns, sausage, pancakes, and fruit|
I don’t need much in the morning, just great coffee and honest food.