The Local. Cafe Mogador.

Lesa and I went to Cole’s in the West Village a couple of nights ago. Amazing drinks, but terrible food. Really bad. The kale in the Tuscan Kale Salad tasted as if it had been marinating in dishwater all day, the White Shrimp with its avocado and citrus squarely plopped me in a chair across the table from my grandparents at their country club in 1987 and the Hot Flashed Squid blew serious chunks. So we cancelled the entrees and had more drinks. And more. And then we went back to the East Village and had a couple more at The Third Man. Big thumbs up. After all of that, we went home and ate lasagna. And then we went to bed. And THEN I was woken by the sound and sensation of water dripping on my pounding fucking head. Awesome! Needless to say, the morning after sucked. Kids to school in the driving rain, dogs walked, in the shower, dressed, out the door….appointment cancelled. Sigh. I could have slept for another hour!!! Oh, well. Must get food. God blessed greasy fooood! Still raining, through Tompkins. Odessa? No. 7A? Can’t do it. Walking west on St. Marks, I’m thinking Silver Spurs. Terrible, but perfect diner food for right now, but then I remember a surprise meal I had years ago and loved. The Middle Eastern Breakfast at Café Mogador. Score!cafe mogadore, middle eastern breakfast, east village, st marks place, the local, greg mchale,I settled in at a table looking up onto the street and ordered a big fat fresh squeezed orange juice and the previously mentioned breakfast with two eggs, poached. Five minutes later, I’m on the road to recovery. I have to admit that I usually go for grease in situations like this, but los dos huevos with the hummus, tabouli, salad and zahatar pita was going to be my smack on this particular morning. I’m pretty sure that it was the perfectly fluffy and herbed pita that tied everything together, but the gooey yolk from the eggs and the sweet little oasis of olive oil and paprika in the hummus didn’t hurt either. Round those elements out with a bit of green and some zippy sliced grape tomatoes and I had myself a full belly and happy head. I’m not giving you a scoop or anything here because Café Mogador will be celebrating their 30th anniversary this year, but please let this serve as a reminder that it is in fact possible to cure a mean-ass hangover with something at least sorta-kinda healthy.

About the Author |
We earn our living selling New York City. The next day is never like the last. The last is never ordinary. We witness all sorts. We listen to the City’s noise. We devour its phenomenal food. On the Real is our documentary. It is your pack of unfiltered New York 100s.