Breakfast is not a leisurely meal. Breakfast is not a social hour. Breakfast—says it right there in the name—is when you wake your arse up and put something in that rumbling tumbly of yours so that you can get your day rolling. If you want to spend four hours languishing over eggs that got cold three hours and 57 minutes ago, fine. But that's called brunch. If you want to eat some basic, tasty grub that will satisfy you and not be bothered while you read the paper, head to the Gold Rush over in Lakewood, where nobody would look twice if you walked in without pants on. The line is long on weekends. Why? Because those people are eating brunch, which is not, and we absolutely mean to keep harping on this, breakfast. Get there early, like a proper breakfaster, and order the migas and a coffee. You'll be in and out before the hangover crowd figures out whose bed they're waking up in.