The Last Breakfast in Magical Realism

We knew it was bound to happen. In a cute but shabby part of Manhattan’s West Village, sandwiched between upscale lingerie shops, an English tea parlour, and the sleek flagship Equinox gym, was a sweet little neighborhood diner called The Village Den. The type of place that had been there for years. Simple menu, cozy tables, a big window to the street and outdoor sidewalk tables in nice weather. The kind of place you could stay a while, read the newspaper, or dine outdoors with your dog at your feet.

The staff was efficient and warm, but not overly friendly. Upon sitting down you’d be offered coffee and poured an icy glass of New York City tap water. The coffee would come almost immediately, served in sturdy white mugs. Nothing special, but I still remember the warm weight of those mugs, cradled in my cupped hands.

We would almost always come in the morning, sometimes at the weekend if we happened to wake up early, or even before work sometimes if we needed to take a minute to reconnect before the workday started. We took friends from all over the world here after cold swims. So many memories, not many that stand out in particular, just a warm, welcoming place, a place to sit and watch the world go by.

A usually had the same thing, a sesame toasted bagel with butter, with a side of bacon. Sometimes a belgian waffle with bacon, or a panini depending on his mood. I always ordered the same thing, two eggs over easy, rye toast with butter, which came with homefries. Sometimes it came with a tiny glass of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice. Even if we had the exact same thing, even just a day or two apart, the price was slightly different each time. $17.02. $16.50. $16.89. We always laughed at this and tried to guess the number.

There was a mural, a re-imagining of “The Last Supper” with various New York celebs, and I think, the owner in the middle. I never met him, and the only celeb I ever noticed there was Laverne Cox. It was one of those quirky local things. Not beautiful, not clever, but something specific. And comfortable.

I don’t remember our last breakfast there. The sign went up suddenly. I don’t even remember if we knew a few days in advance, or just came home one day to find it closed. It felt like the end of an era. We knew it was bound to happen.

Then a new sign went up. Windows blocked out with a slick printed sign. “Better “Den” you remember.” I was hopeful. Maybe it was just being renovated and would come back in a slightly sleeker incarnation with higher prices? Nope. It turned out to be…kind of trendy-ish, cafe-ish, healthy-ish? One of those renovations that take away the scruff and coziness without adding gloss or interest. Menu wasn’t super appealing, it was usually mostly empty, and when people were there, all the patrons looked miserable, framed in the window. A was dead-set against it, but one day I finally made plans with a girlfriend to have lunch there. I walked in, but they were closed for some photoshoot. We went to Cafe Cluny instead but afterwards I googled and learned that the new Village Den was a project of Antoni Porowski. And since you asked…that is how the hot guy from the new Queer Eye series ruined my favorite neighborhood diner.

Last updated February 08, 2020