Apothecary: The Attic, 4226 E. Madison St., 323-3131, www.atticalehouse.com. MADISON PARK Time of entry: 10:05 a.m. Sunday, the morning after the Seahawks' season-ending destruction at the hands of the Green Bay Packers. Level of hangover (1–10 scale, with 10 being a paralyzing head-thumper): 6. How hungover does the wait staff look? Very. Our waitress groused about ever having to work Sunday morning, and her male sidekick had his head buried in his palms at the bar in between nursing his cup of joe. Prescriptions: Corned beef hash, biscuits and gravy, strong coffee, water. Hair of the dog: This being a tavern, Guinness is as good as it gets. Sorry, no Bloody, buddy. Success rate: Known mainly for its incredible burgers and rough-hewn longevity in the face of Range Rover yuppiedom, the Attic, to the knowledge of a select few, serves a mean breakfast on weekends. The gravy is dark and the hash intermingled with a heavy, starchy batch of potatoes, all the better to absorb the prior night's decadence. The clientele favors sweatpants and yearns for televised sports, which the Attic delivers in its every nook and cranny. The Attic is also situated in a very pedestrian-friendly neighborhood, which should make it all the easier for the banged-up subject to further improve his or her state of being by walking it off after settling up. This tactic is significantly more effective than slabbing out on one's couch all day, dozing in and out of sleep and half-watching golf. Read more brunch reports/hangover success stories on Voracious, the Weekly's food blog: www.seattleweekly.com/voracious.