Apothecary:The Attic, 323-3131, 4226 E. Madison, MADISON PARK
Time of Entry: 10:05 a.m. Sunday, the morning after 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. Subjects pulled the swing shift with the 1:30 kickoff and drifted off early, otherwise we'd be talking about an 8.
How hungover does waitstaff 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, nursing a black 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 of the Soak: Known mainly for its incredible burgers and rough-hewn longevity in the face of Range Rover yuppiedom (cut from the same cloth, the nearby Red Onion is pictured above), the Attic, to the knowledge of a select few, serves a mean breakfast on weekends. The gravy is dark and the CBH intermingled with a heavy, starchy batch of potatoes, all the better to absorb the prior night's decadence. The atmosphere is like a mini-ski lodge and 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 (Madison Park), 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.