Situated in a still (for now) unredeveloped strip mall on North Broadway, NBC is your farmer uncle’s morning hang-out, an unrepentant greasy spoon executed with a charming lack of pretense and a tangible authenticity of spirit. Both are in evidence in the waitstaff’s unharried faces and on the rough stucco walls, where rusty ploughshares and horseshoes help to nourish the fantasy that you’ve just pulled off some dusty state highway in New Mexico, presumably more than three miles from the nearest Urban Outfitters.
The coffee is of the scorched-bean variety, midnight black and acidly carbonic, but it won’t offend – unless of course you’re looking for a flat skinny soy latte, in which case it will not only offend but perpetrate a possibly actionable act of character assassination. But, really, that’s your problem. You didn’t come looking for frills, or you came ill-advised.
You won’t find goat cheese omelets or cajun french toast or, thank god, anything in a skillet here. You will, however, find corned beef hash that will hold up to the hot sauce, your eggs will be cooked right to order, and you’ll roll out well-greased, massaging your stomach, regretting that last forkful, and wondering where the graybeard in the Harley cap is roaring out to later today.
