It’s been open for two decades now, but the thrill of a languid breakfast in Soho’s finest dining space hasn’t lost its allure. The downtown media crowd still swarm here for their café au laits but Balthazar is at its finest earlier in the morning when you can recline with a copy of the Grey Lady fresh off the presses and nibble away on plates of beautiful pastries or even a Proustian soft boiled egg with soldiers. The red leather banquettes, huge wall mounted mirrors, wooden bar and tiled floors exude the louche civility of an all but vanished older New York. In a part of town where restaurants seem to change with the seasons, Balthazar is fast taking on deserved elder statesman status.

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