Still no breakfast food in the house, so this morning I thought about croissants on the F train all the way to SoHo, and then at 8:30 was ensconced in a booth at Balthazar on Spring and Crosby. It’s nice in the mornings at Balthazar: so not a scene, and you can always get a table. And then, really, who cares if there’s no breakfast food in the house, ’cause here comes an orange brioche and a herb omelette and a steamy latte.