Plush. The very name is suggestive. The morning after, when your head is pounding and your stomach is roiling with perilous waves of still-undigested booze and you don't want to be around anything with any sharp corners or anything that sounds like it may have sharp corners, Plush is just right. It's soft. It slides right out of your mouth without any extra effort. And on the morning after, this midtown behemoth is true to its name. The abundance of tables and booths, spread out over two floors, all with comfy chairs, means you'll be seated right away instead of spending an hour propped in a corner watching in impotent rage as other people shove food into their gobs, heroically suppressing the urge to vomit on them. The paucity of light means you can open your eyes wide enough to read the menu without excruciating pain. About that menu: No matter what time you drag your pathetic carcass out of bed, you can get a good, basic breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. But the rest of the menu appears to have been designed with the hangover cure in mind: potpie, fried chicken, grilled cheese, shrimp and grits, mac & cheese, shepherd's pie potato skins. Even the meat-loaf cupcakes (despite their unfortunate name) evoke the comfort of Mom. And they taste better than Mom's ever did. (Sorry, Mom.) It's simple food, all expertly prepared from fresh ingredients — meats are ground and/or cured in-house — greasy enough to slide down without any trouble and substantial enough to stay put. Naturally there's coffee, and ginger ale and bloody marys aplenty. Plush is a place that knows its purpose.