Every day Evangelos and Edith Spanoudakis drag themselves out of bed at 11:30 p.m., drive from Long Island to Queens to pick up supplies and their food cart by 2 a.m., and then cram themselves inside their 3-by-5-foot metal box at 5 a.m. to start slinging bagels and coffee to hungry Midtown hardhats and office workers for the next six hours.

The real feat? After 25 years of doing this grueling daily routine elbow-to-elbow, they’re still crazy about each other.

“One day I want to kill him, the next day he wants to kill me, but at the end of the day we always say, ‘I love you,’ ” said Edith, 64. “That love is what keeps us from going mad.”

Throughout their days spent standing in the cramped cart at 48th Street and Broadway, both partners make a special effort to pepper each other with kind gestures.

From 4 a.m. to 5 a.m., Evangelos, 66, sets up the cart’s morning display of five dozen pastries and brews two gallons of coffee while he lets his wife doze off in their van and read The Post.

“She sleeps less than me during the night, so she deserves it,” he said.

His wife, in return, spends time at the end of the day ordering and sorting pastries, coffee beans, cups and napkins for the following day.

The husband and wife married 41 years adjust their work habits to stay out of each other’s way. Evangelos fixes the coffee, while Edith bags the morning pastries and doles out change.

Both love to chat with customers, many of whom are regulars. “They’re like my therapists,” said one customer, who works across the street from the cart. “If I look troubled, she can tell and asks me what’s wrong, while he cracks a joke and tries to cheer me up.”

‘Everything is fifty-fifty with us. There’s no “me” or “he.” It’s always “we.” ’

Others love the Spanoudakis’ sunny dispositions.

“I only buy coffee from them, no one else, because they’re always smiling,” said Pilar Carrerra, 33, who works at Fossil at the corner of 48th Street. “They’re my absolute favorite.”

Workers at the Morgan Stanley headquarters are their “bread and butter,” said Edith. The couple is so beloved by the bankers at the nearby Morgan Stanley headquarters that a group of them pitched in $3,000 to buy the vendors a trailer hitch to more easily maneuver their cart.

“They’re like the parents of the block,” said Levi Gilbert, 50, a customer for 18 years. “They always watch out for us, so we watch out for them.”

Their love story began in an unlikely place: Brownsville, Texas. Edith, then 21, was living there, and Evangelos, then 23, was working as an engine technician aboard a container ship docked at the port there.

The young man from Piraeus, Greece, first saw the Mexican-American Southern belle outside a JCPenney store. A week later, the pair said a tearful goodbye as Evangelos returned to his ship. The pair exchanged dozens of letters over the next several months.

“That one’s mine,” Evangelos declared to his Greek sailor buddies, pointing to the stunning brunette before asking her on a date.

They were married in May 1976 — after only three dates — and then moved to Astoria, Queens, in 1977. where Evangelos picked up a job at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and their only son, Dimitrios, was born in 1983.

By 1987, the Navy had decommissioned the yard and work had dwindled. Evangelos was ready for a new career.

“A Greek friend of mine said, ‘Why don’t you try the food-cart business?’ ” Evangelos said. “It was the best decision I ever made, especially because it meant I got to keep the business in the family.”

Evangelos’ first restaurant on wheels was a summer pushcart he bought for $2,700 in 1987 that he parked at Fifth Avenue and 60th Street. Edith joined him in 1993.

But things inside the cart of love aren’t always perfect. They sometimes bicker over little things, like how much butter to put on a roll (he says more, she says less) and how to arrange the pastries (she likes the same array every day, he likes to change it up).

“I’m a Scorpio and he’s an Aquarius,” said Edith. “Even the stars say we’re nothing alike.”

Patience and respect are what get them through the rocky patches.

“If you think you’re right all the time, you’re doing it wrong,” said Edith. “Everything is fifty-fifty with us. There’s no ‘me’ or ‘he.’ It’s always ‘we.’ ”