Studio Square

I already didn’t like the Studio Square beer garden in Astoria before I went. I mean, when a neighborhood already has the “real” beer garden (Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden), why build a new one that’s simultaneously trying to be a Manhattan club with overpriced drinks, loud music and loads of stiletto-shod girls?

The bathroom, though, was a sight to see. The women’s restroom was actually a hallway of onesies that required a male attendant to manage traffic and let you know which toilets were free. The walls had a band of brick-like glass tiles, very similar to the ones in the restroom at The Shops at Columbus Circle, although in a gray color scheme instead of purple. The hand dryer flashed a spot of bright blue light on your skin – so space age. And one of the guys we were with said that a random guy in the men’s room line offered to sell him coke. Ha.

I returned to S2 a month or so later during the day, and it’s much more beer garden-y and not at all clubby. That made me happy, as did the whiskey-spiked iced tea, which is SO GOOD. And I don’t like iced tea (ask my iced tea-obsessed family). Still, I’ll stick with the original, Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden.  Sometimes it’s best to rely on tradition.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

South West NY

Happy hour or birthday lunches at my current job often take place at South West NY. The menu is quite expensive and deceptive (it’s much less “southwest” cuisine than you’d expect; they serve bread with oil instead of chips and salsa when you sit down), and the bar area smells like stale frat house, yet serves rather pricey mixed drinks. The bathroom, however, is a delight, as are the cobalt blue goblets in which they serve tap water.

The bathroom doors are a nice golden wood — pine, I’d say — that reminds me of the modernized log cabins we’d stay in sometimes back home in Pennsylvania when I was a kid. Inside, there’s more cobalt blue all over the walls, which is a striking contrast to the pine doors and stainless steel sinks. The color combination really works. The industrial-style sinks are lined with a layer of riverstones; this is a design element I’ve seen repeated a couple of other places, and although it’s crazy gimmicky — I mean, c’mon, really?! — I do like it, especially because Manhattan is such a far cry from real, legitimate outdoorsy nature, log cabins and the like. The restroom gets southwest-y with a painting of a cactus, but inside the stalls are carrot-bedecked advertisements for South West gift cards. Like I said, it’s not really “southwest.”

All in all, excellent bathroom with a unique hand-washing experience, but do not go to South West looking for a mind-blowing burrito, because you won’t find one on the menu. You can, however, order a tasty barbecue burger, but it’ll cost you $15.95.

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

The Shops at Columbus Circle

The Shops at Columbus Circle at the base of the Time Warner Center and I go way back, but it was more recently that I experienced its restroom. I remember watching the construction of the Time Warner Center back when I visited NYC as a college student, and the Whole Foods in the Shops at Columbus Circle was one of the very first places I went in Manhattan after moving to Long Island (mariez0711 was studying in the city for a semester, and we had a picnic in Central Park with her friends). These days, stopping at the Shops requires a train transfer, so I don’t often do it, unless I’m in the occasional mood to buy a new pair of Cole Haan shoes.

You have to go up about 900 escalators (this is an exaggeration) to reach the restroom in the Shops, but it’s worth it — the bathroom is super clean and spacious, so there’s never a wait. And the decor is nice: tiny, red and purple brick-like glass tiles cover the walls, and the mirrors have softly glowing frames. There are even TV screens inside the mirrors, which is a cool gimmick, except that it’s difficult to discern what’s on, especially when it’s text. One of my favorite parts about the bathroom at the Shops is the cool artwork that lines the hallway outside — it will serve as inspiration for me when, hopefully, I resume painting after the weather cools down.

What I don’t like about the Shops’ restroom is the Dyson Airblade hand dryer. This was the first place I experienced this new supposedly state-of-the-art bathroom gadget, and I do not like them. Do. Not. Like. Them. I think I’m especially annoyed because Dyson printed all over these Airblades how “fast” and “hygienic” they are. They are not fast. The Xcelerator is much, much faster. And hygienic? Please, the water from everyone’s hands drips into the gully of plastic and just hangs out there until it dries — not from Airblade blasts but naturally, from the surrounding air. That’s gross.

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

Móle

Móle’s West Side location (Jane Street) has the best bathroom I’ve seen since Le Cirque in February. Honestly, I was so excited when I walked in – these people care so much about the experience of their patrons that they didn’t neglect a single detail, right down to the bathroom floor.

To begin, Móle wins first prize in the “Best Sink Ever” competition, a contest that, admittedly, exists only in my head. It was a gorgeous porcelain bowl, handpainted with what I’ll describe as an abstract floral pattern. The retro sink hardware was the perfect accent. What else? Fresh flowers, a wire wall sculpture of a gecko-like creature, and perfectly coordinated orange and navy tiles on the walls. Móle’s crowning bathroom achievement was the floor: they embedded a handful of handpainted tiles, including a smiling sunshine face, into the bare bones concrete. I am not kidding when I tell you that that ridiculous sun brought a smile to my own face. Seriously, most gush-worthy bathroom I’ve seen in months.

Apart from the bathroom, I’d recommend Móle for anyone looking for cheap after-work margaritas. Happy hour lasts from 4 – 7 p.m., and featured $6 margaritas that were strong, not super sweet and rimmed with chili powder-spiked salt. I was almost disappointed that I had dinner plans later in the evening, because everything coming out of the kitchen looked and smelled fantastic.

Restroom Rating: [rating=5]

The High Line

I first heard of the High Line — a long, skinny park built atop abandoned elevated railroad tracks — in Food & Wine two years ago, but despite it being on my own subway line, it took two years for me to see it in full bloom. The place is quite beautiful and such a clever concept, but, naturally, quite crowded because it’s so narrow. One great thing about it is the free restroom that’s open to the public, something that is nearly impossible to find in NYC, where you generally have to sneak into Starbucks or Toys R Us when nature calls. But when nature calls on the High Line, you don’t have to leave nature.

A free public restroom is such a novelty that the line for the women’s room was obviously long, giving me plenty of time to snap photos of the men’s and women’s signs outside that show the ordinary restroom figures eyeing up sinks, streams of pink hearts shooting from their eyes. The Friends of the High Line really want to make sure you wash your hands, to the point that there’s a recording inside the bathroom that speaks to you, reminding you of the important health benefits gleaned from regularly suds-ing up your paws, undoubtedly covered with nasty city grime and crawling with at least 3578 varieties of bacteria. The stall was stocked with extra rolls of recycled paper, and a sign above the toilet explained how to flush it (“Please push black button to flush”). I am not going to lie — it has sometimes taken me a little while to figure out how to manually flush an automatic toilet that won’t flush itself, so I can understand how this sign might be helpful for some people, and especially for the person using the stall next.

All in all, the High Line is magnificent. It’s a great place to take a pit stop, as long as you have time to wait in line, and there’s now an outdoor roller skating rink underneath the tracks at 10th Ave. and 30th St. (12 bucks for a skate rental and unlimited time on the rink!).

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

Café L’Ariel (Paris, France)

On our last day in Paris, we returned to the neighborhood where K lived during college for one last café allongé before eating as many pastries as possible (six, as it turned out) in Parc Montsouris. It was rather bittersweet to know we’d be on a plane back to NYC in fewer than 24 hours, but sipping coffee in the sun on the sidewalk outside Café L’Ariel was the perfect way to end a very relaxing, very Parisian vacation.

Café L’Ariel’s bathroom was also perfectly Parisian with its “WC” sign directing patrons downstairs, separate sink room between the men’s and women’s restrooms, and pink toilet. Other highlights included a door-less alcove with a full-length urinal. Mmmm, is that really necessary? Fortunately, no one was using it. My favorite part, perhaps, was that I waited for several minutes while someone was doing their business in the women’s room. Imagine my surprised when it was a wobbly old man who emerged. (And, no, it’s not because I was the American tourist that didn’t know which door was for which sex – he was clearly in the wrong, as there was a picture of a Victorian woman, her hair all curled and curlicued, hanging on the door.)

And that was that. My first tour of international public restrooms was, sadly, complete.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

Alcazar (Paris, France)

Alcazar was a bit of a blip on the radar for me. We hit up this place, which Boirgereau described as a New York-style bar, before going to Rex Club, which is one of the world’s top dance clubs, known more for its intense, chest-thudding music that makes you want to sing along to the bass with the rest of the French teens and twenty-somethings: ton ton ton ton. Anyway, back to Alcazar. It had a dated, sort of sleazy interior, and the walls were covered with crazy artwork that didn’t really match the rest of the décor. The bar was on a balcony that overlooked a dining room, where there was a mermaid show. Yes, a mermaid show.

Although Alcazar didn’t strike me as very New York, its restroom was. These days, people seem really obsessed with the flapper era when decorating public bathrooms. It’s sort of fascinating how many photos and paintings of women from the 1920s I’ve seen since starting this blog, and I was surprised to see that the theme is apparently transatlantic. In addition to a print of three knee-swivelers dancing the Charleston, Alcazar’s bathroom featured a robin’s egg blue countertop (thank you, Crayola, for that “name this color” contest back when I was in fifth grade, or I might not have an adjective to describe it) and a nicely contrasting marble backsplash. The sink hardware was unique – long, elephant-nose-like faucets – and compartments built into the backsplash held the papertowels.

I wouldn’t put Alcazar on my hot list for a trip to Paris. The cocktails were all frou-frou tropical drinks, and after a whole tuna pizza from Pizza Positano, I couldn’t stomach one. We only stayed long enough to dance around like goofs to some old American music.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

Pizza Positano (Paris, France)

France has their own style of pizza, topped with very Frenchy things like tuna and eggs, and went to Pizza Positano to try it one evening. We waited forever, and super-salty tuna is really good on pizza, but I’d rather have New York-style pizza from Carlo’s in Port Washington, New York, or Giovanni’s in the Bronx.

When I headed to the back of the dark, very pizza parlor-y cave to look for the restroom, I asked the cooks and waiters very politely and perfectly in French where it was (as in, “Les toilettes?”). They jokingly told me it was closed, but that I was very beautiful.  Mmhmm. That was really the highlight of Pizza Positano’s bathroom, which was incredibly cramped and featured one of those real towel machines that looked less than fresh, even when I tugged hard to release a new scrap.

For me, the most memorable part of our Pizza Positano experience was realizing how long it stays light out in Paris. We got there at 8pm or so, and it was broad daylight, and by the time we left at 10pm, there was still a glimmer of light in the sky. This really takes some getting used to when you’re used to “going out” after dark.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]

Le Chant des Voyelles (Paris, France)

Shopping at boutiques followed by lunch at a café: what could be more quintessentially Parisian? We loved Le Chant des Voyelles (“the song of the vowels”) so much that we went twice, first for a salade niçoise that made me question how I’d ever go back to New York, and second for tagliatelle au saumon, which is, oddly enough, a French specialty, and it’s to die for. The café, steps north of Rue de Rivoli between the Hôtel de Ville and the Louvre, scored bonus points because they served great bread – the stereotype is that the streets of France are veritably paved with perfect baguettes, brioches and bâtarde, but it’s not the case. Yes, you will find bread in Paris that is better than any you’ve ever eaten, but you will also find bread, often at restaurants, that tastes like it’s from your neighborhood Fine Fare.

The café’s restroom was tucked away downstairs, and it had a lot of character to go with its fabulous food. Chartreuse doors with checkered tile knobs welcomed “dames” and “hommes.” The walls were covered with several colors of tiny square tiles, installed at random so that there was no clear pattern. Posters advertised upcoming art exhibits and theatre shows. And the toilet was pink! Oddly, this was pretty common in Paris when you found a toilet with a seat and / or lid (the one at Le Chant des Voyelles had both), and generally the pink toilets looked as if they’d been painted with the same precise shade of Pepto Bismol.

Rue de Rivoli was my favorite street in Paris, partly because of the great shopping and people-watching, partly because it’s a straight shot to the Louvre and partly because it makes me think of ravioli. If, or rather when, I return to Paris, I’m sure I’ll take a stroll or two down it, and I hope that I have a déjà vu moment that leads me back to Le Chant des Voyelles.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

Hôtel de Ville (Paris, France)

My most disappointing moment in Paris was going to see the Impressionist gallery at the Louvre…on the only day of the week when the Impressionist gallery is closed. Fortunately, the Hôtel de Ville was hosting a free “Paris at the Time of the Impressionists” exhibit, so I’d sort of gotten my art fix, even if it meant waiting in the sun on an empty stomach to get in. The exhibit was actually pretty fascinating, because it featured mostly lesser known paintings and drawings by the major Impressionists, as well as some guys you’ve never heard of. I also picked up the English version of the brochure, and gleaned a lot of interesting facts about how Paris was reinventing itself during this period.

The restroom in the exhibition area was predictably bare bones, a large-ish box with a toilet, a sink, a trash can and a place to dry your hands. In the U.S., that place will be either an automatic hand dryer or a paper towel dispenser, but in France, it’s often an actual fabric towel, as it was in the Hôtel de Ville. I was taken aback by this when I first saw it at the Charles de Gaulle airport, thinking, “Gross, I’m using a towel that a bunch of other people have also used?” K, however, explained how it works: the fabric is rolled up inside a machine, and when you yank down a fresh piece of towel, the recently used – and grossly wet with someone else’s hand bacteria – retracts back up into the machine; when the towel loop is all used up, the bathroom attendant replaces it with a new one, and that one’s dropped in the laundry basket.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]