Carlo’s Pizza (Port Washington, New York)

Carlo’s Pizza in Port Washington makes the best pizza. Ever. Don’t try to argue with me about this — it’s futile. I’ve been eating pizza from Carlo’s since early 2006, but until a recent trip to Long Island to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, I didn’t know they have a bathroom. But they do, giving me the honor of featuring Carlo’s in the Porcelain Press.

Typical of local pizza shops, Carlo’s is small, with a few tables in front, and an open kitchen where you can watch the most masterful pizza makers who have ever lived toss dough that bakes into a perfect combination of soft, chewy and crispy. Likewise, the bathroom is a narrow affair, just wide enough for a toilet and a sink. The pink-striped tile reminds me of peppermint sticks. A roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of some cleaning agent rested on the sill of the open window, which let in delightfully fresh, clean springtime air. Some might think that adds clutter, but I consider it to be a good sign that, on a scale of 1 to sparkling, Carlo’s keeps its tiny restroom on the diamond side of that spectrum. My favorite quirk was that the toilet is not flush with the wall, and quite noticeably so.

It’s hard to do Carlo’s pizza justice in words; it’s something you have to experience for yourself. The perfect ratio of cheese, sauce and crust; the sweeter-than-normal sauce; the way the crust always has that infinitesimally thin crunchy layer on its underside…trust me, I could go on. I live in Manhattan, and I refuse to eat pizza in NYC, the U.S. pizza capital, if that’s any indication of how spoiled I was by Carlo’s, and how magical their pizza is. I also love that the pizza guys still remember me, and that Carlo’s is two doors down from Lennon’s, my favorite Irish pub.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

Café Mocha

I love Café Mocha on the corner of 2nd Ave. and 7th St. — so much that I scheduled coffee there so I could blog about it — but its restroom is a sad affair.

Rammy visited the restroom first. “How is it?” I asked, with high hopes.

“Uhh, it’s pretty disappointing,” he said. “There’s this light on the ceiling, and it’s totally dirty and gross.” (Can you tell I’ve influenced my friends so much that now they notice details in the bathroom?)

And Rammy was right. The tilework was nice, but earth-tone tiles are nothing extraordinary, and the restroom felt a bit run-down. Highlights? “Fresh Snow” hand soap (whoever gets to decide what scent-less things like fresh snow smell like has a really fun job…). And someone had written “POOP” on the door with a ball-point pen. Oh, you clever bathroom user, you!

Apart from the restroom, I can’t say enough wonderful things about Café Mocha. I discovered it following my first 5k race, when I was about to fall over from lack of calories, and their mocha (cheaper and better than Starbucks‘) saved my life. On another trip to Café Mocha, I was distracted and stupidly forgot to order my chai latte with soy milk; when the waiter discovered why I wasn’t drinking it, he graciously replaced it, even though the fault was mine — that’s service! The chai latte was as magical as the mocha. The place also has a great vibe, with great music and a tempting food and wine menu that I’ve yet to try. And while Rammy and I were there, we planned a trip to California over coffees, which makes Café Mocha a pivotal part of my life. (Look out for San Francisco bathroom reviews sometime this year!)

Update: Rammy and I decided San Francisco trip planning can take place only at Café Mocha, because we like traditions. During our most recent visit, my mocha was cold and not very sweet, and the bathroom was out of toilet paper. Still, we will be back — and I have high hopes that my next mocha will be back on par.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

 

 

 

 

Radegast Hall & Biergarten

I may not like beer, but I do enjoy a beer garden. It’s fun to spend a leisurely afternoon at a long picnic table with a gang of your friends and a whole bunch of strangers’ gangs of friends, so I was delighted when one of my college boys hosted his birthday party at Radegast Hall & Biergarten in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, even though it was February, and even though the L train wasn’t running, leading to an extra-long trip, a chilly walk and a very late birthday boy.

The hallway outside Radegast’s bathroom has several tin signs featuring men and women in 18th-century garb, and who-knows-what German text (sadly, my phone’s flash wasn’t playing nice, so I have no photos of these signs). The white-tiled onesie was fairly plain, but it had a beat-up, warehouse-style floor that went well with the venue’s rustic feel. The paper towel dispenser, which hung next to an antique mirror, was so roughed up that it looked a bit like a piece of modern art.

I think of beer gardens as warm weather places, but Radegast was perfectly cozy in the winter. There was loads of natural light, and they can open the ceiling in the summer. I sipped a delicious soy latte instead of a beer (beerhounds would appreciate the vast selection), and enjoyed a huge helping of sauerkraut in honor of my mostly German roots. (My love for rotten cabbage is probably the most German thing about me — that or my very sturdy ankles.) The fries were great, too, especially dipped in the various mustard varieties, and I wished I hadn’t eaten beforehand so that I could have ordered one of the many types of sausage. Radegast may not be the Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden in Astoria, but it’s my second favorite beer garden in the city, for sure.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]

AMC Loews Lincoln Square

I go to the movies every Christmas Day with my parents — it’s become our “thing” — but apart from that, I go once every 936 years, when there’s a movie I really want to see and I know I’ll never remember once it’s available on DVD. (The last time I rented a DVD was actually never; no exaggeration here.) K and I both wanted to see Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, so we headed to the AMC Loews Lincoln Square on a quiet Saturday.

The AMC Loews Lincoln Square theatre is totally tacky, with huge fake palm trees and grandiose facades on each theatre, which are named after famous Old Hollywood venues. Rows of names of silver screen stars run around the walls, and I once counted to see how many I knew. (Uhh, all of them; you’d think I was born in 1932.) The bathroom had a few elegant details — framed photos of many of the aforementioned stars and starlets (stars leading to the men’s toilets, and starlets leading to the women’s), and a tall red vase on the sink counter) — but the bathroom didn’t match the glitz and glamour of the rest of the theatre. It was much more modern and sleek, with blacks and whites and reds, as opposed to the golden glow outside. I was impressed, though, by the photographs, because I expect the restrooms in large public facilities to be totally bland and utilitarian. I appreciated the attention to detail, especially considering the price of movie tickets in Manhattan these days…

The movie was lovely, despite being 129 minutes of choking up and fighting back tears, and it reminded me of why Tom Hanks is my favorite actor — he’s such a chameleon, yet also so normal. K came armed with coupons for free popcorn, which was great, because neither of us often treats ourselves to such heavily buttered luxuries. And did you know the pretzels with cheese snack packs a whopping 1600 or so calories? That should be outlawed.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

The Bell House

I went on an excursion in Gowanus, a new (for me) Brooklyn neighborhood, to experience The Moth at The Bell House, a spacious bar with an even more spacious stage / auditorium in the back.

I didn’t expect much of The Bell House’s bathroom, considering how cheap the drinks were and the fact that Gowanus is a tad sketchy, so I was pleasantly surprised to find a very nice one, with dark stall doors, wide-framed mirrors above the sinks and walls that seemed to be made of slabs of well-polished concrete — think trendy warehouse. This type of venue begs for graffiti, and the patrons had obliged, spraying things like “Learn to Read” and “Occupy,” as well as unreadable and unrepeatable stuff. My favorite was a graffiti “conversation” scrawled in white: “Cake is for the girls!” followed by “Amen, sister! I’ll have my cake and eat it, too!” The insides of the stalls were littered with kitschy and promotional stickers, the most amusing of which was a-red-and-white “Enjoy Carla” sticker that looked like a Coca-Cola logo. I was tempted to hang one of my BRAND-NEW Porcelain Press business cards, but sadly had no tape. I should invest in stickers.

I was thrilled to see that The Bell House sells a hard cider I’d never had: Mckenzie’s, in a black cherry variety that tasted like a cross between a red slushie and cough syrup, neither of which is very good, but the combination was somehow delicious, perhaps because it made me feel like a kid. My first experience with The Moth — true stories centered around a common theme, told extemporaneously by amateurs — was great, too, although I was so tired that I hardly had the energy to clap and had to leave after the first half. I did learn, though, that this is the type of thing my father should be doing in his spare time; he is, hands down, the best storyteller I know. I was a lucky little kid.

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Restroom Rating: [rating=5]

Address:

1998 Broadway
New York, NY 10023

McDonald’s

Yes, McDonald’s. I’m not ashamed to say that I use restrooms in fast food restaurants, or that, from time to time, I enjoy an order of fast food French fries, or even — the horror! — a trashy, mass-produced Whopper. Some occasions call for that kind of dietary debauchery.

The occasion this time was the 2-for-1 Filet-O-Fish (FOF) special, which caters to people abstaining from meat during Lent. The FOF happens to be Lady RaRa’s favorite fast food indulgence, so she gets excited about this season (also, perhaps, because it ushers in her birthday season; yes, she claims a whole season — one day is not enough for her ladyship). I had to wash my subway hands before dinner when we met at the McDonald’s on 14th and 1st, so I headed to the bathroom in the back of the restaurant, and I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Until a couple of guys came by with a McDonald’s employee, who unlocked the men’s room. Oh. Right. This is NYC. I have to ask to get into the restroom at this kind of establishment. It was the plainest of Jane restrooms, the white and stainless steel color palette — if you can call it that — broken up only by a band of black tiles. The women’s room sign had a white frame flecked with primary colors, which felt appropriately Ronald McDonald-y, especially when in close proximity to a purple trashcan.

McDonald’s may not score lots of points when it comes to the bathroom, but they get it right with the FOF sandwich, right down to the plop of tartar sauce and the square of neon orange not-quite-melted “cheese.” While I’m revealing my fast food secrets, I’ll also admit that one of my favorite smells in the entire world comes from the fry grease that pours out of the McDonald’s on 14th Street and 7th Avenue, and rolls down the stairs into the 1/2/3 train station, where I spend quite a bit of time. Mmmmm. They should bottle that stuff. But never fear, my concerned, health-conscious friends: I can’t actually remember the last time I ate McDonald’s French fries.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]

 

Tepito Taqueria & Cantina

Tepito Taqueria & Cantina is a lively place for after-work margaritas, and the restroom’s bold aesthetics matched this vibe.

To get to the restroom, you walk along the bar and pass through this curtained area, with a blue wall on the men’s side and a red-orange wall on the women’s side, making me wonder if this was intentional (you know, a grownup, Latin American version of “boys wear blue; girls wear pink). Generally, I’m not wild about colored toilets, because it feels dated and unnecessary, but Tepito’s black toilet and sink worked, offset by red-orange walls, a polished wood chair rail and a band of small tiles, including some that were carved and metallic. That black sink, though, had the most anemic water flow I’ve ever seen. It’s an automatic sink, and as you’ll (sort of) see in the photo below, two tiny trickles come out of the faucet, which is quite inefficient for handwashing.

Overall, we had a blast — happy hour lasts until 8pm, and we were able to reserve a table for 6 on a Friday evening. The complimentary chips and salsa were good, and the $5 margaritas were strong, went down (a little too) easily and were authentic, according to the lovely Texans I was with. All in all, Tepito is a big win in my book, and it’s worth checking out this new-ish place in the East Village (14th St. and 1st Ave.) Still, I’d probably opt for Blockhead’s instead next time I want cheap margaritas, even though it’s a little less fancy and hip.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

Bubby’s Brooklyn

Lady RaRa and I headed to Bubby’s in Dumbo because it has one of NYC’s best photo booths, according to TimeOut’s 1000 Things to Do in New York.

Bubby’s Brooklyn location is unusually capacious — I guess that’s what happens when you go to the boroughs — and I actually got lost looking for the restroom. (This was largely my fault, as I paid attention to the “up” part of the waitress’ instructions and ignored the “left” part, but my error gave me a full tour of the restaurant and ensured that I found the photo booth, which is next to the bathroom.) A row of cowboy drawings lead you down the hallway, where a drawing of 1920s bathing beauties marks the ladies’ room. The bathroom was lovely, with an arrangement of dried flowers between the sinks, floor tiles that looked sort of like wood but not quite, Meyer’s natural hand soap and floor-to-ceiling white wooden stall doors. A hilarious framed “No Smoking” sign hung next to the sink, with the slashed red circle — Mr. No Smoking himself — lazily holding a sizable cigarette. Despite all this loveliness, Bubby’s bathroom was one of the loudest I’ve ever been in; I’m not sure what was emitting the loud, whirring, mechanical sound, but it was noisy enough for me to raise an eyebrow with annoyance and take a gander at the ceiling. I failed to solve the mystery — pretty sure light bulbs can’t stir up that much of a commotion.

Lady RaRa and I left Bubby’s with some amusing photo booth snapshots, as well as bellies full of the best peanut butter pie I’ve ever eaten and delicious “mile high” apple pie that was not quite a mile high. Add to this mix a cup of Assam tea, a pineapple cocktail that Lady RaRa announced was the best mixed drink she’d ever had, a killer soundtrack and an incredible view of a couple of bridges, and we were clearly happy campers, despite braving a veritable hurricane to get there. I’m very seriously considering celebrating my birthday here this year. (And P.S. for my Pennsylvania brethren — they serve scrapple!)

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

San Pocho (Miami, Florida)

On my last night in Miami, I wanted to eat a cubano sandwich on Calle Ocho (8th St.) in Little Havana, but Fate had other things in mind — or, really, as Boirgereau kept telling me, there’s nothing to see on Calle Ocho — and we ended up at San Pocho for Colombian cuisine instead.

Taking up an expansive slot in a strip mall, San Pocho is one of those new-ish, inexpensively priced restaurants that cobble together whatever affordable furniture and fixtures the proprietors can find to create a clean, inviting interior, which led to some interesting decor choices in the restroom. “Baños” is painted on the wall, and a cartoonish chef — a Colombian Chef Boyardee (Jefe Boyardo, perhaps?) — points out the “Damas” room. Inside, a very fancy marble-topped desk-like piece of furniture with beautiful curved legs holds the sink, which has an antique brass waterfall faucet. Potted palms brought life to one side of the room, and large metal butterflies hung on the opposite wall. But the paper towel dispenser was broken (the plastic front kept flopping forward, and the neon green soap was stored in a plastic ketchup bottle, which I found hilarious and quaint.

I regret not getting a cubano sandwich, but my meal at San Pocho was an adequate substitute, because it looked and tasted so authentically and legitimately Colombian — and was positively enormous. For $10, I got two plates filled with so-so steak, rice, beans, plantains, an arepa and a fried egg, all of which blended together into a sloppy, delicious mess. My entree also came with chicharrónes (essentially fried pigskin), but I steered clear of that. All in all, a fine way to mark my visit to Calle Ocho, even if it wasn’t a bit Cuban.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

Lou’s Beer Garden (Miami, Florida)

I’m picky about my beer gardens, and if Lou’s Beer Garden were in NYC instead of Miami, it probably wouldn’t make the cut — but in Miami, having a cozy seat next to a pool, shaded from the hot mid-morning sun by palm trees and secluded from the street in a closed-off courtyard, is just what Dr. Late Night Recovery ordered.

There was something innately bizarre about Lou’s Beer Garden. First, we showed up at 11:45 a.m., and the waitress told us the chef hadn’t arrived yet, so we’d have to wait 30 minutes for our food, but the bartender could get us drinks. Poor girl didn’t get anything but water out of us, because we’d been out at MYNT the night before. Second, Lou’s is on the ground floor of a hotel, so a lot of people asked Boirgereau and me where to check in while we sat sipping our ice water, trying to forget how maddeningly hungry we were. Third, the bathroom, while featuring the most gorgeous all-glass sink I’ve ever seen, was unlike any public restroom I’ve used. You walked through a glass door on the far side of a pool and found yourself in an office; but this was not any office — this was very much a “I work from home in my pajamas” sort of office. I mean, there was even a DOG in the room, hanging out on the floor in a spot of sunshine, staring wistfully out the window in the door. Inside the bathroom were lockers, presumably to stow your stuff while swimming, and a big black amp, presumably for beer garden jam sessions. I liked the artwork, including an abstract depiction of beer bottles, as well as a candle on the sink that looked like half a coconut.

Totally gluten-free options were hard to come by on Lou’s unique menu, so I asked the waitress if I could swap the toast that came with my bacon and eggs for a side of potatoes. (Gluten-free I may be, but I am NOT carb-free.) She said I’d pay extra, maybe $6 for some fries. Whatever, fine, I’m starving, I love French fries, feed me. Turned out I got an ENTIRE side of fries for a buck. The bacon and eggs “recession special” were good but standard — can they be anything but standard? — and I was very jealous of Boirgereau’s toast topped with fig preserves and poached eggs. Overall, Lou’s Beer Garden was a perfect start to a lazy Miami Sunday: sunshine, a cool breeze, palm trees, a little bit of reggae and a whole lot of French fries.