Muir Woods (Mill Valley, California)

I haven’t driven a car in nearly four years, and Rammy doesn’t have a license (oh NYC life!), so a drive to Yosemite and to see the giant sequoia trees was out of the question during our San Francisco trip. However, I found a wine tour package that included a short stopover in Muir Woods; its tall, tall redwoods would have to serve as a substitute.

The restroom at Muir Woods was typical of those built by the National Park Service: wood cabin-like buildings painted a dark matte brown, so matte that the wood looks dry and lifeless, and so different from the beautifully polished redwood bowl I purchased from the gift shop. Visually, the bathroom was pretty boring, but a sign indicated that this is a “restroom for the future,” its components selected for sustainability. I also liked that the bathroom had skylight windows in the eaves, letting a touch of natural forest light filter in.

It was a chilly coastal morning, but I really enjoyed getting to see these huge and ancient trees — it made me even more excited about the prospect of someday visiting Sequoia National Park.

In addition to the Muir Woods restroom, Rammy wanted me to note how AWESOME Extranomical Tours was; they really were, and they’d get my business again, because the tour guides were witty and knowledgeable, and when our hotel overcharged me, they swooped in quickly to resolve the matter. Rammy also wanted me to note how EXTRA AWESOME the grilled cheese sandwiches are at the Muir Woods gift shop; Paul, our tour guide, said they were nationally ranked, and for good reason. Mmm mmm mmm.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]

Happy birthday, Porcelain Press!

Yesterday, my boss asked me, “Your blog is one, right?”

Uhhh. “My blog is one what…?” (She asked me over IM, thus my uncertainty.)

“Like one. Like it’s having its birthday.”

Yes, yes it is. TODAY. (Well, sort of. The domain name turns one today, but I spent 7 useless months blogging on Tumblr before that.)

So, happy birthday, Porcelain Press! Here’s to another fantastic years of visiting new places, checking out their restrooms and sharing my stories with all of you. Thank you, of course, to my loyal readers, my sometimes readers and my random “I just landed on this site from a Google search completely unrelated to bathrooms, and this is weird” readers. Together, the Porcelain Press and I are about to achieve 60,000 hits — we couldn’t have done it without you!

And I’m still chuckling about the fact that my boss and I chat about things like blog birthdays during work hours.  

Taqueria La Cumbre (San Francisco)

When planning our San Francisco trip, Rammy said he wanted to eat a burrito so that he could see what they were like on the West Coast, not even knowing that San Francisco-style burritos are a thing, and that’s what Chipotle makes. A little research showed that Taqueria La Cumbre in the Mission District was considered by many to be the origin of this type of burrito.

La Cumbre’s restroom is what you’d expect of a greasy spoon dive in one of San Francisco’s less posh neighborhoods. It’s very plain, all white and stainless steel, and although not filthy by any means, nothing really sparkles. There’s graffiti all over the door, and even some on the ceiling, and because there’s only one unisex room, it’s outfitted with both a toilet and a urinal. I have certainly seen my fair share of urinals at this point in my life, but they still weird me out — they always look a tad scummy, and I just don’t get how dudes take care of business out in the open like that. I guess it’s all what you’re used to… The only interesting feature of La Cumbre’s restroom was a pair of steer horns above the entrance.

The bathroom at La Cumbre may not be memorable, but its food certainly is, and that meal was one of my favorite parts of my vacation. Rammy and I taste-tested the meats and landed on the pork, which is an unusual choice for me, but it was SO tender and flavorful. We split the “super” burrito (all the possible toppings) and spent the better part of an hour eating it because there was a bar of sauces and condiments, and we kept getting up to try all of them and get refills of our favorites. The jury is still out on whether this was the best burrito I’ve ever had (until now, that prize unequivocally went to El Burrito Mexicano, a hole-in-the-wall near Wrigley Field in Chicago, and I would have to taste the burritos side by side to decide who wins), but it’s definitely in the top two, and Chipotle offers a pathetic imitation. La Cumbre’s burrito is so tightly wrapped that you get all of the ingredients in every single bite, and it’s simply foil-wrapped heaven. Do not miss this if you ever go to San Francisco — at $8.25, it’s one of the cheapest yet most blissful food adventures you’ll ever have.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]

Dylan’s Tours (San Francisco)

My San Francisco demands were high maintenance and fancy: wine country, Muir Woods, Chez Panisse. Did I mention wine country? Rammy’s, though, were simple: he wanted a burrito, and he wanted to bike across the Golden Gate Bridge. (Fortunately, we achieved all of these; stay tuned!) Rammy started collecting bike tour brochures, and somehow settled on patronizing Dylan’s Tours, even though they didn’t offer super-nerdy Segway tours. We stopped in the evening before our planned bike adventure, and a sandy-haired guy who looked like he could pass for the sixth Beach Boy told us if we came back, he’d give us a special all-day rental rate. Sold!

It’s a trek from Berkeley, where we were staying, to Fisherman’s Wharf, near Dylan’s, so I didn’t want to risk departing for the Golden Gate without a preliminary potty break. It was a small shop, but I tried my luck and asked Beach Boy if they had a bathroom I could use.
Yep, over there. It was tiny, far from fancy and didn’t have a sink (thank you, antibacterial hand gel), but this bathroom was awesome because it had such mom and pop shop charm, just like the whole Dylan’s enterprise. It was hidden behind the counter and next to a row of bikes and a large chalkboard that had been carefully chalked with the details of Dylan’s tours. A “Men” sign hung on the white door, but someone had drawn a dress on it, indicating that it was safe for ladies to use, too. The bathroom was also, in jest, the complaint department; that sign said “take a number,” and the number was affixed to the pin of a grenade. The tiny room, well stocked with cleaning supplies and tools, had a very narrow window above the toilet, as well as a sketch of the Dylan’s building, proudly proclaiming that it was “100% local” — how San Francisco!

We had a great morning biking through the city, across the bridge and down an endless hill to Sausalito, one of the most beautiful little towns I’ve ever seen (made me really want to eat Pepperidge Farm Sausalito cookies all week, even though I don’t like them). It felt good to be on a bike for the first time in over a year when I was in Paris, and it was nice to bike with minimal traffic — Paris nearly gave me several heart attacks. Taking Dylan’s bikes across the bridge were the best way to experience the Golden Gate, too. That bridge is
LONG, making the Brooklyn Bridge seem like a toy, and it is COLD when you’re riding through all of that fog and wind above the churning bay. And we got to support a small business. Woohoo.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

Nick’s Crispy Tacos (San Francisco)

Having recently become obsessed with Rockaway Taco back in New York, I was eager to  try a West Coast fish taco, even if I wasn’t in SoCal. I dropped a hint that I’d been reading about Nick’s Crispy Tacos in Nob Hill, and when my friend’s boyfriend’s cousin, our your guide for the day, said he loved them, I dropped a few more hints until everyone was sold.

Nick’s is fascinating. I expect a taco joint, especially a fish taco joint, to be breezy, casual and brightly colored, but Nick’s shares space with Rouge, a night club — a night club that looks like it had its heyday 30 years ago. It’s overly glitzy with lots of red, lots of velvet and lots of  chandeliers; I knew that this decor would likely an awesome restroom make, and oh! how right I was, because this thing was glorious. To begin, a large painting of a scantily but sparkly clad, cigarette-smoking nightclub performer hangs next to the entrance to the restroom area. The red doors were marked with the gender etched into shiny silver circles, another reminder of how this place is from another decade. Inside, the bathroom made me think of some extremely wealthy bachelor’s pad: dark “marble” on the walls, black sinker counters and dark wood stall doors (I half expected it to have many leather-bound books and smell of rich mahogany). There was a chandelier in the restroom, too. It all felt so grand and luxurious, which was hilarious because we were actually eating tacos out of plastic baskets in a dumpy old club, the opposite of luxe.

Nick’s fish tacos — I had one fried and one not — and both were delicious and made a satisfying lunch. Much as I didn’t want the fried one to be my favorite, it was (hello, greasy, crispy wonderfulness…after all, this isn’t Nick’s Soft Taco). Still, I prefer Rockaway Taco, which is likely a scandalous thing to say, so either they really do make a mean fish taco or I have East Coast tastebuds.

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

Mission Pie (San Francisco)

I was delighted to learn that SW, a friend since elementary school, recently moved to the San Francisco area to work on a heritage breed chicken farm. She also worked at a farm that provided food to Mission Pie, an über-locavore coffee / small bites shop in the Mission
District, which quickly became one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city (maybe because it’s relative flat; maybe it’s because it’s sort of sketchy, which feels like home in Harlem).

Rammy had finally arrived, and our first destination together was Mission Pie to meet SW, her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s cousin, who’s lived in the area for a while and gave us an awesome driving tour of the city. While we waited for them to arrive, we scouted out the place, including the pickled strawberries and the restroom, which was pretty minimalistic, like the place itself, yet with an environmentally-friendly vibe that matched the fresh flowers and mismatched wooden furniture in the dining area. The walls were painted a pleasant light gray blue, which come to think of it, looks quite a bit like the San Francisco sky before the morning fog burns off. There was a squishy-topped baby changing table that looked much more comfortable than those institutional fold-out Koala Bear Kare things, which I think I’d be terrified to let a millimeter of my baby’s skin to touch; I guess when baby-kins’ nature calls, a parent does what she has to… Back to Mission Pie: a nice autumnal wreath hung above the toilet, and since it felt like fall in July, it was an appropriate season to decorate for. A handwritten sign with a tree stump and bluebird directed patrons to take only as many paper towels as needed. I waited outside the restroom for a while, watching them roll out pie crust in the kitchen and reading the various accolades, hung in frames, that Mission Pie had received, including “best place to take your grandparents in the Mission.”

The pies looked delicious — so fresh and, well, local — but I decided to save my gluten cheats for things like San Francisco’s famous sourdough bread and Mission District burritos, so I opted for a macaroon and a huge mocha. Both were fine, but in retrospect, I know I made a poor decision; when at Mission Pie, one should really eat pie…especially when they look so good!

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

The Grove (San Francisco)

I knew San Francisco was cold, but I had no idea I’d be wearing a scarf and gloves while walking through beautiful the beautiful Pacific Heights neighborhood, telling My New Best Friend that we needed to make a decision about dinner immediately so my fingers would thaw before the Fourth of July fireworks. Coming from the Northeast, this was mind-boggling; July 4 is supposed to be the peak of summer! We stopped at The Grove, a small San Francisco chain, because they served chicken pot pie. Who craves chicken pot pie on July 4?

The Grove had a great restroom that somehow combined rock music with a log cabin, a theme that worked well simply because it was so crazy. The Grove’s dining room is all wood, and a handwoven striped blanket hung above the bathroom entrance. Inside, the walls were painted shiny black and orange, and framed posters of rock bands like Wilco and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were hung all around. (This part reminded me of Burgers & Shakes in Miami.) But the rustic details didn’t get lost in all of this color: the window frame looked as if it hadn’t even been varnished, and the mirror had a dingy metal frame that had been cut into organic twists and turns, like clouds or tree roots. The best feature, by far, was the floor, made of tiles printed with brown oak leaves. OAK LEAVES! Granted, when you’re in a bathroom surrounded by music posters, you don’t actually feel like you’re walking through the forest in autumn, but this is as close as you can get to creating that very happy feeling in a public restroom.

After dinner, MNYBF ordered a cookie the size of my face, so I ordered a mocha in a mug the size of my head. It was the perfect way to burn the chill away before the fireworks. I asked the guy at the counter if this weather was normal. “Yep,” he said, “and I love it. I get to wear flannel shirts all year!” Oh, those San Franciscan hipsters.

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

Eleven O One (San Francisco)

After lunch, My New Best Friend and I wandered up and over Nob Hill, passing through Grace Cathedral, and looked for a place to get cheap afternoon drinks. We landed at Eleven O One (1101 Polk Street), drawn in by the sidewalk sign advertising $10 pitchers of sangria.

Eleven O One’s bathroom was nestled behind the bar and cash register, back in the kitchen with the rotisserie chickens. The top of its walls were a bright split pea soup green, with the bottom half of the walls made of vertical slats painted maroon. The walls had a variety of random artwork, including a photo of the Eiffel Tower under construction, a pastel painting of a porch chair with teacups and flowers, a goth-looking skull and cross bones with heart-shaped eye sockets, and framed snarky quotations like “Those that can’t do, teach. And those that can’t teach, teach gym.” The bathroom also had a large vase of white flowers. A lot going on, from a visual perspective.

The sangria at Eleven O One was delicious, and with a price so low, I was surprised how dead the place was on the afternoon of July 4. Still, it’s not really a place I’d go out of my way to visit, but it was absolutely the perfect bar to stumble upon.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

Mario’s Bohemian Cigar Store Cafe (San Francisco)

On my first day in San Francisco, My New Best Friend and I walked all over the place — neither of us knew the city, so we meandered up and down thigh-burning hills, and somehow ended up in Little Italy / North Beach at least four times. No one wanted to make the call on lunch, so fortunately, while looking at a menu posted outside one of the many Italian restaurants, a woman pointed to the street corner and said, “Go to Mario’s Bohemian Cigar Store Cafe (566 Columbus). They have the best paninis.”

My New Best Friend didn’t know yet about the Porcelain Press, so I had to explain why I was so anxious to wash my hands. Mario’s bar and dining area are dive-y in a pleasant, homey sort of way, and the bathroom was similar. To begin, the toilet and sink were in separate areas, which I guess is typical in a large, multi-stall restroom, but it’s not what you expect in a place with one toilet. The sink was so tucked away that I almost missed it amongst the ladders, mops and staircase to who knows where. The toilet was also tucked away in a tiny, attic-like room with a slanted ceiling and a white louvre door covered with graffiti. What I liked best were the pieces of art, scattered amongst the wires and circuit breakers, including a painting depicting a rush of customers reading Mario’s menu. Being i the bathroom area felt like looking through someone’s private possessions in their garage — like I said, somehow very homey.

And the paninis? Ohmygoodness, that lady was RIGHT. I was initially disappointed when my grilled eggplant panini ended up being salad on focaccia because I wanted something heavy and ooey gooey cheesy if I was eating a giant sandwich — but this sandwich shocked away my discontent, and I ended up being pleased that three pounds of cheese weren’t suffocating eggplant. Mario’s was my first stop in San Francisco, and it remained one of my favorite meals of the trip. The only downside was that they didn’t offer soy milk for their espresso beverages.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

Hampton Inn (South San Francisco)

My trip to San Francisco, which Rammy and I so diligently planned at Cafe Mocha and Argo Tea, started out a little bumpy, leaving me semi-stranded and alone on the night I arrived in California. (Short version of the story: Rammy and I had separate flights, and he had keys to the place we were staying for the week — he wasn’t going to make his connection, so he ended up flying to San Francisco the following day.) Thank goodness for the Delta Air Lines people who helped me find a discounted room at the nearby Hampton Inn. I was exhausted after my flight, operating on 11:30 p.m. East Coast time, and the last thing I had energy for was figuring out where to put down my head for the night.

I’ve always loved Hampton Inns since my first experience in Houston in high school. They’re clean and a step above the bargain basement Motel 6s and Budget Host Inns of the world, without being ridiculously expensive. All I need is a comfortable bed (with no bedbugs) and a clean bathroom, so I don’t like paying through the nose for glamour. Still, despite the affordable rate, Hampton Inn offers one of the best hotel breakfasts; I took my time the next morning, noshing on an omelette and fruit-studded oatmeal. The bathroom in my room was certainly simple — the Hampon Inn is no Grand Wailea — but it was clean. The sink area, separate from the toilet and shower, was stocked with Purity toiletries, which came in pretty blue colors but weren’t the greatest. The toilet and shower room had pretty wallpaper with stripes and starbursts in pale, subtle beige colors. Not necessarily what I’d use to paper my own bathroom, but it was nicer than just boring white walls. The white shower curtain had this strip of clear plastic at the top that was partly frosted so that it looked sort of like bubbles.

I was originally bummed that my vacation was off to an unexpected start, but it turned out to be fine. I appreciated having a comfortable place to sleep close to the airport right when I needed it (Rammy and I wouldn’t have gotten to our planned destination until 1 a.m. local time, by which time I would have been thoroughly zonked). Hampton Inn even puts a pack of Oreos by your bed, which was a tasty treat when there were no feasible dinner options nearby. And while I waited for Rammy to arrive late the next night, I got to spend the Fourth of July with a friend of a friend who’s NYC-based but was interning in the San Francisco area. I jokingly told him he was My New Best Friend, because when you spend 10+ hours with someone you don’t know well, you suddenly get to know them very well.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]