Krystal’s Cafe 81: Black and black and black bathroom

One thing I love about urban life is the plethora of ethnic cuisines you can try, at nearly every street corner. What I love even more is when I have a friend whose ties to their motherland are way more recent than mine (pretty sure all of my ancestors were in the U.S. by 1850 or so…), and can therefore show me the ropes of a cuisine I haven’t yet tried — as Mariez did with Filipino food at Krystal’s Cafe 81 (7th Street, between 1st and 2nd Avenues).

The restroom at Krystal’s Cafe 81 is all black. The only digression from that theme, in fact, unless you count the toilet paper and paper towels, are the brown wood doors. Oh, and the floor is gray (but isn’t gray just light black?), which gives your eyes a bit of a break from the black toilet and sink, and the black marbled tile all over the walls. The toilet and sink, in addition to being the unusual black color, are also very angular — this is particularly interesting with the toilet (notice the sharp angles around the base, which are mirrored on the tank, but that you can’t really see in the photo).

We ordered the sizzling sisig (chopped pork belly and liver with egg), and gollygeewhiz was that a fried heart attack served up on a platter. Phew. Awesome and delicious, but you can eat that only once in a lifetime, I think, without subtracting years off your life. The rest of my meal wasn’t memorable — I think I had something traditional, like chicken adobo — but I do remember Mariez eating a whole fried fish that came with banana-flavored ketchup; whole fish freak me out. Filipino cuisine, at least in NYC, is too greasy to be one of my favorite types of food, but I’m glad I tried it.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

The Dandelion Pub: Grandma’s bathroom in an English pub

I was excited to go into Center City Philadelphia to celebrate MA’s birthday at the Dandelion Pub, because it was my first dinner in the city since moving to the area, and because MA said I’d love the restroom. Even her friends, still skeptical about the Porcelain Press, agreed it was cute (124 South 18th St.)

The Dandelion Pub is a beautiful place — in fact, since I’m still new to Philadelphia, I got a little lost and walked a couple of blocks past the restaurant, and when I eventually found it, I realized that it was the one building that I’d walked past that I’d noted was especially pretty. The restaurant’s interior is equally beautiful, appropriately conjuring up a dark, cozy pub in merrie olde England. The Dandelion Pub’s restroom, which is upstairs in a hallway covered with vintage cream wallpaper crawling with green vines, instantly transports you to your grandma’s house. The mirror and trashcan have soft curves that scream 1940s, and there’s a lace curtain in the window, a pot of flowers on the toilet tank, old-fashioned brass toilet paper holders from the London-based St. Pancras Fixture company and framed pieces of needlepoint on the walls. The walls are white, but nicely accented by a turquoise door and a dark ceiling, which has the best feature of all: an antique light fixture that has a mint green porcelain base molded like a Doric column, and a milk glass light shade that’s painted with flowers.

The Dandelion Pub is a restaurant by Stephen Starr, one of Philadelphia’s most famous chefs (I’ve also been to El Vez — one of my top 2012 restrooms — and interestingly enough, he’s also got a handful of NYC restaurants, including Caffè Storico at the New-York Historical Society). MA’s favorite dish at the Dandelion Pub is the warm roast beef sandwich, so I ordered that, although I was torn between it, the house burger, and the zucchini and watercress risotto. The sandwich was certainly good, but I’m not a big roast beef fan, so I should have gone with my gut and opted for one of my other choices. Given my ridiculous French fry obsession / vice, I was sad that the sandwich didn’t come with fries, but I must admit that the lightly dressed watercress side salad was one of the best yet simple salads I’ve had at a restaurant. Because it was a birthday celebration, a couple of people ordered dessert. I had a bite of KK’s “Queen of Puddings,” which was layers of piping-hot brioche pudding, raspberry jam and meringue; it was a pudding of royal proportions, indeed, and just one bite was enough to satisfy my sugar cravings for the evening. Definitely looking forward to going back!

Restroom Rating: [rating=5]

Philadelphia Flower Show: “The Power of Poop”

A highlight of the weekend I decided to move to Pennsylvania (along with gluten-free pizza at Crust) was the Philadelphia Flower Show, held each March at the Pennsylvania Convention Center (1101 Arch St.).

Like any good convention center, this one is cavernous, with ceilings so high that the giant “Men” and “Women” directional signs to the restrooms can seem as if they’re miles above your head. It was laughable, almost, how high they were; it felt very NFL football stadium-y —  I wish I’d taken a picture. There were also navy blue restroom signs lower down, so as to be visible when you were standing in front of the entrance, which was an open passageway. The walls featured an intricate mauve-colored tile pattern that wrapped the entire way around the restroom, through the entrance, sink and stall areas. The giant plus signs reminded me of the Incan chakana cross that you see all over Peru. The tile work, combined with mauve stall doors, made for a rather fancy institutional restroom.

The Philadelphia Flower Show was a spectacular display of flora in every color and shape imaginable. I enjoyed this year’s London theme, which meant lots of tea and lots of Beatles, both of which I love. One booth even reminded me of The Orangery at Kensington Palace, which brought back fond memories of the first time I took afternoon tea in London. I was particularly blown away by the “paintings” made exclusively of flower petals and leaves; some people in this world are extremely talented. And I can’t forget that one of the displays — “The Power of Poop” — explained how our planet’s natural fertilizer helps beautiful flowers grow. I’m so glad MA suggested the Philadelphia Flower Show for my weekend trip — it definitely helped her case to convince me to move to the area. And, now that I’m a Pennsylvanian, I look forward to checking out the 2014 show, especially because it won’t require a trip down from NYC.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

Bryn Mawr Film Institute: Not a restroom rhapsody, old sport

The Great Gatsby is not my favorite novel, nor is F. Scott Fitzgerald one of my favorite authors, but when Baz Luhrmann comes out with a film version starring Leonardo DiCaprio? Yes, I’m going. MA suggested viewing the flick at the Bryn Mawr Film Institute (BMFI), a 1926 movie theater on the National Register of Historic Places — kind of a perfect location to watch Gatsby (824 W. Lancaster Ave.).

I used the co-ed BMFI restroom outside the ticket window (there are men’s and women’s rooms farther inside, too). The door was painted a rich burnt orange, as was the vestibule, where you could sit in cast-off movie theater seats. The walls were hung with photographs of people, but I didn’t look closely to see who they were. BMFI patrons? Famous visitors to the theater? Inside, the restroom was really snoozy, with plain tan walls and basic fixtures. A print of French photographer Robert Doisneau’s “Kiss” was hung opposite the toilet. Apparently, the BMFI has some major plumbing problems, because they had two signs to let customers know that the toilet is easily blocked, its pipes able to swallow only commercial grade toilet paper.

Although the restroom is boring, the BMFI has some pretty awesome programming. I’m not a big movie buff, but I’ll have to remember to look through their schedule from time to time to see what stuff they’ve got planned.

As for Gatsby: I lived in Port Washington in my Long Island days, which inspired Fitzgerald’s East Egg, so it was cool to sort of see my old stomping grounds on the big screen (the movie was filmed in Australia). And I have to admit that the way Luhrmann glammed up my other city — New York — gave me the chills that the Manhattan skyline gave me for a long, long time. Playing George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” accompanied by fireworks, while Leo made his grand entrance as Jay Gatsby was a bit cliche — it’s been done, and done, and done, and done (e.g., it’s the soundtrack for the opening to Woody Allen’s Manhattan, and it’s strung throughout the Broadway musical Nice Work If You Can Get It). However, it did work perfectly — it’s such an incredible piece of music — and hearing it gave me further incentive to finish mastering the piano transcription this year…

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]

Gryphon Cafe: My new local coffee shop (i.e., I’ll see lots of this restroom)

Since I left NYC, I’ve regularly lamented the lack of nearby coffee shops (Starbucks inside the supermarket doesn’t count). It’s silly, really, because Gryphon Cafe is a 20-minute walk away (105 W. Lancaster Ave., Wayne) — and I’m pretty sure it took me at least 20 minutes to get to any NYC coffee shop that I frequented. But somehow it feels different; walking along the same busy road I walk to get to CVS and Chipotle is less gritty / glamorous than waiting for squealing subways and reading on the train en route to your Saturday morning caffeinated writing fix. Last weekend, I had some leisure time to kill and already had plans to be in downtown Wayne earlier in the day, so I stuffed my MacBook Air in my bag, along with a giant bottle of water, and finally made it to Gryphon Cafe.

Gryphon Cafe’s restroom is upstairs — up a phenomenal set of antique stairs, that is, painted with gold diamonds. It’s next to the “Upper Room,” which is a little quieter than the bustling coffee shop downstairs and can be reserved for private events. Although the bathroom door has a lock, there’s a colorful “please knock” sign taped outside; have they had lots of problems with people not locking the door and being surprised when someone walks in…? Inside, the restroom has shiny white tile bricks on the walls, and a floor made of hexagonal tiles; the upper part of the walls is painted a bright burnt orange, and a framed black-and-white print of a garden hangs opposite the toilet and sink. A large, antique Kaiser Coffee box sits next to the toilet, and a basket stands on top, holding a roll of paper towels.

Gryphon Cafe’s restroom is nothing fancy, but that doesn’t matter: I have found my local coffee shop, and I’m more than thrilled by it. I judge coffee shops by their mochas, and Gryphon Cafe’s is wonderful — it’s rich and chocolatey but not too sweet, and the coffee is strong but not overly bitter. The coffee shop feels very Manhattan, too (good for when I miss my old stomping grounds); it’s a little rough around the edges, and paintings and photographs by local artists hang on the walls. At the far end of the space, there’s a small enclosed garden outside the windows, which on a sunny spring day, made me feel as if I were sitting inside a terrarium. Gryphon Cafe was the perfect place to spend a couple of hours writing, and I can’t wait to go back. That 20-minute walk is more than worth it!

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

 

 

The Silverspoon: Yes, there are spoons in the restroom

When I moved to the Philadelphia suburbs, I thought I’d spend every weekend in the city, but nope. Thus far, I’m happily enjoying spending my time locally, and I’ve found no shortage of restaurants in the area to try, including The Silverspoon (503 W. Lancaster Ave., Wayne).

The Silverspoon’s restroom designers made a feeble attempt to make it look Victorian. The walls are a mix of buttery yellow paint and mottled brown tiles, and the ceiling has molded panels like the old tin ones you see in pre-war buildings in NYC (like at Lenox Coffee). But the ceiling panels here are so pristine and shiny that they don’t seem authentic. The sink and mirror are boring — they could have done something much better here — but I did like the crisscrossed silver spoons attached to the coat hook on the door. A black metal curio rack, a tangle of wire curlicues, stands in the corner, proudly displaying toilet paper, potpourri and a canister of Lysol disinfecting wipes. I chuckled when I saw Van Gogh’s “Cafe Terrace” hanging outside the restroom door; to think that K and I didn’t know it was a famous painting when she bought a knockoff in Paris, and now I’ve seen it in two restrooms (first time was at the Drowsy Poet in Florida).

The Silverspoon’s “Everything Breakfast” interested me in trying the restaurant, and the dish was extraordinary. The menu describes it as “French toast stuffed with cream cheese, orange marmalade, bacon & topped with granola, black coffee maple syrup, and a fried egg” — literally every breakfast item, right? — and it’s a combination that really works. Think about it: most of the stuff is sweet, French toast already has egg on it, and the bacon adds a little salt to cut all of that sweetness. I didn’t taste hints of black coffee in the maple syrup, but when the rest of the meal was so delicious, I didn’t miss it. (The photo below doesn’t do the Everything Breakfast justice; all of the good stuff is between the bread or under the egg.) The Silverspoon’s brunch rates are quite reasonable (mine was $12), but dinner entrees are a bit pricy, especially considering the dining room’s decor is homey and sweet but not fancy at all. Still, with brunch execution so spot-on, I’d be willing to make the splurge to try dinner sometime.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]

Crust: Gluten-free pizza so good, restroom doesn’t matter

Pizza is one of those things that’s hard to do well with a gluten-free crust, considering that really good dough is made with high-gluten flour. But I miss pizza, so when I hear that a parlor actually offers a gluten-free version, I’m game to try it, in the hopes of landing on one that doesn’t quite replace Carlo’s Pizza on Long Island, but at least conjures up the sensation of chewy crust slathered with tomato sauce and melty mozzarella. Enter, Crust in Bryn Mawr (872 W. Lancaster Ave).

Crust’s restroom is fairly nondescript: white walls, the typical boring white sink, tan floor tiles and a plastic trashcan with a swinging lid that people have clearly missed when trying to play basketball with scrunched-up paper towels. A narrow wall right outside the restroom has white slats, which wrongly got my hopes up that the bathroom would have some kind of special, pizza- or Italy-themed decor. Alas, the most unique feature is a larged framed print of Jasper Johns’ map painting, which is actually in the dining room, but you can see the bathroom door in the same photo, so I’m counting it — especially because we had a conversation about the painting during dinner (turns out, a monochromatic version is one of NB’s favorite paintings).

MA isn’t as strictly gluten-free as I am, but it’s nice to have a friend who does sometimes  avoid gluten so that I don’t have to be that annoying person with a restrictive diet who suggests ordering a couple of weirdo wheat-free pies. We ordered two (they’re not huge, so two was perfect for three people): fire roasted veggie, topped with smoked gouda and fresh basil; and Mediterranean, a truffle oil-spiked spin on the classic spinach, olive and feta classic. I could not decide which I liked better — both were delicious, with fresh-tasting ingredients, and the gluten-free crust was the best I’ve had. Crust’s crust is actually thick and chewy, a nice change from most gluten-free pizza crusts, which tend to be cracker-like — that’s what you’ll find at places like Pie by the Pound in NYC and Jules Thin Crust in Pennsylvania, both of which I enjoy very much, but they’re not really pizza replacement contenders.

Restroom Rating: [rating=1]

 

 

Melt Down: Great gluten-free grilled cheese; boring bathroom

MA kindly shuttled me along the Main Line on a snowy afternoon to find an apartment in the Philadelphia suburbs. By the time I’d found the one I wanted, it was way past lunchtime, and when she told me about Melt Down — a fast-ish food place in Wayne, my then-future town, that specializes in grilled cheese — I knew we had to go (522 W. Lancaster Ave.).

Melt Down’s restroom is very clean, and it’s not basic white and stainless steel, but it’s not very exciting. The walls outside the restroom are a sunny yellow with beige paneling, which offset dark cherry doors — a warm, bread-and-cheese color scheme that’s very appropriate for a grilled cheese restaurant. Inside, the restroom has basic white fixtures, with some nice tile work: large gray tiles, with a band of tiny gray tiles. Still, good colors alone don’t a great restroom make; a couple of pieces of artwork or other interesting decor would do wonders here, giving the restroom a little character and spunk.

Knowing my generally gluten-free lifestyle, MA warned me on our drive through Wayne: “You’ll have to eat bread.” I nodded. A good, melty grilled cheese was worth a little gluten cheating. Lo and behold, Melt Down offers a gluten-free option for all of their sandwiches — and they use a gluten-free bread that has a nice, fluffy texture like real bread, instead of some gluten-free cracker nonsense that’s just not okay when you’re eating a grilled cheese sandwich. I ordered the “goud turkey,” which had gouda and turkey (duh), roasted red peppers and honey mustard. For a mere $7.45, I got two medium-sized sandwiches (I love Pennsylvania). My eyes bugged out. “Uhhhh, this is one order?” I asked. “How am I supposed to eat all of this?” The cashier said I’d find a way, and I certainly did. Prepping for my move meant I hadn’t been eating or sleeping, but now that I had an apartment, it was time to feast. And feast I did. And it was delicious. And gluten-free! A memorable first eating experience in my new town.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

 

Irving Farm: Restroom man is bigger than restroom woman

If there’s one thing I really miss about living in NYC, besides my wonderful friends, it’s getting up at 7 a.m. on Saturdays and coffee shopping for hours on end with Mariez. The MacBook Air I bought three weeks before I decided to move to Pennsylvania gets plenty of use, sure, but not the kind of use that inspired its purchase (i.e., toting it all over town in a small Longchamp bag, with its charger, a water bottle and a journal). Irving Farm on the Upper West Side holds a special place in my heart, because it’s the last coffee shop in NYC where I spent the morning writing as a New Yorker (79th St., between Broadway and Amsterdam, New York).

Coffee shops range the gamut from folksy to modern, and despite having the word “farm” in the name, which would suggest quaint and antique, Irving Farm is on the sleeker side of the scale, as is its restroom. Beautiful wood in various shades of gold and brown flank the dark restroom door, which is labeled with the standard men’s and women’s restroom signs — the real fun here, though, is that they made the man largely than the woman. Guys aren’t always taller than girls, as I’ve sadly learned in the dating world, but it is generally true, and I was amused by this quirky little detail. Inside, the restroom had gray painted walls, with snazzy gray and black paneling that looked a bit like wood grain but not quite. A wide, frameless mirror hung above the square sink. In the sunny hallway outside the bathroom, there was a cushioned bench where you could sit while waiting in line and read cast-off copies of the New York Post — a nice finishing touch, as coffee shop restrooms often get a lot of use by a lot of people.

I’m a coffee lightweight, so I judge coffee shops on their mochas, and Irving Farm’s was good — I would get it again. Mariez moved into my old apartment building a couple of weeks after I moved out, so when I visit Manhattan, I’ll be in close proximity to loads of coffee shops, including Irving Farm, that I can go to with the best coffee shop buddy ever. Until then, though, the coffee shop in my suburban town will have to do. One of these days I’ll make it there. One of these days… It’s a 20-minute walk, and it’s not the kind of walk where you get to do lots of people watching and discover magical little boutiques you’ve never seen before. Nope, it’s a walk along the same busy road you’ve walked a million times to get to the train, and to mail things at the post office, and to buy running shoes, and to use your buy-one-get-one-free Chipotle coupons. Still, one of these days I’ll get there. One of these days my MacBook Air and a mocha will make a writer out of me again.

Village Whiskey: Best burger joint has barrel in bathroom

I like to think of myself as an amateur burger connoisseur — amateur because I’m relatively new to loving burgers (thanks to my dad grilling hockey pucks instead of medium rare, almost-mooing masterpieces), and because I don’t know a single thing about beef, except that you’re supposed to raise your cows eating grass instead of corn or other cows. What I do know is a good burger, and the one at Village Whiskey blew my mind (118 South 20th St., Philadelphia).

More on that masterful burger later, but first, the restroom. Village Whiskey’s restroom was not particularly thrilling. It was mildly theme-y — a large barrel next to the sink, a barrel lid from the Woodford Reserve distillery on the wall, and a “Vote Against Prohibition” photo above the toilet — but the elements weren’t tied together seamlessly. When the burgers are this good, though, I’m not complaining; I’d rather the restaurateur focus on the food and not the potty aesthetics. The floor had a hexagonal honeycomb sort of pattern, and the walls and paneling were sleek neutrals that matched Village Whiskey’s dining room well. I was befuddled by the giant barrel next to the sink. It seemed to serve no purpose other than to — sort of — hide the re-fill bottle of Dial liquid hand soap.

Back to the burger. In my first couple of weeks in Philadelphia, two people told me Village Whiskey had the best burger, so I picked it for my birthday eve dinner. Village Whiskey’s menu description is brief, indicating that the “village burger” is a half-pound patty, with a sesame roll, tomato, Boston Bibb lettuce and Thousand Island dressing. What the menu doesn’t tell you is how perfect the beef is, how special that sesame roll is (this ain’t no McDonald’s) and how much of a difference Boston Bibb lettuce makes (I normally remove the lettuce from my burgers because it’s wet and crunchy). The basic burger is $12, so add-ons can quickly make the burger pricy. I ordered cheddar, caramelized onions and truffled mushrooms, making my burger $21.50 — and then they didn’t give me the onions and mushrooms, but still charged me for them (I wasn’t paying, and my dining partner, who ordered what he called the “oxymoronic burger” — veggie burger topped with foie gras — didn’t want to make a stink about it). Even with just the cheddar and Thousand Island dressing, dripping all oozy goozy over everything, the Village Whiskey burger was likely the best burger I’ve ever had. I’m curious to know what it would have been like with the onions and mushrooms, but I almost think it would have been too much. Must. Go. Back.

Restroom Rating: [rating=3]