Kanella: Top 50 Philadelphia restaurant and best-smelling bathroom

A cool thing about Philadelphia? Unlike NYC, many of its top 50 restaurants are quite affordable, and I’ve already been to two, including Kanella (1001 Spruce St.).

Kanella’s restroom doors are painted a calm cerulean that made me think of the ocean; this beautiful blue is a close tie with the blue at Crêperie Béchamel in Wayne. Between Kanella’s two restroom doors is a large clay pot, sitting on the floor below a couple of framed photographs and a little wooden man dressed in some traditional garb. As soon as I walked in, I thought, “Wow, this bathroom smells really fantastic,” which is not something you generally think when entering a public bathroom. That aroma stemmed from the vase of fragrant fresh flowers sitting on the wooden stand that holds the white vessel sink. The floors are made of rustic-looking tiles, and the mirror has a frame made of black wire curlicues. The coat hanger on the door is made of shiny copper — a gorgeous contrast to the blue paint — and the light switch plate is painted with ombré green stripes.

Kanella’s website describes the restaurant as a “Greek Cypriot kitchen.” That’s the last kind of cuisine I think of when I think of brunch, but the kedgree — rice mixed with pieces of smoked cod, topped with ah-ma-zing Greek yogurt and a hard-boiled egg — was a fantastic change of pace from the omelettes and other egg dishes I typically order. And I got a chuckle out of the fact that, before I dug in, it sort of looked like I had a Muppet on my plate; see photo below. My brunch mates also ordered the “dips of the day,” which included some awesome-looking pumpkin and feta mixture, served with freshly grilled pita. I skipped this because I planned to have a giant gluten cheat for dinner, in the form of — of all low-brow things — Dunkin’ Donuts. (It was worth it; I hadn’t had doughnuts in several years, and the Boston cream and French cruller still taste as trashy-good as ever.)

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

Hill Country: A taste of Texas, even in the restroom

Hill Country is a little taste of Austin in New York City (26th St., between 6th Ave. and Broadway): mountains of barbecue, live music and a Texas-themed restroom.

A painted “Restrooms” sign hangs on a well-worn wooden entryway, studded with Lone Star belt buckles (reminds me of Roaring Fork‘s restroom, in Austin). Inside, the restroom has walls made of bricks and white wooden slats. A large mirror with a white frame is above a  wide stainless steel sink with  industrial-looking faucets. Bare bulbs light the restroom, which has an exposed ceiling from which a tangle of pipes hang. The paint on the stalls is distressed to make them look old, and there was an empty beer bottle in the trashcan of the stall I used – so classy, ladies. My stall was also scrawled with graffiti: “Live long and prosper.” My favorite part about Hill Country’s restroom was the vintage high school yearbook photos: Most Handsome, Most Beautiful, cheerleaders, a homecoming queen flanked by star football players. I know that football is a religion in Texas, so this was a clever way to decorate.

I met up with a Texan at Hill Country to listen to the live music and watch the Texans’ last attempt to make it to the World Series, so I can’t comment on the food. Everything looked and smelled fantastic, though, so I’d like to give it a try – and their website says they even sell Kreuz Market sausage!

Restroom Rating: [rating=5]

Elixr Coffee: Slide in the restroom, have a photo shoot

I love when people are excited to show me a restroom, because it makes me feel as if I’ve made my miniature mark on the world. When KK said, “You need to see the bathroom at Elixr Coffee,” I said, “We’re going this weekend after brunch, right?” (207 S Sydenham St., Philadelphia).

Elixr Coffee’s restroom is built out from the wall, creating a sort of box crafted of gorgeous reclaimed wood, the same material composing a lot of the coffee shop’s structure. The restroom has a heavy sliding door that’s pieced together from lots of old industrial stuff, including metal sheets from the Richmond Safety Gate Co., (which also, according to a stamp on the door made fire door equipment) and wired safety glass panels. The wall next to the door is covered with black wallpaper speckled with giant roses and hydrangeas, adding an unexpected Victorian / grandma’s house contrast. Despite the antique-style entryway, Elixr’s restroom is sleek inside, with dark wood paneling, buttery wallpaper with a diamond pattern, and a gray tile floor. A narrow door next to the toilet is hung with a full-length mirror. The toilet paper holder is one I haven’t seen before: a metal rod is affixed to the wall in the center, so both ends are open, making it easier to re-load than most toilet paper holders, where you have to push that spring, and then pop it back into the wall. Although not technically in the restroom, there’s a cool mural of some creature (a teddy bear crossed with a cracked-open bomb or bowling ball?) that has a bottle inside its mouth, and the bottle has a shark inside — the painting is on the wall adjacent to the wall from which the restroom juts, so I’m counting it as a restroom feature (and, hey, it scored Elixr an extra point!). Funny restroom anecdote? Two women stood outside the sliding bathroom door for at least 10 minutes, holding their own giggly photo shoot. Exlir is a cool space, but really? Ten minutes….? Weirdest thing ever.

As faithful Porcelain Press readers know, I judge coffee shops by their mochas. Elixr’s spare menu confused me, but I asked, and they do indeed make mochas — and mine was a good one. Unfortunately, it came in a regular mug, so it cooled off quickly in the air conditioning, and I had to drain it in less than 10 minutes — fine for after-brunch chitchat, but not ideal if you plan to sit and write for a while. The Great Pacific garbage patch turned me into a super recycler (not that I was wasteful before, but now wastefulness ranks high on my list of pet peeves), but I should have asked for a disposable cup with a lid. I’m a piping-hot-coffee type of girl.

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

Restrooms invade my dreams…

You know you’ve been blogging about restrooms for over two years when they show up in your subconscious.

The other morning, just before awaking, I dreamt that I was running (dressed in my black-and-pink Target running gear), and I suddenly needed to hit the restroom. I ducked into the Presbyterian church in downtown Wayne, PA — it’s got one of the most gorgeous Protestant sanctuaries I’ve ever seen — but I wasn’t sneaky enough and ended up in the front of the…wait a minute, I’m in an auditorium now, and I’m practically on the stage…?

Yep, instead of being in a church, I am now smack dab in the middle of executive rehearsals for the work event I attended in Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago. Although this isn’t the Palazzo hotel (you’ll read a lot more about the Palazzo’s restrooms soon), I know where I am because one of our vice presidents is sitting in the back row, laughing and taking pictures with his laptop (yes, with this laptop). “My boss is going to kill me,” I think. Not only am I making a scene, interrupting rehearsals in sweaty gym clothes, but the fact that executives are on stage means I’m probably supposed to be doing something — like sitting backstage with my best friend for the week, the teleprompter operator, and helping her update the scripts.

Before I worry about work, though, and how mad my boss is, I reaaaaaaally do need to use the restroom, so I head out the back of the auditorium, and…okay, now I’m at an airport, right next to customs. And, for some reason, the restroom has a combined University of Michigan / Michigan State theme, only the schools have swapped some colors (Michigan = yellow and green; Michigan State = blue and white). I’m pressed for time, but the Porcelain Press is always on my mind, so I take out my iPhone to take a picture, and then remember I’ve already blogged about this strange collegiate-themed airport restroom.

And then my alarm goes off.

Katz’s Delicatessen: A restroom and a jail in the dining room

When I decided to leave NYC and move to Pennsylvania less than 3 weeks before my lease ended, I didn’t have time to do all of the things I hadn’t done in my 4 years in Manhattan. I settled for finally going to Katz’s Delicatessen with MN (205 East Houston St.).

To get to the restroom at Katz’s Deli, you follow a giant illuminated “RESTROOMS ATM” sign hanging beneath a fluorescent Budweiser sign. The ladies’ room, marked by a fluorescent sign with an arrow, is in a small room that juts out into the center of the dining room. Cardboard boxes of beverage napkins and plastic soup spoons are stacked on the room’s “roof.” Inside, the restroom is kind of dumpy and old. The walls are made of peach tiles with a row of shiny black tiles on top — hilariously, this is exactly what the bathroom at my parents’ house looked like when we moved in in 1993 (although there’s white paint on the top half of the walls here, instead of metallic goldfish wallpaper). A mustard yellow hand dryer sticks out like a sore thumb, but it feels sort of appropriate here at Katz’s, where you’re encouraged to load up their tasty meats with gobs of mustard.

Katz’s food was memorable, as it should be at such a famed NYC deli. We split the “3 Meat Platter,” which the menu says “feeds 3 tourists or one regular customer”; I was stuffed with my half of the meat, plus pickles, despite eating only a little bit of the rye bread. All of the meats were delicious, and I’m glad I tried them all. I wish, though, I’d gone with my gut and ordered a reuben sandwich, even if it meant I’d only have the corned beef — the reubens I saw going past our table looked fantastic.

And then the fun part: getting stuck in “Katz’s Deli jail.” I’d read a bunch online about the importance of hanging onto the blue ticket they give you when you enter the deli. Okay, cool, got it. However, when we placed our order, because we’d ordered only one item, the waiter scribbled it on my ticket and took MN’s. It sort of crossed my mind that something seemed off, after all of my research, but I figured that a Katz’s Deli waiter would be the expert when it came to the tickets. Turns out, nope. I handed in my blue ticket on our way out, and paid the cashier. When MN tried to stroll on by, she screamed at him, and then made us wait behind a gate for quite a long time, until one of the “jail keepers” lied to her and told her he’d found our ticket. But he only did this after insisting that we dig through our pockets in his presence, because he didn’t believe our waiter had taken our ticket. To make things better, the jail keeper asked our waiter about the ticket. But rather than ask our waiter what we ordered (thereby quickly proving that we’d paid for what we’d received), he asked our waiter if he’d kept our ticket. And the waiter — of course — said “No siree, Bob!” RIDICULOUS. What a way to end my experience in NYC. Glad I got to taste Katz’s delicious meats, but I’m never going back there on a return trip to the city.

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

Crêperie Béchamel: Beautiful blue bathroom & crave-worthy crêpes

Pennsylvania continues to be full of surprises: a few weeks ago, I experienced the best crêpes I’ve had outside Paris at Crêperie Béchamel on the Main Line in Wayne, PA, and it had a pretty blue bathroom to boot (11 Louella Court).

While JY and I waited for our made-to-order crêpes, I headed to the restroom, which is next to the restaurant’s backroom; the restroom is marked by the man and woman silhouettes, although looking a little younger than usual, and the backroom door has a portal-style window frosted with “Crêperie Béchamel” (“Crêperie” is printed in the French Script font — a) not too original, and b) wow, I’m a font dork). The doors are white, against a GORGEOUS blue paint job, which continues inside on the upper half of the walls. If you could paint your life, I’d likely want my life to be painted Crêperie Béchamel blue, so that I could be wrapped in cool blue beauty at all moments of my life. Someone’s digressing. Ahem. Anyway. The bottom of the walls is made of white brick-like tiles, with a strip of black brick-like tiles at the very top — sleek and classy. A tiny ledge holds a pale green pillar candle, and a pot of blue roses rests on a windowsill. Oddly enough, there’s a black-and-white photograph of St. Mark’s Basilica hanging above the toilet; you’d think a French restaurant would post a picture of Sacré Cœur or Notre Dame instead of a Venetian cathedral, no? The final unique feature is the light fixture, a space-age thing with a frosted sheet of concave glass covering the bulb.

And then Crêperie Béchamel’s crêpes, on par in wonderfulness with the blue paint all over the restroom… It was dinnertime, but I ordered a basic breakfast crêpe, filled with egg, Swiss cheese and ham, because one thing my trip to Paris taught me is that savory crêpes trump sweet ones at any hour of the day. JY, uninitiated into the magic of Parisian street crêpes, asked for bananas foster and caramel s’mores, because obviously he is a dessert crêpe champion. I couldn’t really handle either — so sweet! — but he liked both, especially when he combined a little of each in every bite. What makes Crêperie Béchamel even more awesome? Their gluten-free buckwheat crêperie batter is indistinguishable from the regular. Totally in love.

Restroom Rating: [rating=4]

BB’s Grocery Outlet: Don’t forget to buy some hand soap

I love to visit my aunt and her family in Lancaster County, and now that I live in Pennsylvania, the trip is even easier. Amish Country is one of the most beautiful places in the U.S., and the slow, quiet pace of life is perfect for hanging around at home, visiting with relatives and going on low-key excursions: buying barbecue chicken at Amish yard sales, tasting all of the jellies and pickles at Kitchen Kettle, or going on a veritable treasure hunt at BB’s Grocery Outlet, where slightly expired food sells for pennies (581 Camargo Road, Quarryville, PA).

The restroom at BB’s Grocery Outlet is in the back of the store near “BB’s Bargain Bins,” and the refrigerator and freezer rooms (a good deal on frozen food is not worth spending time in a freezer — trust me). You wouldn’t expect a surplus grocer to install or upkeep a fancy restroom, and you’d be right: the fixtures are standard, with the only unique ones being the handmade wooden toilet paper and paper towel dispensers. Still, this was one of the most entertaining restroom experiences I’ve ever had. Why? Funny #1: As I walked in, an Amish girl was singing to herself, loudly and poorly (no offense to her, of course — if I sang to myself, it would also be atrocious, but that’s why I spare the ears of my fellow bathroom users). Funny #2: All of the soaps and cleaning supplies have green BB’s price tags. It’s ingenious marketing, really. Walk into the stall, see the toilet brush, see that you can buy it for a mere $1.50 (!!!), and when you come out of the bathroom — relaxed and delighted by the Amish girl’s serenade, of course — you’re going to tear apart BB’s until you find your own toilet brush. Funny #3: You have your choice of hand soap; every bottle of hand soap was different, and each sink was stocked with two, one on each side of the faucet. Again, brilliant advertising for BB’s deals and steals.

I’ve been hearing rave reviews about BB’s Grocery Outlet for years. Both of my aunts have lots of kids in their teens, making this kind of supermarket essential to keeping their grocery bills somewhat in check. And, in general, my family is known for its frugality; those of you who know me wll, and know me as one of the cheapest people on the planet, are not at all shocked by my origins, I’m sure. There’s a Surplus Outlet near my hometown (off Route 15 in Montgomery) that my father lovingly nicknamed “The Cheap Place,” and he’s all the time showing me the chocolates, weird flavored marshmallows and dinged-up boxes of cereal that he found. When my aunt suggested we hit up BB’s on a recent visit, I could not wait, and it lived up to every one of my bargain hunter’s dreams. It’s also a completely hysterical and good time, thanks to endless pallets, boxes, shelves and aisles, stacked to the max with a random assortment of food and other grocery products; you can wander basically forever. A favorite BB’s sighting? One shelf had a box of vital wheat gluten next to a box of gluten-free flour; clearly, the vital wheat gluten business is really benefiting from the gluten-free fad.

I’ll leave you with the highlights of my BB’s purchases:

• 10 Larabars = $1 (these things retail for around $1.49…!)
• 3 jars of Planters NUTrition peanut butter = $0.75
• 1.63 pounds of organic quinoa = $1.63
• 1 jar of PB+Co White Chocolate Wonderful peanut butter = $1.50
• 10 Mr Goodbar candy bars = $1.50

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]

Hickory Run Service Plaza: Where Mommy & Me can pee together

I headed to Williamsport for the weekend with MA and NB (thanks for driving!), and we stopped at the Hickory Run Service Plaza on the Pennsylvania Turnpike’s Northeast Extension for the restroom and Starbucks (256 Danner Road, Jim Thorpe, PA).

Rest area / service plaza restrooms are generally fairly antiseptic, institutional and boring, and the one at the Hickory Run Service Plaza is no different. However, it is quite new, so it is remarkably sparkly for how much traffic it likely receives on a regular basis. The tile work is sleek and modern, with lots of shades of gray and beige, and some smaller iridescent purplish tiles making up a thick stripe above the simple, silver-rimmed mirrors (oh, jeez…did I really write “shades of gray” in that sentence?). The key feature of the restroom — and the reason I decided to pull my iPhone out of my bag to snap a photo — is the “Mommy & Me Stall,” which is apparently such a big deal, and such a big draw, that it’s mentioned on the service plaza’s website. I’ve seen plenty of family restrooms, but this “Mommy & Me” business is new to me. What about all of the fathers out there, especially the single dads, who need to take their kids to the potty…? Why is there no “Daddy & Me”? I’m not sure what this stems from: is it female chauvinism, or is it actually male chauvinism, because whatever architect designed the Hickory Run Service Plaza’s restroom thinks only mothers deal with diapers and yelping toddlers who might not make it to the toilet on time?

Oh, and can we talk about how Pennsylvania has a town called Jim Thorpe? Do any other states have towns named after 20th-century Olympic gold medalists?

Restroom Rating: [rating=2]