November 17, 2014, marks one week after my four-year anniversary with my fiancé, and the day we finally got around to celebrating with a lovely dinner at Charlie Palmer Steak DC. Located near Capitol Hill the typical clientele consists of politicos and mucky-mucks who venture in for heavy mid-week business dinners or popular, yet pricey, after-work libations and small plates. For “normal folk” like Edward and me this is a special occasion establishment. In fact we celebrated our third anniversary here last year, at the same table. I was so dazzled at the fabulous and amazing food last year that I could not wait to come back someday.
My favorite touches throughout the meal are the amuse bouche and the selection of house-made truffles and petit fours that come with the check. We certainly did not need small snacks between courses but the inspired and delicious (and free) treats are most welcome. On this particular visit the amuse bouche was so damn amazing I wish they would add it to the regular menu by the bowl, or perhaps, bucket. We each received a tiny, hand-held vessel of warm, layered emulsions that consisted of a sweet potato and vanilla soup, topped with bourbon crème. Hidden inside the soup was a small bite of duck sausage. What a marvelous and savory-yet-sinful experience!
Our appetizers, entrées, and family-style side dish were simply delectable as well. It’s on these rare several outings per year that I find myself saying, without fail, “I love fine dining. We should have this kind of service every day. Why can’t we do this every day?” All our wonderful date nights have turned me into a fast-developing snob. It’s his fault.
Aside from celebrating our endless love and general awesomeness my goal for the evening was to review the restroom. I have not been to any new or exciting restaurants lately so my blog posts have been seldom. Shame on me. I wandered to the facility, camera phone in hand, to scope things out and snap some photos.
The restrooms at Charlie Palmer are mildly disconcerting, though very unique. Men and women must walk down a hallway off the main dining room, past a couple closed doors and offices. The men’s room sign is on the left and the women’s, straight ahead. As I approached the ladies’ room I was looking for the door to enter. However, there is no “real” entrance. Around a bend in the hallway and modestly concealed are the stall doors. They are right on the wall that was the hallway, just a few feet ago. There is no violation of gender privacy, though, as the first stall door is out of sight of the passing patrons. Full-length frosted glass doors block the loo from view.
Within each stall are the bare necessities. There is nothing flashy or fascinating, just tranquil-hued mosaic tiles along the lower third of the wall. Pale tans and greens compliment the frosted glass in the surroundings, while cream-colored paint covers the rest of the walls.
As I went to wash my hands I approached the sink, which is a free-standing island of sorts. It is a large, beige, stone sarcophagus-looking block with a long basin on top. Left of the bowl was a large slot to deposit refuse. To the right of the sink is another green, frosted glass wall that ends about a foot shy of the ceiling. Behind the sink is a mirrored wall, which stands about a foot beyond the edge of the basin. Several bright bulbs that look like stars glow and create reflections of themselves on the mirrors. There are two faucets at the sink, and the bowl slants down and to the right. Here, I noticed a gap in the frosted glass wall. It was then that I realized that the sink spanned across underneath the wall into the men’s room. We were all sharing a hand-washing trough that funneled water downhill to the drain, which was directly under the glass. In fact, I could hear the men over the wall conversing while washing. This threw me off a little, but technically still does not violate decency.
Opposite the sink there is a long counter and another mirrored wall, for primping and whatnot. This mirror also had several sporadically placed “star” lights. With the two mirrors facing each other the room was aglow with warm reflections from these sconces. As I was skulking around to photograph the surroundings I saw a man’s shirt through the glass wall. There was a part of the wall in the shape of a keyhole, about a foot tall, where the glass was not frosted. You could look right through it into the men’s room.
Now, though you can see through this glass, it is placed at about hip-height (for a tall person) so you would need to put definite effort into Peeping Tom behavior. I was tempted to get a glimpse of the other side but I did not want to be the one to come either face-to-face with another person like me or end up seeing someone using a urinal and completely be a disgusting creep. It took a lot of restraint. It was like when your teachers or parents tell you NOT to look directly at a solar eclipse. I just wanted to see what it looked like!
My reconnaissance mission completed, I returned to our table. As we prepared to leave the restaurant I asked Edward to accompany me on another fly-by. I had told him about this mysterious keyhole window and of how I was curious as to its vantage-point of the room. Fortunately for me that after four years in this relationship he has grown to find my inquisitive and curious nature adorable and amusing.
We went into our respective facilities to make a final pit-stop before traveling home. As I was washing my hands I saw his face peer through the keyhole. He confirmed for me that no one else was in there so I could take a peek. If I had stolen a look earlier the view would not have been in the line of sight of any toilets or urinals. I was relieved, as I could not count on the contractor or designer to avoid screwing that up. For evidence’s sake, I made Edward pose for a picture with his face in the window.
A fine-dining restaurant such as Charlie Palmer really must deliver in all departments, and they lived up to that standard. If I could make any suggestion (or fantasy) it would be to expand the glowing restroom into a lounge, with some chaises and banquettes like at Nordstrom. Or, perhaps, rent the space out to people like me so I can throw a 70’s dance party in there, amidst those starry lights.