I apologize in advance if this post is off-color. But I was standing at the bar at P.J. Clarke's, the grand old tavern on Third Avenue, and I was struck by the thought—as I have been before—that it is an awful shame that the female patrons of the classic bar never get to see men's bathroom.
Let me explain. The gentleman's lavatory—unchanged for many decades now—is a remarkable enclosure. This is primarily due to two absolutely monumental white porcelain urinals that have to be seen to be believed. These are not the tawdry, utilitarian objects you see in most restrooms. They are pinnacles of the ceramic arts, the ultimate in lavatory decoration. They are tall and wide and winged. Combined with the dark wood walls and the vaulted stained-glass ceiling, they make a visit a bathroom at Clarke's a rather grandish experience. It's a toilet that Cole Porter might write a line about in "You're the Top."
And half of the population never get to see them! That seems like an injustice to me. So I took pictures of the interior, for all the world to see. If they offend, I apologize. Sorry I couldn't get the full effect in the pictures. The bathroom if a cramped place. To capture the full length of the urinals, I would have had to open the door and take the shots from the bar. And that would have just been strange.