My partner and I spend most of our time designing interiors. Our job is to create environments that speak to people. It's one thing to accomplish this in a home, but quite another to create some sort of ambiance in a public space. I just love it when you walk through the door of a place and the vibe hits you right in the solar plexus. Here are a few of my favourite haunts for an aesthetic jolt.
KOOLHAUS (2199 WEST 4TH AVENUE) This furniture and home-accessory store is housed in a restored bank. The building is a confection of architecture that has been painted wedding white, rendering the elaborate mouldings and details as if they were made of piped icing. The achingly tall and superbly unadorned windows sport trim painted gloss black, a visual crack of the whip that echoes throughout the space. The effect is equal parts puritan and vixen.
A sleek selection of modern furniture sits pointedly on the polished concrete floors and huddles conspiratorially beneath the soaring coffered ceilings. Contemporary blue light fixtures hover in a spiral like aliens doing a last bit of interplanetary shopping in this minimalist environment. Decidedly uptown, the place inspires posture-perfect browsing and makes you wish you'd worn better shoes.
Note the insistently long illuminated desk that features a countertop of white pebbles floating in transparent acrylic. It's a glowing runway yearning for a young Ursula Andress to slink down its length. The music here is always great, and if they served drinks at that long, long desk I might never leave.
THE HOLLYWOOD THEATRE (3123 WEST BROADWAY) This place is absolutely old-school Kitsilano. In a world of big screens and big seats, the Hollywood defiantly adheres to its own aesthetic. Every time I find myself in the lobby, I can't believe that it's all still there. It's an alternate universe where nothing changes, patiently awaiting your return.
Hot chocolates are served up in Styrofoam cups whose edges beg to be scalloped with a fingernail after. With a throat still sensitive from the first scald, I've often detected on the floor a partially dehydrated spill of Coke that sucked seductively at the heels of my sneakers, the squishy lift and pull of which has kept me occupied through many a boring scene. The red velvet curtains and heartwarming fug of popcorns past wrap themselves around me like a favourite blanket.
Cozily ensconced in the dark, in this womb with a view, shoulder to shoulder with the crowd, I have gazed lazily at the hearthlike glow from the octagonal illuminated deco clock on the side of the stage. Remarkably, it seems to be keeping time in a place that defies it.
TANGERINE RESTAURANT (1685 YEW STREET) Small in space but big in heart, this tiny restaurant manages to pack a wallop. Concrete ceilings and walls are painted avocado green, but in a good way. Marching down the centre of the room, postage stamp--sized tables topped with candles demand intimacy.
Loungey and lush, the tiny bar glitters with a spangle of multicoloured tiles inset with glints of mirror. Bottles of libations are backlit and cast the siren song of cocktails. Bamboo accents nod toward Tiki, but not overly so.
Blessedly, lighting is kept to a minimum, just a few retro-styled fixtures patterned in orange that cast a toasty hue, so it's ideal for evening outings. In the summer you can sit on the tiny deck, sipping perfect martinis beneath coloured lanterns; winters, bask in the warmth of the interior and its friendly staff.
With food that is always scrumptious (smoked albacore tuna with mixed greens, spiced candied cashews, and creamy wasabi dressing is an absolute favourite), this place manages to marry hipness and comfort.
PICNIC RESTAURANT (3002 GRANVILLE STREET) Wedged between two buildings, with seven-metre ceilings, this rail-thin and significantly tall beauty never fails to lift the spirits. Walking the picnic concept upstairs, you never know who you will be sitting with at the singular, and singularly long, cedar picnic table that travels the length of the deli.
The towering walls are sheathed in gleaming white subway tiles and are broken up only by a long backlit shelf that has variously showcased rainbow-hued soft drinks, bottles of sparkling water, and, at Christmas, a gorgeous variety of gift baskets.
A blaze of sunlight (when it's on order) comes through the deli's large front window, which allows passersby to be tempted by the treats heaped within and is reflected in a gigantic mirror mounted on the back wall.
This chicly utilitarian interior, which verges on the Soviet, is lit by a row of gargantuan moonlike Swedish ball lamps down the length of the room. It redefines the notion of what a picnic can be.
NEMOTO CAFE (3132 WEST BROADWAY) Sometimes I crave the simplicity and piquancy of a dog-eared café, and that's when I find myself at the Nemoto.
Its charms are Spartan and enigmatic. Tiny tables sit in the large window that overlooks leafy Broadway. The burnt-pumpkin-coloured vinyl-and-chrome chairs seem to have come from a school library in the '70s. A flurry of incomprehensible signage ("Caffees"?) brands the walls. The hand-drawn advertisement for the breakfast special is Warholian and features a geisha levitating alongside a plate of radioactive hash browns and eggs over easy.
In the middle of the restaurant is one of those spindly brass record/stereo stands from the '60s, upon which perch a few stray magazines. The décor is catastrophically casual. Perhaps décor is the wrong word; it's more like a scattering of a few incongruous elements, the whole of which is greater than its parts. Unlikely objects--such as an elaborate bedside lamp next to the cash register, and a plaque that has three rather sinister-looking characters--add to an ambiance that is unique. I have never been there when there were more than two people seated; the capacity is a dozen or so max.
The dizzying thing about the Nemoto is that in spite of its eccentricities, it's one of those spaces that leans toward the anonymous. You could pass by without it registering at all. I'd been walking by it for years and for some reason, never considered it a viable option. Then one day, because of the rain and a yen for breakfast, we crossed the threshold, and now it's a place whose flavour I savour.
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