, but it took me six cold and less-than-sterile more (plus 2020’s lockdown) to get mine into the warm seat of a 

, my top pick in this rotund—or rather, well-rounded—assortment of bidet toilet-seat attachments—and love-letter the form.

Let’s start with the basics. Bidet is French for “pony”—ride it, indeed—but it was an American, Arnold Cohen, who invented the rump sprinkler in the early 1960s. In ’67, Cohen licensed his patented design to the Japanese toilet manufacturer Toto, which in turn, in 1980, debuted the Washlet series I know and adore.

 ensued throughout the ’80s and ’90s, and now, approximately 80 percent of Japanese households plop down on the furniture. They really do do it better in Japan, where the devices are increasingly common (and in China, and in Korea… The list, like that megapack of TP that may last forever if you get a bidet, goes on). A good bidet attachment slides right on top of your toilet. You can (as I did) install it yourself, and its features range, depending on your model’s price point, from a cold jet of water with missile-like precision to a warm and ionized oscillating spray. Other features include heated seats, hot-air dryers, bowl-wetters, self-cleaners, deodorizers, lights, automatic seat-raisers, and digital music or sounds of the natural world (think: rain) to mask one’s earthly human business.

The result is no less than a revolution in self-hygiene, and, frankly, a better way to move through the day. Besides the extra confidence you’ll gain from perma-clean buns, you’ll save on toilet paper. (Bidets are good for the earth, too: The bidet manufacturer Tushy 

 that the water used to produce one roll is equivalent to 296 bidet squirts).

For those ready to hop on the bidet bandwagon, there are several models to compare. Consider the 

, a non-electric (i.e., powered by water pressure), bare-bones but functional apparatus that provides front and back washes, adjustable water pressure, and a self-cleaning function. (Heated water is available on the 

, another basic, nonelectric perch that inflicts an ice pick of pain; or BioBidet’s 

, a low- to mid-range model that is operated via a side control panel instead of a remote. Offered in two sizes, for round or elongated bowls, it has a wash for him and her with adjustable positions, warm water and air dying, and a heated seat.

My favorite, as mentioned earlier, is the Toto Washlet C200. It has all the features of the BioBidet, plus others that include a pulsating spray, an automatic air deodorizer and wand cleaning, a soft-close lid, and a “pre-mist” that wets the bowl before each use. A comparable but slightly pricier second is the remote-controlled 

, which is made only for elongated bowls and offers a soothing “oscillating/massage” function.

I’ll never forget my first encounter with a Toto Washlet, at a family friend’s place in Japan’s Saitama prefecture, when I was six years old. The memory is recorded on a Sony mini-cassette from my parents’ long-dead camcorder. From behind it, I explain (to an American audience) each feature of the wall-mounted remote control system: “This one heats the seat. This one dries with warm air. This stops it.…” I wavered for a moment, my finger gliding over the “Front” wash button, too much for a small boy’s brain to bear, then descended, “And this one washes your butt.”

Almost three decades later, I’m still enamored with bidets, and less shy about singing their praises. In fact, I encourage all guests to rest their weary cheeks immediately upon entering my house. But don’t let this final word of advice wash over you unheeded: Invest—lest the ice pick hit you where it hurts—but there’s no need to break that (big) bank. A mid-range model with core features (warm water and seat, adjustable nozzle and pressure, and ideally a dryer) will keep your best end warm on the coldest winter nights, squeaky clean on sticky summer days, and veritably excited for one of life’s less-enthralling duties.

The Boundless Benefits of a Bidet

Perhaps each of us has a Proustian trigger: a sensation that suddenly uncovers a memory buried in time, and by meeting our tongues, eyes, ears, or hands—or in this particular case, my nose—the trigger reveals a moment we’ve forgotten.

Twenty-five years ago, while walking through Singapore on a dark summer night with my family, we stumbled upon a barely lit jungle gym in a small public square. It was empty, save for a single food hawker closing up shop for the night, and a scent—unrecognizable to me as a child—wafting through the air from his cart.

At once herbaceous, sweet, and pungent—musky, with a verdant edge, like grassy vanilla—the aroma made its way into my nostrils, prompting me to stop and stare at the cart. My dad took me over to the man, who smiled, and placed a small pink cake into a steamer, warming it for a moment. He then slid the treat into a paper sleeve and handed it to me, a singular steamy redolence rising from the rim. Because I had no idea what it was or how to find it again, the snack’s floral scent followed me for years like a ghost I didn’t know was there.

Fast-forward to the present, when the object of this affectionate remembrance, thanks to the good folks at New York’s 

, has finally been revealed to me. What I ate—and sniffed—that night was a form of 

, a bite-size, rice-based dessert that’s common across Southeast Asia and that comes in a rainbow of colors. 

 often gets its delightful smell from the creative use of pandan, or screwpine, a tropical plant that grows abundantly in the region and sprouts highly fragrant, blade-shaped leaves.

According to Barnny Lim, who handles business development at the café, pandan “is used mainly to give [food] a green color from a natural source. Its juice is extracted from the leaves, and mixed with the ingredients.” Its aromatic impact, he continues, is equally striking. “Pandan, in its raw form or when cooked, has an aroma similar to vanilla, which is its unique and distinctive quality,” he says. “[It] doesn’t have a specific flavor, other than its inherent grass [taste], which makes it adaptable to other flavors.”

Perhaps that’s why the perfumy plant is becoming increasingly common in fare prepared far beyond where it grows natively. (In 2017, the prominent English food writer Nigella Lawson 

 that pandan would soon surpass matcha and avocado toast in popularity in the United States, followed by Britain.) The enigmatic palm can currently be found in everything from ice cream—

 incorporates swirls of pandan jelly, while New York’s Chinatown Ice Cream Factory offers scoops of

 intended for topping toast or cakes. Its scent has permeated industries outside the culinary world, too: Cab drivers in Vietnam are fond of using the leaves as air fresheners for their cars, while the Indian fragrance brand Kannauj Attar offers a 

 that doubles as a refreshing, honey-like perfume.

But for those who were raised around the plant, its fragrance can be less a satisfying scent than a powerful, somatic reminder of home. “Many born in Southeast Asia grow up eating items flavored with pandan, both in day-to-day life and also during festivities,” Lim says. “When one catches a sniff of the pandan aroma, it can transport them back to that time, and allow them to reminisce about those cherished moments.”

The Sweet, Adaptable Aroma of Southeast Asia’s Pandan Plant

Mike is a poet and writer for performance, and managing director of The Slowdown. He’s the author of 

, which won the 2016 Colorado Prize for Poetry, and 

Mike Lala

Mike Lala’s Articles

The Boundless Benefits of a Bidet

The Sweet, Adaptable Aroma of Southeast Asia’s Pandan Plant