City of Excess

Of course Las Vegas caters to the full-blown desires of adults. A grown-up Disneyland, if you will. However I was pleasantly surprised to find the rumors about it's maturity into a culinary mecca entirely true. I'm happy to report the food themepark idea has evolved into a playland of culinary adventures. How could it not with every celebrity chef from Bobby Flay to Thomas Keller establishing an outpost? It could have gone bad, very bad. Egos and the self promotional media machine could have overshadowed the central theme of signature menus. Can't you just see it? Arm wrestle Bobby Flay or See if you can chop faster than Emeril Lagasse.

But it didn't and what you have are sumptuous dining establishments that any Joe Schmo can access. You've got sophisticated menus derived from great chefs unleashing their culinary fantasies to be oogled and rhapsodized over. Think about it. You're a celebrity chef with your own cooking show or at least several cookbooks under your belt. You're well funded by a hospitality empire who asks for the creation of indulgent, over the top menus to be worshipped by every corner of America and beyond.

I was lucky enough to sample just a few of the exceptional foodie offerings. After landing we threw on bathing attire and grabbed a bite at Solaro, a casual outdoor Wolfgang Puck joint. We shared a yellow & red heirloom tomato and mozzarella salad drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette and an Albacore Tuna salad sandwich. Quite ordinary but worthwhile for the simplicity and attention to detail: the tomatoes were ripe and firm, the mozz exceptionally silky. Both at room temperature! Not just pulled from the fridge, overly chewy or cold.

The highlight of the trip was the concierge service at the Palazzo. Not only did the attendants hook us up with club passes and reservations, the concierge lounge provided a relaxing venue for breakfast & cocktail hour. As always, the vacation kicks off with a cocktail, food or both. In this case a very well shaken Vodka Martini without Vermouth. Gotta say, the olives in Vegas were consistently exceptional: big and meaty.

Dinner was at Tao, kickass as a club but mediocre on food. Despite it's lame attempts to mimic the Buddha Bar, Tao's highlight turned out to be the Buddha greeting one at the bathroom entrance.

Culinary surprise of the trip was dinner at Cut - Wolfgang Puck's steakhouse. We kept it simple. Fillet mignon, mashed potatoes and spinach. I was flabbergasted by the steak, a 10 oz medium rare. Select your own sauce from Mustard, Horseradish, Bearnaise. I chose Armagnac & Green Peppercorn which I generously drizzled over the fist-sized steak. Know the much beloved New York expression, "like butter" but this was crazy. I actually cut the steak with my spoon. Just because I could.

Las Vegas mixologists know their stuff. No namby pamby watery drinks overtopped with sugary juices. No way, nah ah. The ingredients are always impeccable; fresh olives, large succulent slices of lemon and limes, juicy fruit garnishes, top shelf liquor. Not once did I see a bottle of Popov. Since the Palazzo lounge proved most convenient, we got a taste of old school and new wave bartending. Jose, a suave traditionalist treated us to treatment befitting a diva (no implications intended).

Brigitte, the platinum pin-curl haired bartender was equally attentive but with a saucy infusion of her own repertoire. At our request for something vodka based, not too sweet and not sour she conjured this 'shot'. Notice it's more like a healthy sized cocktail. She said if I'm going to make this drink you'll have to hear the story. She proceeded to tell us about working a former stint in a dive bar off the Las Vegas strip. Truckers, hookers, construction workers patronized the joint. And in it she devised this shot called: Sex at Gigi's. It's composed of: Vodka, Chambord, OJ, pineapple, a splash Sprite well shaken over ice and poured.

While I didn't get a chance to check out Bouchon, Thomas Keller's Vegas outpost I did hear amazing things about it. One from a young man on the flight back home. A very nice kid still suffering from a Bachelor party induced hangover. Still bleary-eyed he told me of this great meal he had at Bouche something. Bouchon, I queried? Yeah man, I'll never forget it, was his reverent reply.

From the mouths of babes.