Man, what a helluva night! I swear, I feel like I was starring in a 12-hour long beer commercial. I just got home a little while ago, after just barely beating the sunrise to my front door. It was a great time--one of "those" Vegas nights that all other experiences are measured against. And it was a helluva appetizer for the main course of March Madness which is lurking off in the distance, ready to strike. (Mixed metaphors are just another one of the freebies I offer on this site)
Anyhow, Tuesday was rather dull for me. I consciously avoided writing about what was on my mind because I swear, it was so hot that if the wrong person read it, I probably would've gotten in heap big trouble. So it's safely tucked away in the vault, another one of those stories that can't be repeated until I'm safely out of Vegas and I publish my tell-all casino insider book. Lets just say that the casino business is the most brutal combination of tyranny and capitalism ever conceived, and leave it at that.
That's what we call 'creating a buzz', by the way...
So where were we? Oh yeah. Tuesday with Mikey. About the only thing that happened of note during the day was I got an email from Lars Vargas wanting to know if I was interested in some hot wings for lunch. Of course I was interested, but knowing that I was about to embark of a culinary adventure like none I had previously experienced, later that evening, I politely declined. And then I took a nap.
I got up around 5:15, took a shower, shaved, made myself pretty, found some matching socks, got dressed, and headed down towards the Strip. My destination for the evening was Craftsteak at MGM Grand, and my dining companion was longtime reader/occasional commenter CoolPacific. We've been emailing back and forth for a couple of years, mostly about cigars, gambling, booze, and women--you know, the basics--and since he was going to be in town for a solo trip, he invited me to join him for one of his self-proclaimed 12 Incredible Meals for 2008.
Our dinner reservation was for 6:30, and I pulled into the MGM valet about ten minutes before that. Now, I've been to the MGM Grand about a dozen times, but it was like a whole new experience for me, walking in the front door like that--I've always entered off of the second-level walkway from New York New York, near Studio 54 and the poker room. So basically, I was lost. But I followed the signs, arrived at the restaurant with one minute to spare, and found CoolP at the bar chatting up the bartender and sipping a Grey Goose Pear & Soda. Seriously--pear flavored Grey Goose. Who knew?
Anyhow, he said I have some catching up to do, and just a few seconds later, I was happily sipping on a Stoli Vanilla & Coke, hearing about his Vegas adventures up to that point. The hostess came by to say that our table was ready, but we delayed for a couple of minutes there in the bar. We decided that one round was enough, and we found our way back to our comfy table in the much larger-than-expected dining room.
Even before we started talking about steaks, the discussion turned to wine. CoolP is very much a wine connoisseur, and had already picked out a $160 bottle of something that in my limited experience I had never heard of. But I trusted his judgment. But then the waitress came over and started giving us the rundown on the menu, and all previous ideas went directly out the window. While deciding on what to have, we started with a cold bottle of Pellegrino--no tap water for us, we were civilized buffoons on this night!
We had planned on both ordering a large hunk-o-meat, some sides, and a bottle of wine. But the waitress made the various tasting menus (plural) sound so damn good that my full day of ribeye anticipation evaporated in an instant. (Yes, they have several tasting menus available).
After a few questions about the various offerings, we decided to go with the Chef's Three Course Kobe Beef Tasting Menu and instead of the standard wine flight, we opted for the two-step upgrade to the Premium Wine Experience. Giggity!
First things first, a basket of fresh bread and nice soft butter to nibble on. But it sat dormant--we didn't want to fill up. Besides, we really had no idea whatsoever about what we'd be getting for our first course.
The first course turned out to be three courses in one--there was a Caesar Salad which was pretty damn good--all the dressing was concentrated on the croûtons, which were just sprinkled all over full romaine leaves and topped with shredded Parmesan. I'm not a huge fan of Caesar salads, but this one was very good. There was also a plate full of the most incredibly tasty grilled shrimp I've ever had--these were the full-sized ones, with body, head, and legs still intact, and grilled to absolute perfection. When I took my first bite, it almost startled me, and CoolP said Dude--are you ok? You just completely stopped talking and you look like you're having "a moment" over there.
Seriously--it was the best shrimp I have ever tasted. It had a grill char like a fine steak. The first flavor you got was the taste of seared meat--almost like a hamburger at a picnic. That's the only way I could describe it--and CoolP agreed. He said that's exactly what it tasted like. But the shrimp meat was buttery soft and cooked to perfection--not dry at all. We both wondered how on earth they cooked them so that they turned out like that. Of course we enjoyed the hell out of that, and the cocktail sauce was almost an afterthought--it really wasn't needed.
The third part of the first course was Kobe Steak Tartare. Yep--a big hunk of raw Kobe beef, topped with a raw egg yolk and served with baguette chips. It was surprisingly tasty, and was a great compliment to the shrimp and salad.
Our wine selection for the first course was a Pinot Grigio from the Alsace. I didn't get to see the label, as CoolP did the honors, and neither one of us could remember the winery. Normally, I don't really care for Pinot Grigio --I find that most of the Italian versions taste funny to me--but this was a serious bottle of excellent wine and I enjoyed it very much. I couldn't believe how much I liked it, and most of our dinner conversation centered around wine because my host was a treasure trove of knowledge.
We killed everything in the first course, and didn't have to wait long for the main event once they cleared the table.
The main course was a sight to behold. First of all, there were two huge Kobe steaks, already sliced, for us to enjoy. One was the Kobe Ribeye (oh hell yeah!) and the other was a Kobe Flat Iron Steak, which seemed to be a very rich cousin of the sirloin. Both were cooked medium rare, with a nice red center, both were fork tender. One bite, and I was in my happy place. Along with our steaks, we had a generous serving of whipped potatoes and chives, assorted sauteed mushrooms, and grilled asparagus. Oh, and we finally got around to eating the bread and butter at that point, too. But the steaks--easily the best in recent memory. It was like poetry on a plate. Not that crap poetry you have to read in high school either--the good poetry that you find on your own and almost moves you to tears when you read it. I don't know how else to describe it. It was the most tender, flavorful steak that I can ever remember eating. I've eaten at a lot of nice steakhouses in this town, but Craftsteak has set the bar pretty damn high for those that like to enjoy a nice piece of meat. (Seriously--Vegetarians... WTF???)
The wine we had with our main course was a Robert Mondavi Cabernet--1993, I believe (no, I didn't write anything down or take any pictures). Again, whoever was picking out the wine was doing an excellent job, and perfect harmony between food and wine was achieved.
As you can imagine, it took us quite awhile to work our way through the main course, but once we did, they let us digest a bit before the final course. It started off with a glass of some of the sweetest wine I've ever had. Not sweet in a bad way, but it was a super-premium Sauternes wine. I wish I could remember the vintage and the winery, but CoolP informed me that if we were buying it by the glass, it would likely be $50+ per glass. While we were drinking that, I got an education about 'botrytis', or noble rot, where the grapes have to be harvested at exactly the right time or the entire vintage is lost. But when they get it right, oh man, do they ever get it right. It was like nothing I've ever tasted before. Again, I was amazed at how much I could enjoy a glass of 'dessert wine'.
But before we got too deep into the wine-freak forest, they brought out our final course--dessert. We had two different types of ice cream (butter pecan was one, can't remember the other), two types of sherbet, freshly sliced pineapple and tangerine, a lemon tart, and a liquid chocolate cake that we immediately renamed 'the cure for PMS', as it was very rich and very girly.
We nibbled on everything, not finishing anything but the sherbet, and when we were done, we both agreed that we were perfectly satisfied--not so full that we felt like we needed a nap and a new pair of pants, but certainly finished eating.
It was one of the most incredible meals I've ever eaten, and certainly one of the most memorable. Everything was prepared just right, and there wasn't a single hitch in the service.
But that kind of experience doesn't come cheap. We basically went top-of-the-line all the way around the menu, and for the two of us, with tip, the bill came to $600.
No, it's not an everyday meal--it's definitely a special occasion destination. But was it worth the price? Absolutely. The food and wine were both exceptional, and the service was professional without being stuffy. We actually conversed with our waitress at several points throughout the meal, and she was just as friendly as could be, and obviously concerned that we were enjoying every aspect of our visit.
We didn't time it, but for a tasting menu, it moved along at a pretty good pace. I'd say we were out of there in less than two hours. But damn, was it ever a good two hours!
Once we got out of Craftsteak, our evening's buffoonery was just beginning. The plan was to go find a good place to hole up and smoke a couple of Cuban cigars, drink some cocktails, and tell stories--pretty much the ideal night-off activity for me. We made our way over to the Rouge lounge, grabbed a couch in the corner, and proceeded to make friends with the incredibly hot cocktail waitress.
For my first round, I went with the old Vegas standard--a Bombay Sapphire martini, while CoolP went back to his pear-flavored potato juice. One time through was enough for me, and after that I was back to my old reliable Captain & Coke. But we had some fine Cuban cigars to smoke, and we spent at least another hour--maybe more--chilling out, laughing it up, and just relaxing, basking in the experience of a perfect Vegas evening.
After five rounds or so, and the cigars were reduced to stubby piles of ashes, we decided that a walk over to the Tropicana would do us good. By that time, we were good and liquored up, so the combination of actually getting up off the couch and getting some fresh cool night air seemed to give us our second wind. Of course, we were silly-drunk by that time, and the immediate and obvious contrast from the high-rent MGM to the low-rent Tropicana really tickled us--we made quite the entrance to the Trop.
We wanted to play some Pai Gow, but they only have one table at the Trop, and it was full of angry-looking extras from a Jackie Chan movie. So we moved on and parked ourselves at a $10 blackjack shoe. We started out pretty damn good, and I was up about $50 at one point, but they changed the dealer and it went downhill pretty quick.
Since the cocktail service was spotty, and I didn't want to take a beating at the table, I offered to just go to the bar and buy our next round.
Little did I know that I had to run the gauntlet to do so.
For those of you unfamiliar with the main pit at the Tropicana, the tables nearest the front door are also very close to a short corridor with four elevators in it. On the other side of that corridor is a good-sized bar and a lounge with live music. But between the elevators and the bar, there are two rows of slot machines, and that's dangerous waters. In them swim the most aggressive hookers in all of Las Vegas. Walking through there the first time, I got no less than four propositions in less than thirty seconds. While at the bar, waiting for the bartender, I got two more. Once I got my beers and headed back, I got two more propositions, along with one gal who literally jumped on me, hung on to my neck, told me to take her upstairs right now!, and then straight up grabbed me directly in the junk. Of course, I was so drunk that I was laughing pretty hard, and since I wasn't 20 feet away from our blackjack table, the game game to a stop and everyone else was laughing along
My new 'girlfriend' kept grabbin' at my package, saying I wanna get me some of this!, so I responded the only way I knew how. I said, If you can find it, you can have it..., which pretty much brought the whole table down in a bout of laughter. But there was some sort of invisible dog fence around the pit, and the working girls couldn't come within ten feet or so. So once I escaped, I was pretty safe. But I complimented the pit boss on the work ethic of his lineup--they were some pretty persistent ho's.
We divided our time between watching our cards and watching the business propositions taking place, and we all cheered when some 70-year old dude picked out the hottest one and headed for the door. Being obnoxious drunks, we had to shout our approval at him, but the line that just killed the entire pit was Grandpa's gonna try to shove an oyster into the piggybank! I thought CoolP and the dealer were both going to pass out from laughing so hard.
We played blackjack and laughed it up for about an hour or so, then headed over to the Pai Gow tables. I got crushed, but CoolP played an adrenalin hand for $250 and squeaked out a win to end the session. After that, we thought it might be safe to go play some video poker and listen to the band, so we ran the gauntlet one more time.
Nope--those girls have a 24/7 operation going, so we got approached over and over again. Some stopped to chat, some just came out firing like a used-poontang salesman, and some were more subtle, asking for a light and such. We actually chatted with a few, but one of them was quite memorable. She come over and asked me if I wanted to play video poker with her. I said Why not, sit down and have a drink with us!
She declined, saying that she doesn't drink.
I asked her what kind of girl would hang out in a casino at 2:00 in the morning and not drink.
The underage kind, she told me.
Doh! I guess hanging out and selling your ass to strangers is cool, but having a beer is a no-no. Again, who knew?
Since she couldn't sit at the bar with us, she moved along and the ho-train kept rolling by. At some point, between all the working girls and the rum drinks, CoolP hit four of a kind for a cool $800. Dinner is paid for!, he announced. Of course, when the ladies saw him cashing out for several Benjamins with the bartender, it was like chumming for sharks. We were immediately the center of attention, but we kept them at bay pretty well.
I have to hand it to them, the workin' girls at the Trop had their shiat wired pretty tight. They knew their boundaries, what they could get away with in the casino, and they have the skank telegraph with all of their 'girlfriends' around town telling each other which casinos the vice cops have been spotted in.
It was actually rather fascinating to see how they ran their business. And certainly more educational that plain old Spot The Hooker. Hell, you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting one in that place, so spotting them wasn't the issue--declining them politely was the challenge. Seriously, I never thought I'd ever say no to that much cootchie in my life. I kinda felt like I was in the b-list Playboy Mansion--the chicks weren't quite as hot as at the real Mansion, the surroundings weren't nearly as nice, and there was definitely an air of seediness about it. But all you needed was a pulse, a room key, and a few bucks, and all the freaky freaky you wanted was yours for the taking.
Anyhow, at some point CoolP produced a couple of bottles of water, and I knew that our adventure was winding down. It was getting pretty damn late, and to avoid the hangovers, we decided to get some greasy food in us. So we downed the water, said goodnight to the bartender and all the working girls, and headed for the cafe. They had a $5.95 chicken fried steak and eggs special going, so we indulged. It wasn't nearly as good as the Peppermill, and the cafe was about as empty the Keno lounge, too. So we got in and out of there pretty quickly.
We settled the tab, and we said goodnight. I left CoolP to fight his way to the elevator on his own, and I made my way back over to MGM Grand.
I was wandering through, with my original $50 gambling stake still in my pocket, so I decided to sit down at a $10 shoe and make some magic happen before going home. I won a few bets, and before I knew it, I had an extra hundred bucks in front of me. Getting too tired to see straight, I bet the whole hundred at once, and got a twenty against a dealer nine. Of course, the jerkoff at third base decided that it would be the perfect time to split his fours. He got an ace, doubled, and ended up with 15 on one hand, got a fourteen on the second hand and stood.
The dealer then proceeded to make a five-card 21, where he would've busted, robbing me of my winnings for the night, a $200 swing. I believe an expletive was uttered, and I headed for the valet. It was freezing cold, and breezy, but I didn't have to wait long. I was home in record time.
Rob was still up, so I gave him the rundown on the night's activities, and he told me about his night at work. Oh my god do I ever feel sorry for him--brothaman stepped out of the flea frying pan and into the flea fire. But we stayed up, watched an episode of Jeopardy, and I finally called it a night. But instead of going to bed, I stayed up to write this for you folks, because I care. I'm a giver.
As it turns out, CoolP has already slept off the ill effects of last night's buffoonery, and has sent me an email asking if I want an Eiffel Tower full of margaritas for breakfast. Just like with the hookers, I politely declined. But we might be having dinner at Grimaldi's tonight. If I can get some sleep.
I may have another story to tell in 24 hours.
Until then, peace out, y'all!
Mikey
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