Previously:
Are You Lookin’ at Me?
With the arrival of boss Bob and fellow traveler Russell, so begins the actual work of checking out what’s new in Vegas this year. However, first things first: Steak!
One of the great things about working for Bob is that he loves him some meat. With close to two decades of Las Vegas research under his belt (quite literally), Bob knows where to go for cow-flesh. Perhaps surprisingly, one of the better values in Vegas for good prime rib--Bob’s favorite cut--is Sir Galahad’s in the otherwise execrable Excalibur. You have to plunge through the RenFaire hell of the casino to get to the steakhouse. But assuming you survive the costumed prancing lords and mincing ladies (and/or mincing lords/prancing ladies), the medieval timbers and armor of the restaurant seem stately by comparison. This isn’t the $6 loss leader where the beef tastes like shoe leather. Prices are reasonable, service is very good, and the wine list complements the meat to put you into a carnivorous stupor well before you contemplate the Yorkshire pudding. Elegant it’s not, but the place works perfectly as a protein infusion to sustain us through the coming days.
Plus, it’s right next to the kingdom’s best fudge! Huzzah!
Check out this scary electricity warning monster. Such details keep you alive during the more tedious aspects of guidebook research. Our modus operandi calls for Russell and myself to do hotel work in the mornings and afternoons. Bob goes off on his own to meet with his regular contacts and to see a few things personally. Then the three of us rendezvous for dinner, breaking again afterwards for show reviews and nightclub profiling.
Hotel work is one of the more mind-numbing jobs in updating our travel guides. Generally it involves checking out every new hotel, any hotels that have changed, expanded, or renovated, and any property we haven’t evaluated in a couple years. Fortunately, Vegas is relatively compact (compared to, say, the hotel warrens around Disney World). We focus on the Strip and downtown, with a few outlying places (such as the swank Ritz-Carlton on Lake Las Vegas).
Our room evaluations are pretty straightforward, and we’ve found it’s more efficient to evaluate rooms unannounced (usually while they’re being cleaned) rather than deal with publicity flacks. This year there only a handful of big-casino hotel rooms to evaluate, but there are lots of , shall we say, “economy” hotels. Joy! One particular low-rent establishment has changed its name, but not its power to disgust. The overwhelming miasma of rug shampoo in the halls is in turn overwhelmed by something infinitely worse: The stench indicates a succession of hotel guests have gorged on coffee, bacon, and pancakes in the attached diner, then gone back to their rooms, taking time to fart copiously in the elevator. And of course the elevator moves very, very slowly between floors. By the time we get to the fourth floor, I can almost taste the tropical-berry syrup.
Fortunately, hotel work only takes us about three days. Our show-review schedule means I’m occasionally left to kill time between engagements. Here we have the deceptively homey Cowtown Boots (it's a regional chain) across from the Las Vegas Hilton, with a chunk of the Riviera (and their prime rib special) in the background. Took this while waiting for a pickup (Russell had the car) after seeing The Fab Four, a Beatles impression show. Was it good? I suppose it was as good as any Beatles impression show could be. By far the best thing about it was that the impressionists (sorry, “tribute artists”) played all their own instruments, and were quite good in that respect. Otherwise, I was just reminded how interminable “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” really is.
I actually enjoy doing nightclub reviews. I’m not much into dance clubs as a civilian, but I like the safari aspect of visiting them as a reviewer. This is OPM at Caesar’s Palace. A decent place, I decide, and surprisingly popular when we go early considering it’s tucked away in the Forum Shops. I applaud the trend of installing multiple rooms, allowing patrons to choose between rabid dance fever, chillin’ to a more downbeat DJ, or conversatin’ at tables.
One place I was particularly curious about was Ice, a new “meta-lounge” (last year, the buzzword was “ultra-lounge”). Ice is unusual in that it’s a standalone club not attached to a casino. It’s quite large, with lots of different rooms and sub-areas. The various spots have different décor, but in the dim light and strobes and music, the vibe is much the same. There is an upstairs (and largely overlooked) balcony lounge that provides excellent eyelines on the dance floor below. Excepting the mookish doormen, the staff are all extremely hot specimens of both genders, often overshadowing the patrons in fact.
One of Ice’s hype-points is its excellent sound system and DJ setup. I have no idea if it’s really worth a damn, but it did sound good, and it was impressive to see about twelve guys all fiddling with various machines to make happy noise.
Russell enjoys a cigarillo at Ice. If you look closely, you can almost see his soul escaping.
A close-up of the go-go quintet at Ice. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Another room at Ice. I think this was called the “S&M Room” or something, as there were occasional dancers clad in leather. I was often distracted by the trippy bubble lights, though.
A quick drive-by snap of the pirate battle outside Treasure Island. This free show-thing got a substantial revamp as part of Treasure Island abandoning their family-friendly vibe and getting all sexed up. Instead of British vs. pirates, the show is now pirates vs. sexy babes. And instead of the British attacking the pirate town and getting sunk, now the pirates attack Sexy Babe Island and get sunk. But since the pirates are then just stranded on Sexy Babe Island, it’s not really a bad thing.
Some of the eponymous fellows at Nine Fine Irishmen, a bar we visited at New York-New York. A cool place actually, especially if you’re into Irish music, into Irish people, or into people who are into Irish music or people. Or beer.
I have something of a problem with Irish music, unfortunately, especially the dee-dee-deedly-deedly-deedly-dee variety. To me, it’s sort of like someone beating you in the head with a ballpeen hammer, and when you complain, they try to help by beating you faster.
Of course, getting to the bottom of several Guinesses didn’t do much to sharpen my senses or appreciation for Irish tunes.
Continuing our cross-cultural love tour, we visited the Hofbrau Haus Las Vegas, a sad franchising of the Munich landmark. Herr Russell is not impressed, obviously, and neither were the rest of us (our dining critic will be deploying a savage review, I expect). The food was bland and free of Teutonic character, despite the influence of at least four on-site Bavarians. The beer was pretty good though, and did its job reliably.
In the main frenzy of our work-week, I evaluated about 40 hotels and 10 shows. Some of those shows really, really sucked, either in my personal opinion or in my reviewer’s opinion, or both. I still don’t give much credibility to the cringe-inducing hypnosis shows, of which I saw two back-to-back in the same room at the Sahara. Longtime Vegas magician Steve Wyrick has really gone to seed in his downsized Aladdin show, screwing up his card tricks and deploying a laughable “Crane of Death” prop trick. I also got to take in the painful Lord of the Dance at the Venetian for yet another dose of Irish music. Variety/showcase shows remain the big trend, and I generally approve; it’s easier to enjoy a sampler, since you know any crappy acts inflicted upon you will only have the stage for a few minutes.
There was also a small amount miscellaneous investigation, such as finding a good, sneaky place to park in the afternoon so you can walk over to the discount ticket outlets on the Strip. And there was some newsy excitement as well, like the guy who bet his life savings on roulette, or the blackout at the Bellagio (the latter made our hotel evaluations more difficult, as relocated guests packed the other hotels and made them hard to sneak into for evaluations). Plus, I got to watch Russell waste a few bucks in slot machines and then get schooled at blackjack, marking his first ever gambling losses! Good for you, Rusty. (I broke even at blackjack, by the way.)
Next: The Work-Play.
I love that picture of the "Taste the Best Fudge in the Kingdom!" sign + Russell's oddly predatorial stance, as if he's cha-cha-ing his way into the establishment. But is the sign meant to be pointing at him, or at the target of his reach? Which implication is more disturbing?
Posted by: s.h. | April 28, 2004 at 07:59 AM
I'm not sure what's going through Russell's fudge-addled mind in that photo. I told him to pose beneath the sign so that the arrow was pointing at him, and this was the result. Is he grasping after the fudge? Does he seek to destroy the fudge? It's a mystery for the ages.
Posted by: chris m | April 28, 2004 at 11:38 AM
I thought perhaps the idea was that he IS the fudge. Glad to find out that's not the case.
Posted by: s.h. | April 28, 2004 at 12:12 PM
Perhaps he seeks to become one with the fudge. What Would Fudge Do?
Posted by: chris m | April 28, 2004 at 12:30 PM
Ask Judy Blume.
Posted by: s.h. | April 28, 2004 at 03:26 PM
For the prices at Sir Galahad, you COULD have eaten at Mr. B's or 3950! Galahad's DID have escargot, though. Still, it was only slightly less pricey than the venerable Antoine's in New Orleans, which is possibly one of the best places to eat snails in the country! I thought Las Vegas was supposed to be a bargain?!?
I see you have not learned your lesson about German food since that evening at Kolb's so long ago. IT'S SUPPOSED TO be bland! German food IS heavy stews and the like! A reviewer of German food should at least like that type of fare a bit. Asking someone who's been raised on char-grilled American beef to review goulash is like asking classical music buff to review a Limp Bizkit concert...
Did the Guiness make the music better? It's a tolerable drink, at least!
JH
Posted by: John M. Hicks | April 28, 2004 at 03:40 PM
It wasn't a question of beef vs. goulash, believe me. And the one dish they did well at Hofbrau Haus - the sauerkraut - was good *because* it wasn't oversalted like it typically is in American versions. No, the problem was that all the sausage (we got two different variety platters) was bizarrely too lean and too think-skinned, in that all the sausage tasted approximately the same and all had the internal consistency of Oscar Mayer hot dogs. And I like hot dogs, by the way, but brat and wurst should have crispy skin and tangy, meaty filling. Mmmmm. filling.
The Guinness made the music easier to tolerate, in the sense that it dulled my brain to the pain ...
Posted by: chris m | April 28, 2004 at 04:06 PM
Ah. Yeah, Oscar Meyer is what we 'merickan's 'r sposed t' feed ur yung 'uns. Tasteless, to be precise. Good analogy! A good brat should taste BEEFY. The kraut sounds intriguing. Most "authentic" krauts I've been offered taste like vinegar, to me.
Lean sausage is an abomination! Why not go veggie, if that's the issue? Sausage is supposedly a way to salvage the greatness of meat for the masses. It was never meant to be lean. Rather, it encompassed the quick energy of animal fat; that is so necessary for a life of manual labor. Of course, the 20th century has changed all that...
JH
Posted by: John M. Hicks | April 28, 2004 at 10:10 PM