Thanks for reading.

This blog is dead. Thanks for reading. Find me at www.brockradke.com.

12.13.2010

INTERVIEW: Scott Conant

Scott Conant is executive chef at Scarpetta and D.O.C.G. at The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas.

So you are days away from opening in Las Vegas...
I can't believe it. It's crazy. I've had my team on the ground and I've been in L.A. lately, because we just opened in Beverly Hills. But I can't believe it is here.

We know Scarpetta was originally slated to be in Fontainebleau, and now of course, it's at the Cosmopolitan. How long have you been looking at Las Vegas?
Yes, I had a deal with Fontainebleau, and when that fell by the wayside we had the opportunity to talk to Cosmopolitan. When I was talking with the CEO (John Unwin) it became clear that I would be crazy not to do business with this guy. He's a great partner and he's very passionate about his product and the brands he aligns himself with. He seemed really enthusiastic about having Scarpetta, and when we saw the size and space, we thought it was too big and we were worried about losing the soulful aspect of what Scarpetta is all about for me. This will be the fifth restaurant. We have a product we know works, and we really like to focus on the positive aspects of it moving into any new location. So we decided to cut it in half, and put the D.O.C.G. wine bar in there. Now we've got 150 seats, which is manageable, and we will have two brands there. And opening in Vegas, yeah, it's something we've been working with for a while now.

How do you feel about the buzz that's been building for this resort? Cosmopolitan talk is becoming something of a phenomenon since it's another big, new place on the Strip opening in these rough times for Vegas.
It feels like there has been a little buzz. Developing things has been a very exciting experience, getting ready for Vegas. Maybe the best part has been spending time with (the other Cosmopolitan) chefs and restaurateurs, picking each other's brains. It feels like a fluid concept. I think the customer experience will be a great one here. And among the different restaurants, there is a real sense of camaraderie and community. With everything that's been going on in Vegas, it is a little scary to open a new resort. There is a little fear attached. But we all feel like we're in this together, we want this resort to win.

What is the concept behind D.O.C.G.?
The name D.O.C.G. (Vino a Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita) in Italian stands for the highest quality in wine, so that's the reason for the name. It's guaranteed quality. What will you eat there? Pizza, baked pastas, fun stuff. It's not meant to take itself too seriously. It is there to make people happy, and not everyone wants to go to a high-end restaurant every night. It's about creating something that has value for the customer, something that may be lacking in Vegas. I saw what Todd English did with his pub (at CityCenter) and that excited me.

Will Vegas' Scarpetta be different from New York's?
I always say there's really something that works about it, and I'd be crazy to change it. There will be plenty of things that will add some Vegas style, like the view of the Bellagio fountains, which is very cool. There will be a chef's table and two private dining rooms. It looks exciting, it looks Vegas, the colors are a little different, but the overall feel and soul of the space is the same. Each location of the restaurant has that, and it's all about the quality of the staff I surround myself with. It's not me, it's we. We have a great team, and the soul comes from the knowledge of the people around us. It works. So far we've been able to really capture it in different locations. A lot of the feel comes from the rustic elements in the design, woods and leathers. It's kind of urban Milan meets rustic.

Italian cuisine on the Strip is a very crowded field. How will these restaurants set themselves apart?
There's a lot of great Italian restaurants in Vegas. Our product is a little more unique. What we do is offer those modern components without sacrificing full flavor and approachability, and that balance kind of sets us apart. There's also a benevolence between Italian restaurateurs, which helps. But yes, there are dishes we are known for that set us apart, definitely the spaghetti with tomato and basil, which seems to follow me around quite a bit. Also the polenta. These sound like simple dishes. But that's what it means, what Scarpetta means is to grab a piece of bread and sop up what's on the plate. That's the kind of satisfying experience we want customers to have.

Is there a focus among the restaurants at Cosmopolitan to attract locals down to the Strip?
Our goal is to be inclusive. We don't want people to feel like this is a place you go to only once in a while. We have very approachable dishes on both menus. Scarpetta is fluid enough that it could be a special occasion dinner, but the food is not excessively rich, so you could go there once a week. I want to make the prices sensitive to the market, too, not just to tourists but also to people who are here and want to go out and enjoy themselves. I feel like that is another goal of the resort.

You are all over the place, on TV, doing cookbooks, opening restaurants left and right. What else is coming up?
Knock on wood, Bevery Hills is going great. Really our main goal is to always make these restaurants the best they can possibly be, to surround myself with the best team members and make sure everyone has the same goals in mind: to make people happy, make great food, and keep the ambience in line with the experience and the menu. That always requires effort, and to stay relevant on top of all that is pretty tough. I have had a good share of success but that doesn't mean we can't get better all the time. I do give a lot of effort and I love what I do, and I have so much fun teaching younger cooks and chefs as well as learning from all the people we work with, and implementing their experiences into what we do on a daily basis. Ultimately, a better customer experience is the goal.

11.30.2010

shh. nittaya's secret kitchen.

Nittaya's Secret Kitchen is, I believe, poised to become the next great neighborhood restaurant in Vegas. I believe this because the food is really good, but here are some other reasons:
1. Thai food is still pretty hot right now. We all agree there is very good Thai food to be found in Las Vegas. And this chef is cooking her native cuisine, and she's already been operating two more straight-ahead Thai-Chinese restaurants, so we know she knows what she's doing.
2. Nittaya's is on the corner of Lake Mead and Rampart. This neighborhood and the people in it are getting a little older, but there are still plenty of folks nearby that will get behind a restaurant with great, unique food.
3. The owners of Nittaya's have very wisely placed the word "tapas" on their menu and signage. It doesn't really matter if these tasty small plates are tapas or if they're not. It only matters if they're tasty. They are.

The "world famous" spinach salad (pictured) already has been written and talked about, partly because they push it so hard at Nittaya's and partly because it's delicious. Individual spinach leaves are fried tempura-style until crispy and piled on a plate with what is basically a larb salad, ground chicken, veggies and cashews in a spicy lime dressing. Stack some of this tangy goodness on these crazy, crunchy greens and you've got yourself a signature dish. But the truth is, of the many dishes I've sampled at Nittaya's, this is one of the least inspiring. And it's really good.

Nittaya's lettuce wraps are the best version I've tasted, and curry puffs are another great appetizer, a flavorful explosion wrapped inside a delicate pastry. While you're eating fried green things, try the panko-breaded avocado. The two other salad options I've enjoyed both blow the fun spinach dish away: beef flank steak salad, which also incorporates that spicy lime dressing over seared beef and fresh garden veggies, and the must-have ginger chicken salad, tender meat, red onions, cilantro and peanuts absolutely drenched in ginger. It's a mouth shocker, and very addictive.

Next time I dine here, I need to get at the entrees section. The wonderful curries and rice dishes have prevented me from sampling these main plates. (I did enjoy a simple plate of grilled chicken thighs with a sweet chili sauce, and some decent spicy catfish.) The green curry, full of basil, was impressive, until we got to the red stuff, spicy and coconut creamy. The pineapple fried rice here is served in a half-pineapple, only adding to the sweetness. It's great, but I also like the spicy basil and green curry fried rice, the latter of which is stacked with Chinese broccoli, onions and egg and takes on a new texture thanks to the coconut in the curry.

Nittaya's is a small place, and it will need to grow. A chef who is doing these things is cooking for herself, to have fun, and to building something. The neighborhood will appreciate that, and they will keep coming back. Different is good, and we could use some more of that around here.

11.14.2010

our spanish dynasty.

(Update: Firefly has closed its downtown location.)

Is it completely unnecessary to write about one of the most popular restaurants in Las Vegas? Yes, probably. But perhaps the continuing development of Firefly, which opened its third location in the Summerlin area in October, is more significant than it seems.

Actually, it seems like a pretty big deal. The new restaurant, on West Sahara Avenue in a building formerly occupied by the Tex-Mex chain Z-Tejas, has been packed from the moment the doors were unlocked. Why? Because those of us that live out in the westside suburbs have been making the trip to the original Firefly on Paradise (pic top) for years. Until now, there have been no Spanish tapas restaurants in the well-populated and hungry Summerlin neighborhoods. When chef/owner John Simmons and his crew opened a second location in the Plaza downtown last year, it could have been a risky move. But it wasn't, because Vegas' small but loyal population of downtown hipsters was already in love with the original Paradise location for its tasty and cheap small bites and refreshing sangria. Consider the fact that the struggling Plaza temporarily shuttered its hotel operations earlier this year, and yet Firefly continues to draw patrons to the west end of Fremont Street, and you can see the powerful pull this food has on Vegas.

What's most impressive about Firefly's success is its humble origins. Today, this cuisine is one of the major trends in American eating. There are maybe a dozen Spanish tapas joints around town, and many, many more that use the shared small plate concept as the foundation for experimentation. Julian Serrano in Aria is easily one of the most popular restaurants in CityCenter and even earned a shout-out in Esquire's annual best new restaurant piece, and it's a matter of weeks before superfamous chef Jose Andres opens the Vegas version of his award-winning Jaleo tapas bar in the new Cosmopolitan. And while those two probably will be the best in town, Firefly's three spots will be tied for third. I have eaten at all three Fireflys and from restaurant to restaurant, the consistency is uncanny. Those perfect, crispy chicken croquetas and addictive bacon-wrapped dates are as good as you want them to be, whether you're gazing through the glass bubble downtown or laughing at the drunken cougars in Summerlin.

There are only a handful of Vegas restaurants -- ones actually born in this city and not imported -- as universally beloved as Firefly. One of them is Lotus of Siam, the much-hyped Thai eatery which also expanded recently -- to New York City. If you never thought you'd see the day Las Vegas -- transient, cultureless, dying Las Vegas, they say -- would send some culinary representation to the greatest restaurant city in the world, you're not alone. But it has happened, even if it seemed like a longshot. When Simmons opened his original Firefly in 2003 near the Hard Rock Hotel, nobody in Vegas had ever heard of tapas. Now we can't get enough. That seemed like a longshot, too, but turns out Firefly was ahead of its time. Aren't you glad we caught up?

10.30.2010

INTERVIEW: Alex Stratta


Alex Stratta is was executive chef at Alex and Stratta in Wynn Las Vegas. He previously operated the former Renoir in the Mirage.

 What is new at Alex?
Alex Stratta: About two months ago we changed the menu format a little, bringing in the new market menus. So that makes our format into three different categories: the tasting menu, the prix fixe and then market menus, which are limited offerings. We made it so that instead of swinging between a whole bunch of stuff, we're really focusing specifically on the market, that's what's driving everything. And the cherry on top is that we change it every day or so depending on the markets in L.A. I met a lady who’s a forager. She's been working for 20 years hooking up small growers and farmer's markets up and down the California coast, really finding the best of the best. It's stuff you've never seen before. It's stuff I’ve never seen before, like fingerling limes, which are black on the outside, and the inside is like little pearls of caviar. It's a special citrus, and we're finding stuff like this, so exclusive it's basically grown in someone's backyard. So we're finding ways to feature things like those. We get a couple days advance to plan when we get the list of what's coming. It's really motivating my chefs and helping the development of this program, which is all about creating an exceptional and unique experience.

Working with farmer's markets is not necessarily new to Vegas restaurants, although it seems to be catching on quickly on the Strip. It sounds like these market menus are a little more exclusive.
It's definitely ultra-specific. We are one of her few accounts. It gives us the flexibility of doing whatever we want and changing whatever we want to. We can take ingredients like these and either keep it simple or put them in an unusual combination, maybe with a rare type of seafood. We can find incredible cherries from one farm, endive from another, and maybe you'll have them with grouse from Scotland. Whatever we are working with, we are keeping it within the scope of the cuisine. We don’t veer too much from basic French and Italian tradition. I will introduce Asian product but it's always executed with classical technique and the same thought process. Every chef says "I put my own spin on it," but really what we're talking about is getting back to basics, getting the best ingredients in their season done as simply as possible.

Has that thought process or mission changed over the years, or did you change your mission when you came from Renoir to create Alex at Wynn Las Vegas?
That's an interesting question. I think the mission has become even more solidified. When I first came to Vegas to work with Mr. Wynn at the Mirage, what I wanted to do was the finest, high-end, European-style fine dining. I was talking about five stars, and he wasn’t very aware of that stuff. He was introduced quickly when his hotel got five stars. But I told him that’s what I wanted to do, and through the years we went through everything and really accomplished the goals we wanted to achieve. When I heard he was opening this hotel, I made a phone call and said, "If you are doing fine dining there, I’m your guy, I want to take this to the next level." And of course, we were speaking the same language. We both wanted to outdo ourselves. We needed a bigger, grander stage than Renoir. Alex provided that. We were off and running as soon as we opened in May, We got our five stars in September or October, just knocked it out of the park. I give the credit to the staff but also to Mr. Wynn’s commitment to what we were doing. It's just getting better and more refined now. Business is starting to pick up again. Everybody took a beating last year, especially in high end. It was a challenge. But luckily, we have the Wynn brand and that gives us opportunities. And I have a tremendous crew. Devin (Hashimoto, chef de cuisine at Alex) has been working with me for many years now, and he has developed his own style within what we do. The repertoire has grown to full, we work on ideas together, and the process unfolds naturally. It's great. It's so important to have other ideas, and when you have guys like this working with you, you can’t say no. The enthusiasm we have is just getting better. 

Is it difficult to maintain a balance between fine dining at Alex and the more casual Italian restaurant Stratta when both are on the same property? 
At first I tried the balance but I soon realized they are two different animals and have to be approached in completely different ways. My involvement, the basics of quality food and service, genuine hospitality and efficiency, all that is the exact same language. But as far as what we’re doing and why we’re doing it, what Alex means to the hotel and what Stratta means, there are two different dynamics. For me as restaurateur, as chef, it teaches me a lot. I'm still sticking to my basic fundamentals, focusing on ingredients and consistency. But as an entrepreneur, you're talking about a restaurant that does 12 million a year and 600 covers a day versus one that does 5 million at 70 or 80 covers a day. We have had times when we've done 70 covers at Alex and made as much as doing 500 at Stratta. But it's always about hospitality. For me, it’s the same passion.

Were you concerned with the transition from fine dining to the lower price point and different dynamic at the Italian restaurant?
I’ve worked in fine dining my whole career, and that’s what people are expecting when they come to my restaurants. For me, it was just showing flexibility, maybe a lighter side, and not taking myself too seriously as a chef. Not everything has to be this whole process of "let’s see what I can do to push myself to the fullest." What is it that people want to eat? What if I could create that place that would be the place go to with family if you just want a pizza? I think a chef has to have room for that in his repertoire. A lot of chefs are doing casual now, but I didn’t do it because of everybody else. It was an opportunity to show it's not all about foie gras and truffles all the time. Whether it's a coffee shop or fine dining, you have to have the basics in order to diversify and grow. I was executive chef at a hotel that ran nine restaurants, so I had that diversity in my background. I kinda wanted an Italian version of Alex at a little more casual level, but as we understand the guest, people like stuff they are familiar with, so let's do the best representation of that familiar food we can do. We came to a happy medium, and the place is incredibly successful.

Some Vegas chefs have a hard time finding that happy medium, being able to do what they need to do while still addressing the taste level of the guests. 
I certainly didn't think I'd ever be doing chicken alfredo pasta, but you know, I have no problem giving people what they want. Just do it well. I think it comes with maturity as a chef. And I get to have it both ways. I can get my kicks at Alex. They are two different worlds, and I'm proud of what we accomplish at both. I'm very proud of the service at Alex.

You've been in Las Vegas for 12 years now. What do you think is coming next?
On a micro level, I’d say more late night dining availability. A lot of places can look to the success and formula at the hotels that have that energy between nightclub and restaurant, like we have here at Wynn and Encore. Stratta is open late and does very well with the late-night crowd.

You probably have not had the time to explore restaurants at CityCenter, and now we've got the Cosmopolitan opening soon.
Citycenter, I have not been focused on at all. But I have twin 3-year-olds, so anything outside of work is, you know, headed that way. But I do know the food and beverage director at Cosmopolitan, who came up through ranks with me. I know what they’re trying to do over there, and I think that team is going to be very strong. They have a very organic approach to the whole thing. They're bringing in Jose Andres and Scott Conant. They are both the real deal and they will put out great restaurants. They’ll do well. I don’t know about the hotel, traffic, flow, all those things I couldn’t predict. I'm sure they’re on pins and needles. It's a good time to open and a bad time to open. Without a lot of people coming through, you can really get your wheels going, but you're not going to hit your numbers. The short term thinking would freak you out, but long term, it’s a good thing. You can pace yourself, and you can change things quickly. But I think Cosmopolitan will be a nice addition, a complement.

So where's the dining hot spot for twin 3-year-olds?
You would think we wouldn't be able to go eat at a lot of places, but they’re very adventurous. They eat sushi, and we go to Mexican restaurants.

You're kinda the Mexican food guru now. Since Las Vegas Weekly did a feature on your love for Los Antojos, you've got every foodie and critic loving that place.
Isn't that funny? I went to talk to that lady shortly after that happened, and I told her, "I wish I got that much press for my restaurant!" I feel like the pope when I go in there. I’m so happy for them, though. I suppose it is still a hole in the wall, but their food is just done really well. Actually it was introduced to me by a busser. I haven’t gone in a while.

So now you are in charge of finding the next great Vegas hole in the wall. Give me a good pick.
There are so many great ones in Chinatown, Raku, Monta. I'll tell you, I think I might have been to Pho So 1 five times in a week. It's great, very consistent. It's always good, and the service is great. And you know, you can’t even cook a meal for yourself for six bucks. It's amazing how low the prices are. I get the number 14. Just go and tell them you want the one Chef Alex likes. It's got the tripe and the tendon and all the good stuff chefs like to eat.


9.14.2010

the red rock resort belongs to me.


Food is important to most everyone, but we all create our own connections to the experience of eating. Few of the most memorable meals of my life have been break-the-bank, once-in-a-lifetime gourmet adventures. Those are usually enjoyable. But the combination of the right environment, the right food and the right company makes for a powerful memory, and in my experience it’s been near impossible to engineer such a situation.

But I’ve done it, at least once. It was a Friday night in December. After a day of drinking and grazing on snacks at home, it was time for a late supper at T-bones Chophouse, a swanky if unfortunately named steakhouse at the Red Rock Resort. We began at the bar, slurping martinis and chewing on pretzel bread as friends began to arrive. I ordered dinner: the signature chopped salad, a shrimp cocktail, a petite filet mignon and garlic mashed potatoes. More friends arrived, and we slid from the shiny bar top to a group of high tables in the restaurant’s lounge area, setting up between the long double-sided bar and tall glass doors that lead to a beautiful patio overlooking the resort’s pool.

More arrived, soon we were all drunk, and our group had officially taken over T-bones. This was a gathering of our closest people, siblings, friends from out of town, friends stretching beyond a decade. It was the night before we got married. Drinks were flowing freely and there was an easy happiness floating around, and I seemed to be the only one eating. Somehow that made everything taste better. I took down the chopped salad after my almost-wife munched a couple bites before deciding to focus on liquid nourishment. The shrimp cocktail was quite fine and delivered in a block of oddly shaped ice; my brother examined it after stealing a shrimp and ended up breaking the thing. I continued to share, forking a tender bite of beef into the mouth of almost-wife’s best friend from back home in Colorado. She requested another, this time with a little more of the peppery red wine reduction sauce. I was happy to help. I was happy to be surrounded by my favorite people in one of my favorite places, and enjoy a simple, classic steakhouse meal. That doesn’t mean this restaurant is average, and definitely not mediocre. T-bones is one of the better steak joints in Vegas, which may be hard to believe considering there are so many, and so many expensive ones on the Strip. But know the food is almost always the same at these places, and a little extra luxury, creativity and convenience goes a long way. I’ve also had a terrific Scottish salmon at T-bones, and we returned for an anniversary dinner and feasted on a supreme foie gras appetizer, another steak with a gorgonzola crust, au gratin potatoes and some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.

The Red Rock Resort is my favorite hotel-casino in Las Vegas, and I’m not alone on this one. A great steakhouse is just the beginning of a solid, occasionally spectacular restaurant lineup. The hotel rooms, casino design, bars, pools and lounge spaces are equal to or greater than what we see at the big properties on Las Vegas Boulevard, and the whole place has a casual, easy-access feel that creates exactly the kind of comfort I desire. It feels like it’s too nice, yet welcoming. When I check in at the Red Rock for a completely unnecessary fake vacation weekend, when I waddle into the fancy, central, rose-red Lucky Bar in tacky green-and-white swimming shorts and order a gin-and-soda, when I cap off the night before my wedding with a 3 a.m. stroll to the food court for a Fatburger with my almost-wife and two best friends from high school, I feel like I’m a bum who hit Megabucks. I feel like some bozo who lucked into some really sweet surroundings. And really, feeling like that is my objective. I don’t know if that’s the exact vibe the guys at Station Casinos were going for when they spent a billion dollars building this place, but that’s what they got. And I’m happy about it, and grateful.

Red Rock opened in the spring of 2006. It cost around $925 million. It resides in the heart of Summerlin, one of the country’s biggest master-planned communities and, up until this whole shitty economy stuff, the fastest growing suburban neighborhood anywhere. Red Rock marked Station Casinos’ next step up from the Green Valley Ranch Resort, another upscale neighborhood casino in another suburban community on the east side, in the city of Henderson. GVR opened with much excitement at the end of 2001, considered as the evolution of the neighborhood or off-Strip casino. (George Maloof’s Palms, famous for attracting celebrities, also opened that year and also was considered part of this new wave of hip joints beyond our most famous street.) Before the Green Valley resort, Station Casinos had upgraded and expanded its brand with the Texas Station (1995 in North Las Vegas), Sunset Station (1997 in Henderson) and Santa Fe Station (acquired in 2000 in northwest Vegas), all shiny, fancy casino-hotels with family-friendly amenities such as bowling lanes, food courts and movie theaters. These places became one-stop entertainment destinations for the thousands of families who had flooded the valley since the mid-1980s, places where the younger set could have fun while the adults would gamble. Their huge success built Station into a dynasty, a gaming company that would spar with and eventually overtake the other locals, Boyd and Coast, and join the conversation with the heavy hitters on the Strip. And when things were going great, brothers Frank and Lorenzo Fertitta, leaders of the Station family, decided to do something kinda crazy and build a new flagship, something that would rival those big dogs, only it would be way out west, in the shadows of the brilliant Red Rock Canyon. It would have a much more modern design, with rich colors borrowed from those vaulted desert mountains, chandeliers with millions of crystals, miles of onyx lining the walls, gold-leafed ceilings, and a shitload of other fancy stuff. It would have a giant casino with plenty of machines and tables, a massive sportsbook, and an intimidatingly cool high limit room. It would have awesome accommodations, unique penthouse suites, convention spaces, swimming pools, nightclubs, a movie theater and the nicest bowling lanes in Vegas. It would be the kind of place the Fertittas themselves would hang at, and so it was.

I’d like to write there will never be another place like the Red Rock Resort, that because of the recession that will forever change the way Las Vegas works, no one will ever spend many millions of dollars to build a supercasino in our neighborhoods. But it has happened. The $600 million Aliante Station opened in 2008 in an even more distant community, and at the southernmost tip of town, the billion-dollar M Resort came to life in 2009. In my world, those places don’t matter, because the Red Rock is mine. I grew up on the west side of the valley, I ran around the suburbs of Summerlin, and when I made my post-college return to Vegas in 1999, my ‘hood was still without a truly great place to play tourist, eat, drink and party. There were casinos: the Suncoast, and what is now the JW Marriott resort, living uneasily next to each other just off Summerlin Parkway. Both are an ill fit, a little low-rent. Then Red Rock came along and blew everything else away.

When the Station guys started thinking this over, design came first and food came second, and that’s right on the money. All those little (expensive) touches add up to create that too-nice vibe, and the details are everywhere. These are nicest movie theaters around. This is the nicest spa. These are the nicest bathrooms. This is the nicest hotel lobby around, especially because they don’t build hotel lobbies like this anymore, with grand circling staircases and a 30-foot-tall crystal chandelier hanging above the tiny lobby bar.

I’ve seen every type of hotel room and suite in the building, and I’m perfectly fine with the standard. It’s pretty badass: 42-inch plasma, Bose soundsystem with iPod dock, 15-inch LCD screens in the bathroom, one of the greatest beds of all time, and of course, robes and slippers. The colors are chocolate with some greens, oranges and reds, and your view is either the breathtaking canyon or the distant, shimmering Strip. But the suites get ridiculous, easily setting a new standard away from that Strip. Take a step up and you’ve got a couple 65-inch plasmas, big party-ready bars, private bedrooms, marble bathrooms with huge soaking tubs, all spread over about 2,500 square feet. If you manage to score one of the seven penthouse suites, you are a special person. Private elevator. The black, brown and blue one is called the One 80, because the view affords both the canyon and the Strip. The TV is only 103 inches. The sofa rotates. The green one is called the Canyon. It’s a bit smaller at 4,000 square feet. It has a private massage room. The white one has a pool table and two bedrooms, one of which has its own balcony and jacuzzi. The red one is Cherry, and it has survived the vomiting heathens of Rock of Love with Bret Michaels, season one. The shower is in the middle of the master bedroom, which seems about right. The TVs are not that big, but there is a 20-foot projection screen. The purple one is Lucky. There are more. Why are they here? So the Station guys can throw awesome parties up on the top floor? Unnecessary awesomeness is how you set new standards in Vegas. The centerpiece of it all is the “backyard” area. There is a large round swimming pool with a playful fountain in the middle, several smaller, rectangular pools branching away and a large shaded bar with blackjack tables and sexy cocktail servers. How can I describe a day at the Red Rock pool? It’s like you went to one of the hip hotels on the Strip and they didn’t let any assholes in. Even though marketing has tried to make money and douche it up out here, things have stayed relatively peaceful. Evidence: the Cherry nightclub closed down to make way for the more easygoing cabana club. Good move.

Food may have been ranked second in the grand scheme of things, but Red Rock’s restaurant offerings are definitely first among neighborhood casinos. Besides the exemplary T-bones, you have other standards that are quite serviceable (the Grand Cafe coffee shop, Cabo Mexican restaurant, Terra Rossa Italian restaurant, LBS burger joint, Yard House beer and food depot, and the Feast buffet), you have a miniaturized version of one of Vegas’ best deli-style restaurants right next to the sportsbook (the Bagel Cafe), and you have quite possibly the best casino food court of all time. Here’s the lineup: Fatburger, one of the best hamburger chains of all time; Capriotti’s, Vegas’ favorite sandwich shop gone global; the respectable fish tacos of Rubio’s; and then, you can’t win them all, so Villa Pizza, Panda Express, Ben & Jerry’s, Tropical Smoothie and Starbucks. Very formidable, all next door to the movies, bowling and bingo.

The best restaurant here is Hachi, billed as modern Japanese. It is criminally under looked in the local dining scene, reliably pitch-perfect and therefore more than deserving of my constant affectionate raves. The chef, who was recruited from New York specifically to open an off-Strip pan-Asian concept in Vegas (this is something that has never happened before) is Linda Rodriguez, a very nice lady from the Philippines who just happens to be the first woman to train under Nobu Matsuhisa. She has cooked in Brooklyn, Mexico City, London and Louisiana, and we are lucky to have her, and her partner/husband, Martin Swift. Their restaurant is edgy and awesome. Its main dining room is walled by a Murakami eyeball piece opposite a wispy, peaceful image of cherry blossom trees, and it feels good to eat sushi here. But the menu boasts so much more. Most people know Hachi for its LSD roll, with spicy shrimp and crab, tempura flakes and avocado, or its incredible 38 for Under $8 menu, which offers great small plates like veggie fried rice, spicy kabocha coconut soup, barbecued ribs and kushiyaki meat skewers for low prices. I love the four varieties in the sashimi sampler, especially the fluke tiradito, the perfect little square of braised short ribs on top of roasted apple puree, the kobe beef potstickers, the light, sweet crab salad with cilantro vinaigrette, and the tempura’d pumpkin. Everything is good here, creative, refreshing and delicious.

Hachi is my favorite place to eat at Red Rock, and my favorite place to drink is … still up for grabs. It might be that quiet, throwback lobby bar. Just upstairs, the amber Onyx Bar is a nice little nook, too. It’s exactly the kind of casino bar that is lacking in the other spots in our neighborhood, a comfortable place to sit and pay a few dollars too many for a good stiff drink while trying to talk your way into something you probably shouldn’t do. Maybe the best spot is back at T-bones, out on that nifty patio, sitting on a big circular couch swigging Hendricks muddled with cucumber and lime and making fun of the Summerlin cougars and their shiny-shirted husbands/male mistresses. It’s very nice out here, when things cool down at night and they’ve closed the pool for the day, and you could drink a little too much and start thinking about how nice it’d be to have a room tonight. It’s happened. When I visit the Red Rock now, and do stuff like this, I start thinking about living here. Permanent room service in my Presidential Suite … yeah, I don’t need the penthouse, I’ll stick to the one with his-and-hers bathrooms and just a 42-inch plasma behind the bar. That’s where I’ll have my final nightcap each evening, after my penultimate whisky in the lobby. Bagel Cafe for breakfast, then I’ll hit the pool. On a Tuesday. Fantasies are fun, but the reality is: this joint is 6 miles from my house, it’s one of the biggest and beautifullest resorts in Vegas, and it’s far more accessible than anything on the Strip. These are the reasons why it’s mine.

9.07.2010

the definitive vegas pizza.

One of my earliest Vegas food memories is munching on two slices of New York-style Verrazano Pizza, a tiny shop on North Rainbow Boulevard. It's pretty straight-ahead pizza, wide slices of cheesy, thin-crust goodness. The place was mostly oven, always hot as hell with a frequently broken soda machine, but located conveniently within a quick bike ride for an 11-year-old trying hard to get acclimated to desert life. There had been plenty of pizza before Verrazano, and even more after, but that slice was genre-defining. So it goes with childhood, no?

The original pizzerias of Las Vegas were all from New York. There were three: Villa Pizza started in 1976, Verrazano in 1978, and Metro Pizza in 1980. All three grew into multiple locations around the valley, some of which are still operating today, and many more similar and different pizza shops soon followed. For Carmine Vento, the man behind Villa, selling pizza by the slice turned into a mammoth operation, a national franchise he sold in 2000. Vento still works in the restaurant biz in Vegas, licensing his brand to some and operating others (Carmine's Pizza Kitchen). Verrazano is still around in various forms, perhaps adrift in a sea of pizzerias pitching the ubiquitous New York slice. And of course, we've got a new breed of pie in Vegas, gourmet coal-fired pizzas and certified Neapolitan pizzas and all kinds of stuff. I've been eating them. They're all delicious.

But if there's a pizza shop that is truly Vegas' own, it has to be Metro. It's not because this is the best in town, though it certainly needs to be part of that conversation. Metro Pizza is simply tied to this city in a way very few restaurants are, linked to the families and people who work and grow up in Las Vegas, connected to a community and culture that so many claim doesn't exist. I remember trips to Metro's Flamingo-Decatur location, in all its 1980s, teal-pink-and-checkerboard glory. This is the oldest of its five local stores now. This was special occasion pizza when I was in middle school, when delivery from Domino's or Pizza Hut just wouldn't cut it.

But others have deeper, stronger connections. "Vegas was still small in 1980. Back then kids would ride horses to our first shop at Flamingo and Sandhill." Riding horses to pizza! You never thought that would happen in Las Vegas, did you? John Arena, co-owner, co-founder and overall pizza guy, has so many stories like this. "We changed that crazy decor at the Flamingo-Decatur store a while back, but people didn't recognize it anymore. They thought there was a new owner. So we changed it back. We have customers that came to us when they were in high school in 1980, and they're coming in with grandkids now. It's a very unique responsibility, to be here for multiple generations, and to live up to those expectations. If you ate this pizza as a kid, you're expecting a certain level of quality and service when you come back as an adult."

If you haven't figured it out yet, these people keep coming back for reasons other than nostalgia. The love of longtime Las Vegans, though powerful, is not what makes Metro undeniable. It could be that they put bacon on their Hawaiian pizza, or the eggplant calzone that's named after George Steinbrenner, or the fact that one slice of the Skyline stuffed pizza with sausage, onions, peppers, pepperoni, black olives and mushrooms is enough for two tasty meals. But it's not any of those reasons.

Arena, from Brooklyn, loves pizza, and he understands why and how everyone else loves it, too. He's traveled the world learning as much about this perfect food as he can, and he teaches a class about its history at UNLV. "In Las Vegas, you have customers from all over the country, all over the world, and they're not tourists. That's who lives here. You've got all these different people, and all these different opinions about pizza. I call it the Cognitive Theory of Pizza - what you're given as a child shapes your vision. People will say only pizza from Naples is true pizza, but the people of Rome would disagree. Purists say pizza shouldn't have to adapt, but there's a long tradition in Italian food of just that. We realized you could have endless debates depending on the current circumstances of pizza, so what we decided to do is embrace it all and find some common ground. We changed our name to Metro Pizza in 1986 to reflect that philosophy, and try to reflect the great pizzas of many different metropolitan areas, because in Las Vegas, everybody is from somewhere else." Could anything possibly make more sense? So when you order a Modesto or a New Haven off this menu, that's because Arena found something like that in that city, and he thinks you'd like a taste. At the Metro store on Tropicana near UNLV, there's a big map of the Pizza Hall of Fame, different cities with famous pizzerias marked. If you go eat at one of them, and then come back and talk about it, Metro will hook you up. Arena wants you to eat other pizza. He wants to teach you to make your own pizza. And yet you likely will return to eat his pizza. (It's good.)

"When you're putting a pizza on the table, you're not just competing with other pizza places, you're competing with all those childhood memories and all those associations. When it comes to pizza, there's a lot more going on that what's on the plate." I tell Arena about my associations, my slices of Verrazano, and how the mayor of Las Vegas once told me he couldn't find anything close to his back-home stuff so he called Metro and asked them to figure out how he could eat Philly pizza in Vegas. "His favorite pizzeria back home was using a very particular cheese blend, and that was his touchstone pizza. It's just like you, riding your bike to Verrazano. You probably got your first taste of personal freedom along with that pizza. It's the same way everyone's grandma makes the best food they ever had in their life. That's how people feel about pizza, and that's the responsibility I have ... to live up to all of that." I'm glad this pizza guy is taking his responsibilities seriously.

7.15.2010

vegas gets mobile tasty.

Fueled by Twitter and persistent word-of-mouth, the gourmet food truck trend has officially arrived in Las Vegas. "Local" cuisine is but one of a million ways Vegas is under the influence of Southern California, and at least two of the street food carts/vehicles I'm about to shout out are directly inspired by the famed Kogi BBQ Korean taco trucks of Los Angeles. Nothing wrong with that.

But this ain't L.A. Even though we've got plenty of transplants in Vegas -- people from every major city and every point in between, really -- there aren't as many hipster foodies dwelling in the desert. This group is growing, no doubt, but Vegas gets knocked for lacking culture and the same criticism can be levied here. It's the only explanation for the notorious dominance of chain restaurants like Olive Garden and P.F. Chang's in the daily newspaper's annual Best of Las Vegas reader poll. So ... can the concept of gourmet roach coach succeed in Las Vegas? Is the populous willing to endure blistering heat, stand outside and munch on mini-burgers and Asian tacos? Does the city have enough ambitious innovators to build an exciting, all-access street food tribe? So far, it's looking good.

It starts with Slidin' Thru (pictured), the slider-slinging crew on patrol all over the valley in a truck emblazoned with colorful illustrations. Its young creator, Ric, blasts out the day's location online, sweats through lunch and dinnertime shifts in the cramped, oven-like environs with a couple of dedicated cooks at his command, and gives plenty of "window love" to his faithful following, which seems to be growing exponentially by the week. They love the attitude, they love the novelty of hunting down the slider truck, and they really love the great grub. Freshly formed Angus beef burgers come in a variety of flavors, like barbecue with crispy onions, bacon, sweet sauce and caramelized jalapeno, or Greek-style with feta cheese, ripe tomato and cucumber dressing. Specials include pulled pork mini-sandwiches or baby French dips, and the sweet potato fries are sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. It's simple, good food, sharply conceptualized, and if this food truck thing does take off in Vegas, you gotta hail Ric as the godfather of it all.

Burger truck number two is called Fukuburger. The offerings here are full-sized and somewhat Japanese, perhaps because its creators, Colin and Rob, were servers at the most money-makingest Pan-Asian restaurant in the country. These guys may also be bringing that edgy, after-hours vibe from Tao, since they seem to be targeting the late-night crowds and recently set up camp in their big red truck near the Hard Rock Hotel when the Sunday Rehab pool party let out. The burgers are marinated in mirin, sake and yuzu for a unique beefy taste. Toppings can be pickled ginger and daikon, fried eggs, crispy onions, bacon or wasabi mayo.

On the cool and sweet side, Philly's Famous Italian Ice is run by an incredibly friendly couple named Jim and Tanya, and they serve some pretty great treats out of a truck or a cart at various events and gatherings. They've been around a bit longer than these new guys, a couple of years now, but they're moving around more and capitalizing on the splendor of social media. Light, refreshing Italian ice (I like banana, sour apple and pineapple a lot) is not a tough sell in Vegas, as it hits the spot in a way the old ice cream truck never could.

There are more trucks and carts serving up street food (and stuff you don't usually get on the street). There are quite a few burgeoning taco carts sprinkled about. A few hours ago I ate some delicious Korean tacos, flour tortillas stuffed with marinated, grilled pork, kimchi, a crispy and sour Asian slaw and a handful of cilantro, from a six-week old trailer posted up at Lee's Liquor on Lake Mead Boulevard near Buffalo Drive. It's called HanShikTaco, and it's a one-man show. His name is Ron and he's too busy making tacos right now, but soon he'll have a website up and I wouldn't be surprised if there are several red taco trailers all over the place in a matter of months. It's good stuff, and it's really too cheap to be this good, and that's kind of the thing with street food. It's too good to be true. It's 110 degrees out there right now, but I think I can take it for a couple more tacos.

6.14.2010

golden gate = history.


I'm sitting at the counter in the diner inside the Golden Gate, devouring a wonderful cheeseburger. This is my last meal in the Bay City Diner, but I don’t know it yet. This old, reliable, downtown greasy spoon will become something else, something slightly different and even better.

But let’s focus on this cheeseburger. For months I've been riding a trend, eating and writing about fancy, 12 to 20-dollar gourmet burgers at restaurants on the Strip opened by famous French chefs, burgers with handcrafted, imported ingredients and a custom formulated blend of ground cow, but this thing is making me forget them all. It's a third-pound of chuck off the flat-top, dropped on a butter-toasted bun with extra crispy bacon, sauteed mushrooms and way too much melted Swiss, shredded iceberg, two big tomato slices, four nice dill pickle chips and a full disc of yellow onion. It was cooked by a very tall, very thin, very bald black man who's wearing an impossibly white coat, working hard without breaking a sweat, encased in a shiny, silver, grease-spattered kitchen a few feet in front of me. For a minute, he’s staring out at me through the big open kitchen window. His eyes seem to be asking what I think of this burger. I think it’s great. His nametag reads JOE and he's wearing gold hoop earrings and gold-framed glasses. How is his coat so white? He's teasing the waitresses, occasionally gyrating a little and singing "Freaky In The Club" by R. Kelly. That’s extra funny because that’s not the song playing over the tinny speakers in the diner. It’s “On My Own.” The waitress is ignoring his performance, instead trying to find out who's singing the piped-in song. It's Patti Labelle. High above the counter, mirrored display cases show you which pies and cakes are available today. The old man to my right has a handkerchief tied around his neck and is ordering a ham steak and eggs over easy with a side of sausage and orange juice, but he doesn’t want his juice until the food comes. The guy to my left is ignoring his cheese-covered omelet and calling in NBA point spreads to someone over the phone. This burger is gone. It was delicious, an exemplary, American cheeseburger.

The Golden Gate is the oldest hotel-casino in the state of Nevada. Also, it is older than the Golden Gate Bridge, which is interesting because it’s probably the only Vegas casino that’s been around longer than whatever it’s themed after. (Of course, the casino wasn’t always called the Golden Gate.) Perhaps it’s more interesting that in 1905, the hotel’s prime downtown location at Main and Fremont streets was the site of the land auction that began the Las Vegas town site. There were guests at what was then called Hotel Nevada that May, before there was a building, staying in a tent structure. Downtown Las Vegas was happening before it was downtown Las Vegas. When the mission-style building opened in 1906, people insisted on staying at the hotel before the interiors were completed. Casino action started in the spring of 1907 with roulette, craps and blackjack. The first telephone in Vegas was installed here, too. In the early 1930s, the joint changed its name. For around 20 years it was dubbed, quite ridiculously, Sal Sagev, or Las Vegas spelled backwards. The beginnings of its San Francisco-themed makeover took hold when a group of Italian-Americans from the Bay Area took over in 1955.

The boss of the Golden Gate today, a friendly guy named Mark Brandenburg, is a Las Vegas lawyer who ditched his practice to join the family business. His stepfather was one of those San Francisco guys, and around 1990, Brandenburg and his brother Craig started buying out those other owners. Since then, they’ve added a few hotel rooms and efficiently updated the property, turning it into something of an old-school boutique hotel on the old-schooliest street in Vegas. In 1996, for better or for worse, the classic downtown drag was forever altered when the Fremont Street Experience canopy was finished. This 1,500-foot ceiling of cheesy flashing lights brought some good to the five blocks of Fremont where the Gate, Plaza, Binion’s, Golden Nugget and other casinos reside (it’s much cleaner now and suitable for outdoor concerts and events) but it also transformed a nice chunk of our history into a nostalgic pedestrian mall. Visit and make your own judgments.

Sitting in his small, plain office upstairs from the casino, Brandenburg gives me a quick history of his family and his casino. Mom was from West Virginia. She stopped in Vegas on the way back from California and never made it home. It was the weather. She got a job as a cocktail waitress at the Gate and met Italo Ghelfi, the leader of that group of San Francisco guys, the one who ran the casino for 40 years. There’s a picture frame set on a shelf in this office, a photo of Ghelfi, and the guy looks mean. He’s kinda bald and he’s wearing dark glasses, like a clichéd character from that Vegas era. But Brandenburg assures me that’s not the case; he was another friendly guy, and quite the gaming pioneer. Ghelfi didn’t just keep the casino going. His innovations and ideas established a reputation on Fremont Street that Brandenburg and his co-owners are still taking advantage of today. Not every casino is so open and proud of its history. Most are caught up in making things new again, and again, and the Gate – which is a nice, clean place to gamble and party – is quick to remind you of a bygone era. It doesn’t want to change too much, and I don’t want it to. I didn’t want the Bay City Diner to change, but it did.

But wait, we’ve moved past something very important. The Gate’s casino is just fine. It feels like downtown, it’s kinda dark and whisky-friendly, and there’s a nice long bar resting beside the main stretch of table games. Some new bells and whistles have been added in the last year, including go-go dancers on busy nights and a frozen beverage bar in front of the main entrance on Fremont Street. As a hotel, I have no interest in the Gate because the accommodations don’t converge with my primary hotel principle, which states: If I can afford it, I don’t want to stay there. But I’ll allow some secondhand description from my kid brother: It’s tiny. I heard some of the rooms are the original rooms from when it was built, and I think that’s the room I got. It’s so small that the TV is on the side of the bed because it wouldn’t fit anywhere else. It’s so small the bathroom door won’t open all the way because it hits the toilet. I was terrified to walk in and out of my room because I kept thinking there’d be creepy twin sisters at the end of the halls. You get the picture.

Casino, hotel, diner … these are not the things the Golden Gate is known for. For most, it always has been ground zero for the shrimp cocktail. This is another Ghelfi innovation, obviously, coming from the Bay. It began in 1959 and it hasn’t stopped. As long as I can remember, the price was 99 cents, but today it’s $1.99. That gets you a tall, cool parfait glass, “the tulip,” overflowing with chilled, firm, large shrimp, doused in spicy cocktail sauce and served with a lemon wedge and as many Saltines as you need. There’s no lettuce. Who needs lettuce? I’ve brought a handful of people through here, some out-of-towners and some just out of touch with downtown, and everyone thinks the shrimp cocktail is a joke. But they try one, just for kicks, and they’ve all admitted: This thing is pretty good. The shrimp bar is at the south end of the casino, in the back, right down the stairs from Brandenburg’s office. He told me they’ve been going through about a ton of shrimp a week for a long, long time. I asked him how many times a day he asks his assistant to run down and grab him one. “I go down and get my own.” Yes. I would, too, many times a day. In the pantheon of Vegas novelties (and they are harder to acquire or experience than they used to be) the shrimp cocktail is one I refuse to go without. In any steakhouse, you can get a good one, but here, it is tradition. That’s what makes it taste so good.

But everything changes. Like the diner, the shrimp bar was the target of a subtle upgrade recently. There always was more than shrimp on the menu; hot dogs, deli sandwiches, surprisingly tasty, spicy vegetable soup and standard slices of pie were among the popular items. Now, the pie is way, way better. This is because of Du-par’s. Here’s the crazy connection that brought a famed L.A. coffee shop to historic downtown Vegas: Du-par’s owner Biff Naylor built the original kitchen in the Golden Gate diner. That’s because his dad, Tiny Naylor, was a former partner in the casino. The Naylors are a legendary California restaurant family, in case you haven’t heard, starting when Tiny opened up his waffle shops in 1926. They bought the 70-year-old Du-par’s chain in 2004 and kept things the same, particularly the restaurant’s famous, buttery pancakes and fresh-from-scratch pies. And so when Brandenburg went hunting for improvement, it was natural to transform my beloved Bay City Diner into Du-par’s Restaurant & Bakery. And I can’t complain, because the place looks exactly the same: the long, dark wood counter I call home, windows peering out to Main Street, red leather booths, the dining room in the back. The cuisine is mostly the same, classic breakfast, lunch and dinner at the diner. But now, everything is a little bit … better.

There’s no sign of JOE back in the kitchen, but many of the servers are still here. The cooks’ coats are still immaculately white, and now they’ve accessorized with a red handkerchief knotted around the neck. Those mirrored cases up above are now densely populated with pies, all kinds of pies, and they look and taste so much better than the Bay City Diner’s dessert offerings. On the counter, there are more cases, big round glass ones, holding gigantic, shining doughnuts. It’s difficult to get past the baked goods, to not order a sweet almond bear claw or mountainous muffin. But if you do move beyond breakfast – and know that those buttercrisp-edged pancakes live up to every ounce of their reputation – you’ll find some stellar throwback food, hearty all-American stuff like yellow split pea soup, meatloaf with mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy and tuna melts. But I needed the cheeseburger to be great in order to properly put things to rest, so after I tried all that stuff, and a few different flavors of pie, I went back for more. I sat at the counter. I considered the patty melt, a beautiful thing on grilled rye bread with just the right amount of caramelized onions, but I decided to stay pure. Bacon and Swiss burger, still all chuck, still with a pile of fries. It came out quick, and it wasn’t the same burger. It was probably better. The bun was great, fresh and soft. The bacon was smokier. The meat quality was several steps up, and not over-seasoned. Everything was right. I killed it with speed, and I left feeling satisfied and guilt-free. Change must be good, because I still have never left the Golden Gate after lunch feeling anything other than happy to be in Las Vegas.

5.27.2010

raku at last.

Aburiya Raku is one of the most talked about restaurants in Las Vegas. It has been hailed by critics, chefs and food and bev pros, and the common diner alike and may be considered the best restaurant in Chinatown. What is most fascinating to me about Raku, which was opened quietly in 2008 by chef Mitsuo Endo, is how it has managed to develop such a powerful following in spite of its location and the type of restaurant it is.

By location, I'm not merely referencing the fact that Raku is small and stashed in the back of a tiny, quiet strip mall on Spring Mountain Road. I'm talking about its location in Las Vegas, a young city without a huge population of foodies craving exotic cuisine. Raku is an izakaya, a Japanese pub and snack bar, and there are few of these establishments in Vegas. That's a generic description for the type of restaurant Raku is. The experience at Raku is compellingly different from anything else you'll find in Vegas, completely at odds with what most local diners (and probably tourists, too) understand as Japanese cuisine. That is why the buzz surrounding the place is interesting to me; I imagine many people -- including the drunken out-of-towners who sat near us on our recent first visit to Raku -- who have read or heard about the restaurant show up with excitement, expecting some sort of easy-access Asian tapas bar, and are perplexed by what they find. After my first meal at Raku, I am perplexed. Unless you are experienced with this type of food, it is a challenging restaurant.

Many bloggers and writers have offered their take on exactly how to dine at Raku, since the normal menu has about 75 different items. Most are small portions of intricately prepared, affordably priced food. There are daily specials exhibited on a chalkboard your server brings to your table. Since I'm still a Raku rookie, I am unable to offer such advice, but we did try quite a few different dishes. The restaurant's homemade tofu is a treasure. The simple, cold version has a creamy, almost cheese-like texture, delicous with soy, bonito flakes and Raku's green tea salt. Even better is the fried version, with a slightly crispy outside in a small bowl of amazing dashi with a bit of salmon roe on top. This was my favorite dish.

In in effort to fully Raku myself and get outside the comfort zone, I sampled the poached egg with roe and sea urchin (pictured), one of several dishes on the menu that fit that "challenging" label. The slimy texture of these collected components is not for everyone, and the egg was so soft that I'm not sure if it added or subtracted from the dish. The explosive flavors of urchin and roe were nicely complemented by tiny mushrooms and okra. Very interesting, to say the least. A simple dish of green tea soba noodles also was augmented by this soft egg and roe combo.

The name of the restaurant reflects its specialty of charcoal grilling, and we tried quite a few different skewers of meat and vegetables imparted with a very deep smokiness. Bacon and smoke always go together well and you can order just about anything wrapped in bacon; sweet cherry tomatoes and asparagus were delicious. Great grilled meats we sampled included duck with balsamic soy sauce, American Kobe beef filet with wasabi and skirt steak with garlic, and salmon.

The setting is intimate, the menu is puzzling, the service is polite and the food is --like it or not -- otherworldly. After getting past an intial shock to the system, I am looking forward to tasting the oden hot pot (which you can construct using various ingredients such as fish cake, boiled egg, seaweed and fried bean curd), a mini foi gras bowl, and some of those chalkboard specials.

4.14.2010

let's just get roberto's.


Everyone eats at Roberto’s.

I started writing about Vegas food and restaurants right around the dawn of the new millennium. It was part of my job as a community reporter to profile new businesses in my area, which at the time was the far western portion of the valley, primarily the gargantuan master planned community of Summerlin. There were many new businesses to profile in those days, and restaurants quickly became my favorite feature. The research required speaking with owners and chefs, discussing their concepts, and trying to see their vision for their businesses. It was vastly interesting, allowing me a quick glimpse beyond the counter and the kitchen and into these microcosms of the off-Strip food and beverage industry. Despite my complete lack of business training, many times I wanted to discourage these entrepreneurs, often families leveraging their collective futures in pursuit of this crazy dream because somebody told them their ribs and chicken are bomb at some backyard barbecue. I wanted to tell them it wouldn’t work, tell them no one would want to eat their food or peruse their massive, overzealous menus. But I didn’t. Frequently I was proven right and the place didn’t last six months, but such is the case in the restaurant industry. It’s a tough gig, and I always rooted for success and survival even though it didn’t happen most of the time. But my puffy, friendly feature stories provided a bit of a boost in their early days and weeks, and sometimes I think a small profile in a weekly newspaper direct mailed to just about everybody in Vegas may have made the difference for some of these restaurants, may have somehow pumped them through that first impossible year. Maybe not.

My first real restaurant review was published in January 2005 in the Las Vegas Mercury, a now defunct altweekly from the same media company where I worked as a reporter. I got to offer my opinions on the Canter’s Deli that had opened in Treasure Island on the Strip, a reasonable facsimile of the iconic L.A. eatery. When I first read it in print, two things became clear: first, it was fitting that my debut as a food writer involved a delicatessen, since my deep love for such establishments trails back to my parents creating a small chain of sandwich shops (The Giant Grinder) in my hometown of Eugene, Oregon, in the early ‘70s; and second, I knew I wanted to do more of this. I knew I would be writing about food now.

But not like everyone else. My interest in this subject is very specific. Vegas is possibly the greatest restaurant city on the planet, but it is far from a great food city. Because of its unnatural origins and design, the fact that 100 years later it is still an oasis of decadence and fun in the middle of an empty, harsh desert, Vegas also is the most unique restaurant city of all. It really is not even a city. It’s a fabrication. It’s one big flashing sign that reads: Come. And so everything you know about this place is somehow part of this unending invitation, and that is why there are so many world-class chefs and restaurateurs with their own stake in Vegas. At some point, if you’re in this business, you’re gonna have to be here. Vegas is too young and too fake to be a classic American city, but in many ways – always changing, always new, bigger, better, more, too much – it is the most American of cities. And as a dining destination, let’s call it a showcase. The best of everything will be distributed from this location, a true one-stop for all your culinary needs. And if this was all you knew, your perspective would be wildly and permanently skewed, like mine. So my interest is in Las Vegas restaurants only. I don’t travel much, but when I do, I don’t eat at that city’s great restaurants in order to compare them to mine. I don’t care. I don’t want a global frame of reference. For my pursuits, there is only Vegas. Of course, this place attracts much more than French culinary legends, TV celebrities, corporate troopers and up-and-coming kitchen stars ready for a big payday. There is life off the Strip. Everyone who has come to Vegas to snatch their own piece of it has settled somewhere away from the neon, and we all gotta eat. There are lots of regular-old-neighborhood joints that do well, some deserving and some capitalizing on the terrible taste of our large middle class. But as far as I can tell, everyone eats at Roberto’s.

There are almost 50 Roberto’s Taco Shops in the valley. That's roughly one for every 40,000 people. Now, I have my own personal Roberto’s Taco Shop and I don’t share it with that many people. In fact, it’s never crowded when I walk in. The cheap, pink booths usually are empty. There are never more than three guys in the kitchen, blasting Ranchera music and not really paying attention to huge crocks on the stove simmering chicken parts. And that’s the way I like it.

The story behind the Roberto’s dynasty is typical, akin to the tale behind so many enchiladas-beans-and-rice Mexican-American restaurants all over California and the American Southwest. It started in 1964 when Roberto and Dolores Robledo started making and selling tortillas in San Ysidro, a community on the southern tip of San Diego. Things tasted good, people wanted more, and their first taco shop soon opened. I’ve been told the first Roberto’s is the red-and-yellow shack right on Mission Beach, but I kinda doubt it. But I have been to that Roberto’s, and it is good. Today the family-operated company runs these small, casual restaurants in California, Nevada and Florida. You can’t go far in Vegas without seeing Roberto’s, and they are in all kinds of locations: in suburban strip malls, next to video poker-laden neighborhood watering holes, inside gas stations or food courts. Roberto is everywhere. How did this happen? His tacos are outstanding, and cheap.

They are so simple, and probably not the most authentic, but to me: joyous. Corn tortilla, fried into explosive crunchiness, packed with shredded beef, stupid iceberg lettuce and plain old yellow cheddar cheese. That’s it. A couple of bucks for purity. I’m going to hit them up, of course, with some of the red chile salsa, pureed smooth and drizzly, with just enough throat heat to do some damage. I’m going to get some of that stuff in the little plastic cup, and I might pour it down the taco so the hot sauce can mingle with the lettuce and cheese, or I might dip the taco’s meat-filled edge into the hot sauce. For so long, if I could actually choose what I was going to eat at any given lunchtime, if there were no obligations to fulfill or maybe it was a Saturday and I had nothing to do, if I actually asked myself What sounds really good right now?, the answer always was a No. 4 plate. That’s two beef tacos, rice and beans. I have eaten a lot of food, I have tried many things, I have taken many bites wealthy and poor, and I still don’t know if there’s a single one more satisfying than this, the combination of that skull-shaking corn crunch and the tender, savory, meaty mouthful you get from a simple, perfect taco. That’s just me. Maybe I’m nuts. Maybe the fancy amuse bouche at Robuchon is better. I like Roberto’s.

There is more to it than that. Roberto’s is just a small, possibly dirty, not necessarily English-friendly joint if it’s not familiar to you. Return visits with dad are the genesis of all this affection. Like my loyalty to the taco, he used to stick with a few things: taquitos smeared with zingy guacamole and absolutely covered with shredded cheese, a big plate of fresh fried chips with the same toppings, or maybe a couple of saucy tamales, unwrapped from husks and enclosed in the old school styrofoam tray for easy transport. He sent me on more than one late-night mission for tamales, on weekends when I was home from college and he was up too late. It was the worst kept secret in the house. Deep fried goodies, stewed meats and cartoon-sunshine orange enchilada sauce can produce some strong smells, and so he got caught in the act frequently. Besides mangling the Spanish language and likely offending everybody in the kitchen with his goofball gringo routine, the most ridiculous Roberto’s behavior revolved around refried beans. Sometimes, not every time but sometimes, your Roberto’s beans will have a grayish tint to them, scarier than that typical dull brown color. It’s called lard. My dad spent a few years managing an El Torito restaurant in Oregon, where he learned to cook decent Mexican food, and he always fell back on that experience when trying to convince anyone that the best refrieds were full of lard. It’s certainly up for debate. But he loved him some Roberto’s beans, and he proved it every time he’d cook up a Mexican feast for the family. He’d snag a Tupperware container – or in one memorable, embarrassing, ghetto-ass episode, an empty plastic margarine drum – and head up to Roberto’s, and have the guys fill it up with refried beans. I theorize that every time he went on these missions himself, instead of sending one of his five children to do the dirty work, he probably crunched up a three-pack of taquitos in the car on the way home.

I’ve gone through stages … when I shared an apartment on West Desert Inn Road, I frequented the store right next to the Durango Lodge, and I got into eating chicken and rice burritos, monstrous and packed with pickled vegetables, cheese and those lardy beans. There can be slight menu variation from shop to shop, but mostly you’re dealing with tacos (beef, chicken, carne asada, carnitas, adobada or fish), tostadas, burritos (machaca, chorizo, breakfast, or variations of the taco ingredients), enchiladas, tortas, chimichangas, and perhaps something ridiculous like carne asada fries, subbing crinkle cut spuds for chips in a nacho mountain. The breakfast burritos are pretty good, too, if you’re into that sort of thing. The cooks will throw anything lying around into an extra large flour tortilla with scrambled eggs and cheese and feed it to you. And of course, Saturdays and Sundays are for menudo. Of the everyone who eats at Roberto’s, most know that a stomachache may follow. Of the weird newspaper jobs I’ve had, keeping tabs on the Health District’s regular restaurant report is one of the more entertaining, and I should be ashamed to admit that one day, after lunching at Roberto’s on Rancho Drive near Charleston Boulevard (I had a No. 4) I picked up that naughty list and quickly noted the very same restaurant had just been demoted to a C grade. But I’m not ashamed, and I won’t tell you the exact infractions that caused the downgrade. I am never ashamed of Roberto’s.

I’ve moved all around the west side of Vegas and claimed new locations as my own. But now I am back home, in Summerlin, a few minutes from my parents’ former house from which those tamale missions began. It feels good to go back to my first Roberto’s Taco Shop, and it looks exactly the same, resting up against a dry cleaner and a PT’s Pub. I don’t eat this food anywhere near as much as I used to, because I have discovered so many other great things to eat. I’ve even found other sensational tacos that, if judged by a rational mind, would be found superior: those at Los Tacos on East Charleston, which are soft and stuffed with whole pinto beans and guacamole in addition to the usual suspects; the chicken mole tacos at the super tiny, super authentic Mexico City-style Los Antojos on East Sahara Avenue; and the delectable smoked brisket taquitos at Border Grill on the Strip. But I am not a reasonable man. I am an emotional eater, just like dad, full of nostalgia and questionable judgment. And so Roberto’s it is. I will defend this taco.