Chinese oxtail soup is kinda strange because most Chinese soups aren't much like a stew; they typically contain chopped vegetables, meats and other ingredients rather than large chunks of floating goodness. Oxtail soup, which is made with beef tails but not necessarily a particular stock, also is made in various ways depending on the region, like most things. I haven't tasted a lot of oxtail soup, but damn, the stuff at Red 8 Asian Bistro at Steve Wynn's joint is very, very good.
As a matter of full disclosure, I will tell you I don't remember the specifics of the soup, i.e. what was in it besides the most salty, satisfying broth I've ever tasted and a huge chunk of fatty, flavorful beef. I think there was a vegetable or two in there. But I can't say for sure. I had some drinks before my meal. And perhaps my judgment was tainted by the cocktail hour(s), but the food at Red 8 was surprisingly great and the soup was the highlight. For a beef broth, it had so many other pointed, clean flavors. It was shockingly good. And I felt like I had superpowers the next day.
My visit to the Wynn restaurant capped an evening of Strip adventuring that included a fun spell at Palazzo. Made my debut at Barney's and just missed a visit from the one and only Pharrell by a couple of hours. Too bad. Guess he was drinking champagne and dropping off a few BBC/Ice Cream hoodies. I would like to do some shopping there. Also visited the fine bars of Wolfgang Puck's CUT steakhouse and Charlie Trotter's Restaurant Charlie seafood house, both wonderful places that I will fantasize about returning to for dinner until my own personal recession lets up. CUT poured us a fine martini with an even better bleu cheese stuffed olive attached, and served up a fun little tray of bar snacks including wasabi peas and tasty seasoned almonds. Charlie's bar, hosted by a former UNLV baseball player who really knows his shit, served a variety of vintage cocktails including a sazerac ("the original American cocktail") and my new favorite drink, the Bugs Bunny. All I can say about the bunny is it's orange, it tastes like a carrot only better, and it wouldn't take many to put me on my ass.
I think the fact that I can critique the quality of a bar's martini olives in the current economy really speaks to how ridiculous I have become and how adjusted I am to living far, far beyond my means. They were fucking good olives.
As a matter of full disclosure, I will tell you I don't remember the specifics of the soup, i.e. what was in it besides the most salty, satisfying broth I've ever tasted and a huge chunk of fatty, flavorful beef. I think there was a vegetable or two in there. But I can't say for sure. I had some drinks before my meal. And perhaps my judgment was tainted by the cocktail hour(s), but the food at Red 8 was surprisingly great and the soup was the highlight. For a beef broth, it had so many other pointed, clean flavors. It was shockingly good. And I felt like I had superpowers the next day.
My visit to the Wynn restaurant capped an evening of Strip adventuring that included a fun spell at Palazzo. Made my debut at Barney's and just missed a visit from the one and only Pharrell by a couple of hours. Too bad. Guess he was drinking champagne and dropping off a few BBC/Ice Cream hoodies. I would like to do some shopping there. Also visited the fine bars of Wolfgang Puck's CUT steakhouse and Charlie Trotter's Restaurant Charlie seafood house, both wonderful places that I will fantasize about returning to for dinner until my own personal recession lets up. CUT poured us a fine martini with an even better bleu cheese stuffed olive attached, and served up a fun little tray of bar snacks including wasabi peas and tasty seasoned almonds. Charlie's bar, hosted by a former UNLV baseball player who really knows his shit, served a variety of vintage cocktails including a sazerac ("the original American cocktail") and my new favorite drink, the Bugs Bunny. All I can say about the bunny is it's orange, it tastes like a carrot only better, and it wouldn't take many to put me on my ass.
I think the fact that I can critique the quality of a bar's martini olives in the current economy really speaks to how ridiculous I have become and how adjusted I am to living far, far beyond my means. They were fucking good olives.
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