an open letter to the mexican restaurant getting ready to open across the street.

Dear Mi Tierra Mexican Restaurant:

Thank you, thank you, thank you for planning to open a Mexican restaurant just a few steps away from my house. Thank you for taking over a pretty nice, pretty large space that has been empty for years in my neighborhood. Thank you for bringing another restaurant option to my nearest shopping center, which only contains a pub, a pizza shop, a noodle shop, a Subway and a Carl's Jr. I am not sure when you are planning to open, but your sign says "Coming Soon" and so I have to believe that is true. I appreciate your hard work and wish you the best of luck. I just have one simple request:

Please, please don't be shitty.

I generally don't subscribe to the widespread belief that there is no good Mexican food in Las Vegas. I think the best stuff can be found in little hole-in-the-wall taco shops and big, fancy, boundary-pushing restaurants on the Strip. In between, there are plenty of generic, family-style Mexican restaurants with chips and salsa and margaritas and enchiladas with lots of yellow cheese melted on top. These are, at best, okay. And these are the restaurants -- while popular -- that build on that belief that Vegas doesn't have high quality Mexican grub.

If that's what you're gonna be, Mi Tierra, I'll take it. Because out here in the northwest end of the valley, we don't have much Mexican food at all. A few significant good restaurants have opened up in recent years in the blocks surrounding your new business. We've got solid Italian food at Parma by Chef Marc and Thai food at Nittaya's. And we've got neighborhood standards that are some of the best in town, like the Bagel Cafe and Marche Bacchus. But we need good Mexican food. The best that could still be considered kinda nearby is Frank & Fina's Cocina, but we have to drive up to the Beltway and way out to West Flamingo for that stuff.

I love Frank & Fina's, and I don't expect you to outdo it. Just please, don't suck. Be as reliable as Ricardo's, a longtime Vegas family favorite on Decatur and Flamingo. Be as friendly as Vega's Cafe, another spot with a deep local history, unfortunately shuttered within the last year. Be at least as interesting as Galerias, the slightly eccentric restaurant your space used to be, where they served some authentic and just plain strange chile rellenos. Make fresh salsa, please. And guacamole. Cold beer. No yellow cheese would be nice.

I really want you to be good, Mi Tierra, so I can walk across the street after work and drink too many Modelos and eat a nice plate of chile verde and then stumble home and be happy. I want another reason to love my neighborhood. If you are good, I promise to tell everybody. Thanks, and again, best of luck.

las gorditas.

I feel like this is overkill, because lately I've been writing a lot about the restaurants in my neighborhood and how impressive they've become. So I guess I should get in the car and drive across town and find some hidden treasure on the east side of Vegas or somewhere in the suburbs of Henderson to share with you. I'll work on it. Until then, look what else I found just down the street!


Actually, Las Gorditas is not just close to me. There are four of these restaurants in a few different neighborhoods, so you can claim one as your own. These are very simple little Mexican joints, as casual as the cheapest taco shop you've ever wandered into, hoping for tasty authentic treats. The food is simple, too, and very good. The tacos are small, perfect bites, wrapped in two tiny corn tortillas, filled with your choice of meat and covered in cilantro, onions and "guacamole sauce." Do I have a problem recommending tacos with "guacamole sauce?" No. No I don't. There are burritos, quesadillas, and other familiar items, but as you have guessed, the gorditas are in the spotlight.


A Taco Bell gordita is not really a gordita. It's supposed to be a soft, flat disc of fried or griddle-cooked masa, essentially a thicker, freshly made tortilla, stuffed with lots of different things. I've made them at home in a slightly different form known as arepas in Venezuela and Columbia, but it's basically the same dish. It's not far from a Salvadoran pupusa, which is usually thicker and completely sealed up, masa enveloping the filling. These gorditas are open at one end for something of a sandwich effect. In fact, I had a red pork gordita recently at China Poblano in the Cosmopolitan hotel, and it was listed on the menu as a sandwich. And the popular hole in the wall Los Antojos serves very tasty, if much more greasy gorditas, deep fried for a rich, kinda cornbread effect. Here at the Las Gorditas, they are not greasy. The flavor is clean and there's a nice chew through the corny goodness. I tried gorditas with chicken mole, tender cactus in a tomato-chile red sauce, chicken simmered in a green chile sauce, and melty cheese and refried beans. All of them were tasty, satisfying soul food snacks, and I estimate I could eat about a dozen before giving up. Maybe not that many, but they sure are good and easy. That's how I like my Mexican food.

in case you haven't heard, the cosmopolitan is cool.

On Level 3 of The Cosmopolitan, just past the unbelievable presence of a go-ahead-and-play billiards table, hanging on the wall near the Blue Ribbon restaurant, there are some nifty Rat Pack portraits, flashbacks of Frank, Dean and Sammy hanging with pretty girls and being cool. I was looking at them and I wondered: Is The Cosmopolitan the kinda place these guys would hang at? I'm sure these pictures are here to make me think the answer is "yes," to make me believe the last, latest Strip casino-hotel truly does contain the right amount of wrong, to make me imagine the Chairman would be happy to meet for a cocktail in the Vesper Bar just off the lobby. A lot of money has been spent to construct a thick layer of cool around this place, and I don't know how I feel about that, and I don't know if the Rat Pack would have kicked it here. I've never been very cool, but it doesn't take a cool person to recognize when someone or something is trying too hard. The people who assemble and tweak the concept of The Cosmopolitan, under unimaginable, unrealistic pressure to succeed, are trying very hard to make it cool.

And that's why it's so impressive that they seem to be succeeding.

Cool is in the details. It's in the crazy, mind-altering video columns in the lobby, ever-changing installations that make you feel like you stepped into a futuristic movie. It's in the subterranean parking garage, where murals by rebel artists like Shinique Smith, Shepard Fairey and Kenny Scharf confuse regular people who don't use valet. It's in those pool tables and ping pong tables and foosball tables and flatscreens up on Level 4, which is the most laidback casino swimming pool I've ever seen and the only spot with Strip-front cabanas. And cool is definitely in that not-so-secret pizza joint on glorious Level 3, squished between Blue Ribbon and Jaleo, with no signs pointing you in and no signs telling you where or how to order a slice. And damn, it is a tasty slice. From where do these guys order their pepperoni? It's spicy and garlicky and wonderful, and I was trying so hard not to buy into the hype of a hidden New York-style pizza den in a fancy casino. But it tastes so good.

I already wrote about it, but allow me to distill the message here: The Cosmopolitan had to go out on a limb, had to be different in order to survive. It is aiming for a specific audience, one other Vegas venues are targeting, and a big, big part of capturing this audience is crazy good food. The restaurant experience is the new Vegas entertainment, and that means making food and service and atmosphere something visitors are going to rave about on the plane or car ride home. While I have only sampled the most accessible, most casual Cosmo eateries (so far), it's safe to say this place is doing just that: providing delicious in a very cool way.

Among the munchies on Level 2 are Holsteins, a burger joint created by the company behind LBS in the Red Rock Resort, and China Poblano, an eclectic Chinese-Mexican concept from the famed José Andrés. At Holsteins I ate duck fat fries and blue cheese kettle potato chips, an outstanding Japanese-themed burger, and sampled a housemade mini-sausage -- longanisa on white bread with borracho beans, cheese and fried pork skin sprinklings. The flavors were impressive, and it is difficult for a burger joint to stand out among its brethren on the Strip. Holsteins seems like it will. At China Poblano ... I ate everything. I couldn't stop eating everything. Tacos of freshly made tortillas stuffed with carnitas, then spicier barbecued pork, then perfectly sweet lobster, then beef tendon with oyster. A deep, rich, red posole with chunks of fatty, tender pork and avocado and chicharrones to drop on top. Another great soup, called Ten Treasure, with shrimp, bok choy, tofu and more in a clean, light broth. A tiny braised pork gordita, rich and corny and properly greasy. Savory, crispy lamb potstickers. I know this is making you hungry for Chinese and Mexican food at the same time, and now you can get it, on the Las Vegas Strip.

Of course, more exploration will come. We must try Andrés' tapas and paella haven, Jaleo. We must try both of Scott Conant's spots, Scarpetta and DOCG. We must eat French at Comme Ça and sushi at Blue Ribbon, and eventually we will make it to the priciest and probably least accessible restaurant here, Estiatorio Milos. And in between, there likely will be many more slices of secret pizza. When it comes to food, cool shouldn't be much of a factor. But it is. It's tough not to get caught up in the cool of The Cosmopolitan, but it's easy to appreciate how tasty it is.

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.

a whole new world.

All of a sudden, Vegas is flush with new Mexican restaurants. On the Strip, it's a market driven solution: A quaint taco shop called El Segundo sits strong on the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and Fashion Show Drive, where the tapas joint Cafe Babareeba was doing brisk business just weeks ago. In high traffic areas like this one, and the Mandalay Place walkway between resorts Luxor and Mandalay Bay where the infamous Hussong's Cantina opened a few months back, a familiar concept focused on tacos and burritos, chips and salsa and margaritas is bound to do better. Tourist tastes are still middle-of-the-road, and the less exotic the better.

But off the Strip, it's a different story. Downtown, hiding in the World Market Center furniture superspace, right across from the massive, just underway Symphony Park development, here is Mundo. It comes to us from the same folks that operated La Madonna, a southwest valley "avant garde" Mexican restaurant that had a following but ultimately didn't last long. As evidenced from the creativity displayed here (up top we've got a great appetizer, smoked chile-crusted swordfish skewers with a jicama salad, and underneath is carnitas in black bean broth, which left me satisfied for almost an entire day), it couldn't have been the food that spelled La Madonna's demise. Mundo's chef is working very similarly to what is being done at our most upscale and innovative Mexican restaurants on the Strip, places like Border Grill in Mandalay Bay. Another stunning opener is the poblano chile corn soup, creamy smooth and full of bright cumin. There is quite a bit of seafood and quite a bit of beef on the menu of entrees, including avocado leaf crusted sea scallops with cheesy risotto, a shrimp tamale, a skirt steak with chimichurri, and a peppercorn and red chile crusted filet mignon floating on some killer sauces: smoked chile and asada tomatillo.

Like every other buzzed-about downtown Vegas destination, Mundo boasts a cocky hipness that can sometimes be a restaurant's undoing. But they back up any attitude with superior cuisine, putting their own unique twists on the concept of unique twists on traditional flavors. If you make the rounds downtown, you've already eaten here. If you're out in the 'burbs, this is worth the trip. If you're coming into town and looking for a cool joint with delicious, contemporary food beyond your hotel, check out Mundo.

your friendly neighborhood mexican cafe.

Update: Vega's Cafe has closed.

The reason I don't like writing traditional restaurant reviews is the obligatory ranking system. If I put a few stars next to this picture of spicy, long-simmered red chile beef, would that make you more or less hungry for it? You just can't summarize the taste of food or the service and atmosphere of a restaurant with a 1-t0-5 or A-to-F rating.

And sometimes I get it wrong. For example, I wrote a review of Vega's Cafe and dropped 3.5 stars on it, out of 5. In retrospect, I wish I would have gone with a good solid 3 stars, which to me would designate a restaurant worth repeated visits. It may not be the best Mexican food in town (the simple menu certainly is not the most innovative) but it's reliable, well-spiced, home-style food, and the restaurant is affordably priced, family-operated and doing good business in a neighborhood that needs all the help it can get. In fact, Vega's and another cozy ethnic eatery, Indian Curry Bowl, are two of the few non-franchise restaurants in the northwest suburb known as Centennial Hills. They're also two of the tastiest joints in the neighborhood.

Vega's makes homemade flour tortillas every day, and pairs them with a fresh take on rellenos, this zesty, slightly sour red chile and a spicy, vegetable laden chile verde. The tacos are simple, crispy perfection, especially if you order them packed with cool guacamole or tender potatoes mixed in with the meat. The family behind the business has been serving Vegas its style of Mexican food for over 30 years, always in some little hole-in-the-wall, but Vega's Cafe is comfortable, casual and inviting. There's even a little bar where you can watch the game with an icy Dos Equis and a couple fish tacos. It's pretty much everything you'd want in  your friendly neighborhood Mexican cafe, and somehow we keep coming back, even if it's not just down the street.

when life gives you leftovers.

We don't like Thanksgiving dinner as much as we pretend. If dry turkey, weird stuffing, lumpy mashed potatoes and canned cranberry is so good, why do we only eat it once a year? Why aren't there crowded, expensive restaurants that specialize in turkey dinners? Because it's not that good. Because it's tradition to eat this stuff, but no one really enjoys it that much. Your own personal experiences with the holiday, with your family and this food will determine how true this harsh statement is. But you have to admit it's a valid point, which is why the friend who offered this enlightenment days before the big weekend roasted a prime rib for his family this year. I hope it turned out tasty.

In my world, Thanksgiving is an odd occasion. Yes, there is food, too much of it, some delicious. Turkey is quite dry and bland by nature, which is why I prefer the moist, fatty dark meat of the bird. Never been a fan of stuffing/dressing, which presented an interesting challenge when I was assigned to make it for this year's rather large family gathering. It was okay; I found a pretty standard recipe and twisted it to include garlic-rosemary bread, slab bacon and apples. The texture was very un-stuffing like, light and approachable instead of the congealed slop people inexplicably rave about. And it tasted like bacon. So it deserved to be universally loved. Also never enjoyed the strange green bean casserole that involves crispy onions and cream of mushroom soup, yet there it was, on the table again, once per year. Mom says she has to make it, people want it, but I'm not convinced. So there is good and bad. Thanksgiving also is the gateway to the wildly emotional, unnecessarily stressful holiday season, and peering into a long December with a tryptophan hangover is not the most pleasant thing.

Perhaps that's why, in my family, we have another Thanksgiving tradition, and it's called turkitos. Years ago, my father decided the best thing to do with the leftover bird is to tear it apart, roll it up in corn tortillas and deep fry to your heart's content, serving up refried beans, grated cheese, fresh salsa and guacamole alongside. It's simple. Anyone can do it. I can't think of anything that provides a more satisfying bite after minimal effort than a fried tortilla. In my world, Turkito Day has replaced Thanksgiving in the pantheon of food holidays. (I have more: The New Year's Meatdown, Borracho Day, the annual Fall-B-Que, etc. Trademarks are pending so think up your own stupid names, please.) This year's event was long in crunchy goodness but short in attendance. Final output: approximately 75 turkey taquitos on Friday, none left standing by Monday. The backyard barbecue was transformed into a factory. You've got your shredded meat station, your cast iron skillet warming tortillas, your rolling station, your deep-fry station of vegetable and canola oil bubbling away on the grill's sideburner, and finally the paper towel-covered paydirt, the last stop for turkitos before munchdown. Freshly mixed guacamole with a jalapeno influence was waiting. A huge block of colby jack was shredded and resting in an orange bowl. We bought the good, drizzly Mexican sour cream. Several salsas, refrieds spiced with habanero hot sauce, and a head of shredded iceberg upon which to rest your bounty. I raced the clock of booze, speeding to roll and fry the last one before many early cocktails would have made me unfit to handle hot oil. I made it. All was good.

A successful Turkito Day, less than 24 hours after one of the better tasting Thanksgiving meals I can remember, will stand out in a long weekend of good eating. (Saturday, there was pizza, and Sunday, a visit to a solid Vegas steakhouse, Envy.) Definitely got the food part down. Then there's the family. These are the two splitting branches of the holiday stress tree. Both can be great fun, both can make you insane. One of them, you can always order takeout. Me, I spent an hour tearing apart turkey meat in my kitchen Friday morning, hand shredding it piece by piece, my dog begging uncontrollably just inches away. Grab a drumstick, rip it up, good meat in the bowl, bones and yuck in the garbage. Hands shiny with fat, tiny bits of bird clinging to fingers, just like I watched my dad do years back. I remember trips home from college for Thanksgiving, waking up on the couch, seeing him sitting at the dining room table doing this. Getting ready for the fry. This is our collective holiday experience, traditions we carry out whether we love them or not because they are laced with memories. We take the bitter for the sweet.

frank & fina's cocina.

My pick for best Mexican restaurant off the Strip goes to Frank & Fina's Cocina, a charming neighborhood joint unfortunately located way, way out west, beyond the 215 Beltway off Flamingo Road. Okay, perhaps the location isn't that bad. It's planted in one of the largest retail centers I've ever seen (even if there are plenty of open spots these days), near a Chuck E. Cheese and a Fuddrucker's. But F&F is a family-owned restaurant with about 15 years of history; until a few years ago it was located on Charleston Boulevard, much closer to the city's center. It's thriving out in the 'burbs, having taken over the space next door and expanded into a very comfortable, full-on restaurant with a menu long on tasty, light cuisine and decent drinks.

The standards are available, but F&F excels at crafting delicious vegetarian dishes with perfect spice (try the crispy, addictive veggie taquitos or perhaps some sweet potato enchiladas) and home-style, slow cooked favorites like chile verde, ropa vieja, mole, carnitas and more. On our most recent visit, we were served by Frank himself, who quickly ran down the many specials of the night and made some recommendations. Grilled tilapia tacos were tough to pass on, but I decided to try the simple grilled chicken meal, two juicy pieces with rice and beans. It could have been a little spicier but the loving preparation would shame El Pollo Loco. We also sampled panuchos (pictured), a Yucatan hybrid of tacos and tostadas. Lightly cooked corn tortillas are covered in black beans, tender chicken, smooth avocado, pickled red onion and salty Cotija cheese. The texture of the tortilla is both crispy and chewy, paving the way for each fresh flavor to shine. This simple, bright dish is the perfect example of F&F food, which always seem to rest lighter than the goods at your average Mexican kitchen. I'm not sure how they do it, but I'm grateful.

agave.

When it comes to Mexican food in Vegas, there are two types of restaurants: places worth going back to and places that aren't. Even though I've had lots of food and drink at Agave in Summerlin over the last few years, I'm afraid it falls into the latter category.

Despite what any critic writes or what any foodie snob will tell you, there is plenty of worthwhile Mexican food to be found in Las Vegas. Some of the most convenient, affordable, fun and interesting food on the Strip is being served at Border Grill, Dos Caminos, Diego, Isla and other restaurants, and there is no shortage of awesome hole-in-the-wall taquerias scattered about the valley. Of course, there is a powerful presence of run-of-the-mill, beans-and-rice, please-the-gringos restaurants as well. But it's pretty easy to cut through the boring (Macayo's) and discover the fantastic (Frank & Fina's).

Agave is somewhere in between. It's hard to believe this restaurant is run by the same company behind the splendid Vintner Grill just a short distance east on West Charleston Boulevard. Vintner's menu is playful continental with a Mediterranean flair; Agave's menu seems to grow less impressive every time I visit. A recent lunch on the patio started unfortunately with too-sweet, no-heat salsas, but the braised beef taquito appetizer made up for it. A gigantic machaca tostada was a massive salad atop a mound of beans and tender shredded beef, and the chicken torta also was too big to finish, a well-spiced grilled chicken breast swimming in plenty of guacamole and braced by a decent, baguette-like sandwich roll. It was filling, but far from satisfying.

I've eaten just about everything here, from fajitas to carnitas to tiny tacos to seafood, but still, the best thing one could order is a drink. All cocktails are made fresh (and a little too slow, if you ask me) and I've never sampled one I didn't like. The Tlaquepaque, with its fresh raspberries and Casa Noble tequila, remains the only blended margarita I've ever enjoyed. The house margarita is made with Herradura El Jimador and Patron Citronge, and the Jalisco Martini, which we just tried recently, blends honeydew melon and Midori with tequila for a smooth, crisp treat. Agave serves over 100 different tequilas, and you can taste by flight if you like. With its festive vibe and splashy pinkness, Agave could be a great party bar. Could be. But for now, it remains a fine place for a summer margarita with mediocre-at-best food.

casa don juan.

The first time I went to Casa Don Juan, it was for a job interview lunch years ago. It was with the Las Vegas Convention and Visitor Authority and I had chile verde. It was good. That would have been a pretty funny job for me, huh?

The second time, it was meeting up with new girlfriend and her friends during a First Friday arts event, and it was a bit nerve-wracking but there were giant margaritas. Those were good, too.

But I was never really impressed with the food at this downtown cocina until I had an early dinner there last night. The chips were especially crunchy and corny, and the salsas, though a bit thin for me, were fresh and zingy. I ordered a rice-and-beans plate with a fully-packed shredded beef enchilada, a crisp beef taco and a hearty relleno. Everything was better than just good. The relleno, in particular, was interesting. The "crust" on the pepper was soft, spongy and warm, kind of like an omelet instead of some fried disaster, and it tasted of eggs but not in a breakfasty way. It was light and satisfying at the same time.

I will gladly take Casa Don Juan as my downtown Mexican restaurant of choice, ahead of the perfectly fine Dona Maria Tamales and the quaint but overrated El Sombrero Cafe.

battle of the chiles verde.

In my not-so-humble opinion, the measure of a Mexican restaurant is its take on chile verde. Chile verde is a Mexican-American stew usually consisting of tender pork and a combination of tomatillos, jalapenos and other peppers that give it a green hue and a moderate spice. Sometimes it's garlicky. Sometimes it has potatoes. Sometimes it's chunky and sometimes it's smooth. It's one of my favorite dishes yet I refuse to cook it because my dad's recipe was the best I've ever had, and I don't want to disgrace those memories by fucking it up.


Anyways, now that there are a handful of solid Mexican restaurants around my Northwest Vegas headquarters, I took it upon myself to find out which makes the better dish. First up, my reliable family taco joint, Vega's Cafe. The menu here is traditional and basic, but they do basic so well, from the homemade tortillas to the chili rellenos to the tacos papas. The Calderon family's version of chile verde is unlike any I've had before: super spicy with plenty of fresh vegetables. And since they don't do pork here (yes, it's a problem), I sampled this dish with tender shredded chicken. The green sauce was well seasoned with a little tangy zip, but the peppers and onions interspersed throughout seemed to be only lightly cooked. It was a unique experience, crisp, and I had to drink quite a bit of beer to cool off. Everything I've eaten at Vega's is comfy and likable, but this is not the chile verde I had in mind.


A little bit closer is what they dish up at Camacho's Cantina, the franchise inside Aliante Station. Seems like a commercialized, time-tested menu like this one wouldn't include such a rich chile verde, with plenty of red onions and cilantro mixed in. But it does. And it's good. A return trip here on Taco Tuesday also was a pleasant surprise, when for a few hours in the bar, little street tacos of carnitas, carne asada or chicken were a dollar each.


The most recently opened Mexican restaurant in the neighborhood is Lindo Michoacan, the third installment of a Vegas franchise. Many Mexicans tout Michoacan as the best food in Vegas. While I've been to all three locations and had pleasing meals at each, and while the menu is expansive and includes homestyle favorites like birria and tongue and seafood and everything, I'm not convinced Michoacan is head and shoulders above other local favorites. The chile verde here is mighty tasty; the chunks of pork are the biggest and best among the restaurants I'm blabbering about here. But the sauce had a little too much lime, the acidity taking away from the hearty stewness that chile verde is supposed to be, and it didn't have enough veggies. Dad's had the pork, yes, but it also had strips of simmered jalapenos and other peppers that would burn your fucking face off if you didn't have a flour tortilla and some ice water at the ready.

encore. sushisamba. dos caminos.

I didn't think one Saturday would be enough to properly peruse the dining and drinking options in Encore, Wynn, Palazzo and Venetian, but we actually managed to cover quite a bit of ground.


While browsing menus at Encore, trying to decide where dinner would be taking place, a question struck: why don't these swanky Strip super resorts have cool little joints to stop in for a quick bite? Casino tapas bars. Where are they? The thought had little time to mature before we found what we were looking for: the Lobby Bar & Cafe. Like everything else here, it's red and gold. We took a seat a cozy little table surrounding a giant golden tree person statue. Don't you like how normal that sounds? This nook appears to be a place for coffee or cocktail, but it also serves perfect desserts and small plates. We shared a tapas tree consisting of three of them: tomato and mozzarella skewers, cheese and bacon croquettes, and prosciutto-wrapped, almond-stuffed dates. Also, we ordered a hummus sampler, which was actually a small tasting of hummus, creamed feta and completely non-bitter babaganoush. All bites were delicious and accompanied by mimosas and pear ginger martinis.


That was breakfast. Yes.


Before leaving Encore we stopped for an additional cocktail at the nearby Eastside Lounge, another cool place with a shitty name. This bar has lounge seating overlooking the pool, or outdoor patio seating right on top of the pool. The unseasonably warm weather took us outside. A munchies plate of homemade, greasy-but-good potato chips and spicy little Japanese cracker snacks arrived, and we drank weird drinks: a raspberry-tinted version of a French 75 (vodka and champagne) and a cherry-tinted Tom Collins. Encore, you are a good place to drinky.


Sticking with the theme of out with the old, we completely bypassed Wynn Las Vegas and moved on to Palazzo, wandering through expensive, empty shops. Despite the fact that it opened at a terrible moment in time, despite the fact the restaurants and nightclubs inside of it have already shuttered or been horrifically re-done, I have developed a strong affinity for this place. Not sure why.


For no reason, we decided our next stop would be SushiSamba, a restaurant I previously had no interest in. Think of it as a sort of mini-Tao: a menu with multiple personality disorder, a scattered, urban decor, and generally a place selling experience over food. But after a few of the best Caipirinhas I've tasted in Vegas, I'm ready to give this shit a try. To snack on, we ordered sweet coconut rice, black beans and crispy plaintains, and it was solid. Other dishes swing Asian or Latin, but overall the menu looked interesting enough.


After more walking and store gazing through the busy Grand Canal shops of the Venetian, we decided to come back through Palazzo and have dinner at Dos Caminos (pictured), a New York transplant and product of the same company behind Fiamma in MGM Grand (which is great). After weaving through the dark, hipster lounge, we found ourselves in a truly massive dining room that included a private space where a wedding reception was taking place. Other than that, business was light in the early Saturday evening. Started with the obligatory guacamole and asked for it spicy; it did not disappoint. Feeling the effects of a day spent boozing and noshing, we decided to keep it simple. Tacos.


On the menu, they were called Tacos en Cazuela. Chipotle chile roasted chicken tinga tacos came with corn done Mexico street-style, spicy slaw that was not very spicy and simmered pinto beans with a bacon kick. Tamarind braised beef shortribs tacos came with sweet potato croquettes and a useless zucchini salad. Both dishes were great, particularly the shortribs. The meat was tender and crazy rich. Dos Caminos is officially on the map and ready to challenge Border Grill for the title of Best Mexican Restaurant on the Strip.

los tacos.

Anytime I've ever walked into a little restaurant and I was the whitest guy in there, the food has always been good. Always.

There is no shortage of taco shops along East Charleston Boulevard, and many of them are too scary looking for me to try. But I will return to Los Tacos, a taco shop that clearly used to be something else, but I'm not sure what. What it is now is a friendly little restaurant with delicious food, including a selection of lean meats from which to choose from when piecing together tacos, burritos, tortas, quesadillas or tostadas.

Actually, the tostadas are strictly seafood, either shrimp or a ceviche of oyster, shrimp and octopus. Looked interesting, but I stuck to basics on my first visit: two tacos of carne asada with a side of rice and beans. The large tacos, two soft, fresh, corn tortillas to each of them, start with melted white cheese and whole pinto beans, topped with your meat and two large stripes of smooth avocado and a pulpy pico de gallo. I don't know if tacos in this style are traditional from a certain area or what, but one of them would have been plenty. The steak was tender and juicy, if underseasoned, but the other toppings made up for that. The beans and rice were simple and great, perfectly cooked.

I probably should have got a combo plate, your choice of meat with rice, beans and tortillas. More meat options are carnitas (yes), chorizo, the beef head scrapin's dubbed "cabeza," tongue, al pastor (marinated pork), chicken or a ham and cheese setup. The menu is simple like a great taco shop should be. Sometimes the risk (of eating in a strange health department hazardish joint) brings a great reward.

another try at ti.

It's easy to shit talk a joint on the Strip and say there's no reason to go, especially if it's older and less hip and not overflowing with exciting restaurants or clubs. But when you want a mini-vacation and you don't want to pay $300 a night (or when the economy sucks and every hotel is reducing room rates, and you want to find the best value), you might find yourself doing a weekend in a place just like that. A place you just shit talked.


But even though we had a lot of fun with our two-night stay at Treasure Island, the original assessment still holds true. Most of that fun was spent roaming, drinking, shopping and eating at Encore, Wynn, Palazzo and Venetian, TI's superior neighbors. Although it was beautifully sunny and probably warm enough, the TI pool was closed. A Friday night dinner at Isla was once again reliably good, but outdone by a Saturday night dinner at Palazzo's Dos Caminos Mexican restaurant. The standard king bed hotel room was nice enough (the bed was great), but obviously an old room with a few modern touches (flatscreen TV) and not really a room renovated. Skipped room service, didn't do the spa ... because we were too busy enjoying the amenities of better hotels within a short walking distance.


There is something to be said for TI's steakhouse offering, however. Boringly named The Steak House, we paid it a visit for a late snack Friday night, crashed the bar and received superior service from our barman. He let us sample wine, speedily brought more plus martinis plus a shrimp cocktail, garlic whipped potatoes and a delicious endive salad with slab bacon, and capped it off by advising that the best dessert in the house was actually served at the coffee shop next door. Then he sent somebody to grab one. (It was chocolate cake, not that special. But it's the effort that counts.) Let this be a lesson: When in doubt, head to the hotel steakhouse bar.


Perhaps the best example of TI's stature is its respected but now sleepy sushi restaurant, Social House. Buzzed about for months when it opened in 2006, the place seems to be a shell of its former fast-paced self. (Full disclaimer: I've never eaten there. I'm sure it's great. But it looks like it's been forgotten completely.) Last year you couldn't squeeze your way in to get a drink in the lounge downstairs. That lounge was crickets Friday night, and the staff was slow, too.

yellowtail. border grill. payard.

Just because there is a ton of food in the house doesn't mean we shouldn't go out. Actually, it does, so the blame for going out on Thanksgiving weekend falls to those friends who come to town. There is a slightly odd feeling when "entertaining" friends who grew up in Vegas with you and return to see their families for holidays. You try to pick a place to go out together, but you can't really impress them because they know everything already, and they're over it. There's pressure and no pressure at the same time. It's strange.

The friends, S+M, grew up Vegas and have since been all over the world. They currently reside in Sacramento for no good reason. They greatly appreciate epicurean adventures and we always say we're going to do grand dining tours of Vegas' top restaurants, but we seldom have the time or disposable income to realize the dinners of our collective dreams. On our last adventure, I foolishly took them to the then-newly opened Company in Luxor and although the food was tasty, it managed to become a disaster.

This time around, because of Thanksgiving and family commitments, we didn't do dinner but we did get some drinks and snacks at the newest restaurant in the Bellagio, Yellowtail. Sitting at a small, comfy table in front of the bar, adjacent to the casino, perfect for people watching as douchebags, girls with super short dresses and George Maloof wandered about, we had dirty martinis and too-sweet bourbon drinks and a pleasant variety of delicious vegetarian small plates. The seaweed salad was a simple and pure revelation, putting anything else I've ever had to shame. It was a colorful red, white and green plate, and all the varieties were tender and clean-tasting, except for one leafy green selection that appeared to be lightly fried. I never thought I'd think seaweed amazing. We also had sea salted and chili-sauced edamame and grilled eggplant skewers, bathed in a sweet miso. Yellowtail, headed by Korean chef and former pro snowboarder Akira Back, has been very well reviewed and apparently deserves the accolades. I'm looking forward to a proper meal there, perhaps with S+M.

Saturday marked a return to what I am now convinced is the definitive Mexican restaurant in Las Vegas, Border Grill at Mandalay Bay. I accept that I am partial to Mexican food and so it is hard to be critical, especially when so many restaurants are so similar in quality and cuisine. I generally prefer the more creative spots on the Strip (Diego at MGM, Isla at Treasure Island) to the more traditional, home-style eateries around Vegas. But this was my third time at Border Grill and it keeps getting better. Well, at least the food does. The restaurant was renovated over the summer and it looks a little boring. Formerly colorful, open and lively, it's now trying to be a sleek, dark steakhouse. (At least the upstairs is. I didn't go down there, but I'm assuming the lower level is still a little more bright and casual to match the poolside patio.) The new decor threw me off a little, but the food was beyond impressive so I guess we'll let it slide. Along with perfectly adequate chips and salsa, we started with plantain empanadas, a perfect salty-and-sweet bite. A favorite we've sampled before, the smoked brisket taquitos, were great again. But the star was Cochinita Pibil, tender marinated pork roasted in a banana leaf with cinnamon, orange and other tasty things and served with caramelized plantains, pickled onions and two handmade corn tortillas. I didn't even touch the tortillas. The flavor of the moist pork was so warm and satisfying, I couldn't bring myself to consume a forkful of anything else. Well, except for the sweet plantains. They were a perfect match, like having dinner and dessert all at once.

Later that night we met again with S+M at Payard patisserie, the Caesars Palace playground of probably the best pastry chef around, Francois Payard. I was still too full, although we did buy a flourless chocolate chip cookie that I'm eyeballing as I type this. But S+M polished off a banana nutella crepe, which sounds pretty fucking good. As we were reflecting on the pastries, chocolates and coffees to be had, S revealed that these French goodies are, in fact, not really better in France. He says they're the same. They just taste better because you know you're in Paris. And you can get them from a street cart instead of parking at some goliath casino resort and walking forever to find and purchase something that costs three times as much. Yes, this is our problem in Vegas; we've got the goods, all of them, but we know it. And shit, how awesome would it be if the Strip was lined with litte streetfood vendors?

i know roberto's taco shop and you, sir, are no roberto's taco shop.

As a respectable human, I am obligated to try every taco shop I see, especially those located within a short distance of my northwest Las Vegas home. Super Taco opened just days ago in a big, bland Wal-Mart shopping center nearby, so I gave it a shot. I don't recommend it. The tacos, stuffed with shredded beef, lettuce and cheese, were fine and standard, but the chips were greasy, freshly fried and draped in an extremely suspect light green substance described as guacamole but closer to the consistency of, as Chi put it, baby poo.

It doesn't matter. Ninety percent of the taco shops in Las Vegas are Roberto's or some lesser clone of Roberto's. And even though the menu is mostly basic, the food is more American-Mexican than authentic Mexican, and the chances of food poisoning are pretty high, Roberto's is reliable and delicious. Though it may not be true, I have no problem calling this the best taco in Vegas. This place is really a regional institution, having been born in San Diego's Mission Beach and expanding all over. At last count, there were 753,054 Roberto's taco shops in Las Vegas.

And the places that rip off Roberto's, they don't even try to hide it. The menu is exactly the same. A number four is two beef tacos, rice and beans, no matter what the sign out front says. It's ridiculous.

Here are the top five things I'm likely to order at Roberto's at 2 in the morning, which is usually the time I'll eat at Roberto's:
1. Two beef tacos, one order of taquitos with guacamole.
2. The aforementioned number four.
3. Two beef tacos, two chicken tacos.
4. Chicken burrito with rice, beans, and whatever weird vegetables they feel like wrapping into this bitch.
5. Carnitas plate (Only if I feel bad about myself).