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“The trouble with sake,” said Troy Polee  after two hours of sipping and soaking it in, “is that it’s all made basically the same way and with the same ingredients.” In other words, how is the untrained palate supposed to distinguish such miniscule differences in mouthfeel, taste and aroma when it’s all the same thing?

Before ELV goes wallowing in his ignorance much further, he should tell you that he has been sipping and (casually) studying sake over the past few years, and he is slowly gaining an appreciation for the fine tuning that goes into what is basically “rice beer” — albeit highly refined, filtered and fermented “rice beer.”

And before any of his sake friends start to shoot him, ELV will admit that the taste distinctions are becoming more apparent as he sips his way through various tastings, and that his appreciation for sake as the absolute best thing to drink with sushi and sashimi has been enhanced immeasurably since the Japanese food revolution began in Vegas over five years ago.

But he still has a long way to go.

Which is why he jumped at the chance to listen to Koji Kawakami of Yoshi-No-Gawa Sake at I-Naba recently, where he learned a few things, among them:

- The Sake Value Meter (SMV) Index is a quick and easy way to find the level of sweetness and acidity in a sake.

- Sake dudes are just as passionate about their product as any Italian wine maker.

- Yoshi-No-Gawa makes a beautiful range of sakes that are a nice, affordable and tasty education for the sake novice.

- The only way to learn is to taste…and taste…and taste…and ask a lot of dumb questions.

- There are lots of sake mavens around town now who are eager to teach you — our personal favorite being Yukiko Kawasaki at Yellowtail because: a) she is female, b) she is cute as a button, c) her name rolls trippingly off the tongue, and d) she’s a ton of fun to talk to.

Another thing we learned (or rather, were reminded of) is how stunning the food is at Yoshi Honda’s I-Naba, and how splendidly this drink goes with his battera (lightly cured mackerel pressed over sushi rice), tempura, and satsuma-age (fried fish cake with ginger and green onion).

So if you don’t know your sakes, at least know your sake somms and sake makers.

Like Yoshinogawa, which also rolls trippingly off the tongue.

Kanpai!

I-NABA

3120 South Decatur Boulevard

Las Vegas, Nevada 89146

702.220.6060

www.inabalasvegas.com

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Alan Richman once gave us the best piece of food writing advice we’ve even received. “When it’s really bad,” he said, “just report the facts.”

So here goes.

We entered a vacant restaurant around 6:15 on a Tuesday night. (Truly, there was maybe one other table occupied and no one was at the bar.)

We sat at the bar.

We ordered a cocktail. Then another. (It was that kind of week.)

Nothing wrong with the drinks, so we’ll leave it at that.

Hunger pangs struck.

We perused the dinner menu. It’s a relatively short one, which gave us (momentary, misplaced) confidence in the kitchen.

The pork cheek sounded interesting. So did pasta “Bolognese.”

“Maryland-style” crab cakes didn’t (sound interesting), but sometimes, in the name of research, you take one for the team and order something boring just to see how the cooks do it.

The same thinking informed our reason for ordering the steamed Spring vegetables. (pictured above)

First the crab cake arrived:

The highlight of a lowlight meal

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It was by-the-numbers and unremarkable, but sufficiently crabby to hold both our attention and hope for the rest of the meal.

Then, a few minutes later, the other three dishes hit the table: the aforementioned “steamed” vegetables (more on them in a minute), the pork cheeks:

Appetizing? You make the call!

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…and finally, the pasta “Bolognese.” (The quotes are ELV’s, not the restaurant’s.)

Croutons go cavatelli!

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First, let’s consider the vegetables.

They were raw, lukewarm, and entirely unseasoned. They were neither glazed with fat nor sprinkled with anything that might enhance their natural character. By taste and texture, one could only conclude that they perhaps passed by a steamer for no more than 30 seconds before making their way to the dining room.

We mentioned that they are raw to the bartender/waitron, and he mumbled something along the lines of:  “Well, they’re supposed to be steamed and I’ll take them back to the kitchen if you want?” but we told him not to bother.

We told him not to bother because by that time, we had been confronted by the pork and pasta.

That pork consisted of two grey, golf-ball-sized nuggets of sufficiently tender meat that, once again, were unfamiliar with the art of seasoning. The tannish-yellow broth it sat in (which reminded us of unseasoned chicken stock) provided neither relief nor interest from this tedious state of affairs, and the poached egg on top(?) didn’t help either — it being equally unacquainted with salt, pepper or the reason for its placement thereon.

ELV was left wondering if he had ever seen an uglier restaurant dish, and wishing for the blessed relief of a hospital meal.

Then, things got worse.

The pasta was served un-tossed with sauce. Instead, a mass of cavatelli gemelli had a thick, tomato puree of intense, sugary sweetness plopped upon it. So dense and cloying was it, we were thinking of canned tomato paste with every bite. Instead of the meat being incorporated into the sauce, as in a true Bolognese, someone had folded chunks of steak into the mix at the last minute. It was to a real Bolognese sauce what Yanni is to Rossini – a crass, cheap imitation for the masses.

But wait, there’s more!

The whole enchilada of Kerry Simon’s “Bolognese” was topped with….wait for it….huge, oily, deep-fried croutons!

Yup, croutons.

Have you ever heard of pasta being topped with croutons? We haven’t. But if this is some sort of culinary trend we’ve missed, please inform Eating Las Vegas immediately…so we can look forward to having our al dente pastas adorned with fried bread as a way of further ensuring that our bowels never move.

In the croutons defense, they provided the perfect capper for the meal. Greasy, flavorless filigree forced upon fatuous food fallacies.

Which pretty much summed up our feelings about this forlorn failure.

The bill for the food portion of the meal came to $85. It was paid.

SIMON KITCHEN & BAR

In the Palms Place Hotel and Casino

4381 West Flamingo Road

Las Vegas, NV 89103

702.944.3292

http://www.simonatpalmsplace.com/

Despite my terrific pun in the title, this is sad sad news for lovers of was was basically the Earth 2 version of Le Cirque.  In my eyes, it could have been the same restaurant with a big “I Love Lucy” line painted down the middle separating the French from the Italian, with a little Swiss host stand in the middle.

The story officially broke by our very own lovechild of Walter Cronkite and and Gene Shalit, in perhaps the most zeitgeist-y way you can, via Facebook Status Update.  While the ability so spur a veritable whirlwind of flying rumors is enviable, I can confirm with John that it is the Lord’s truth:  We’re losing a good one.  The reasoning, still quite murky.  The murk may go deep, even to the thick black oil that pumps through a casino exec’s cold, unbeating heart.

Pictured, the person who marshals your dining choices.

Because I am not one to save my mourning until the last minute, and because I have always felt Circo to be one of the most woefully under-appreciated of the fine dining sect, I took in some of the new things to be had.  I’ll do it in few words, because we’re not all H.L Mencken over here.  Consider it Exhibit A through C on why you should make up the rest of your lifetime’s worth of Circo in the next year.

Their octopus salad has the hipster-cred of being done before everyone and their danged knuckle tattoos started tossing whatever cephalopod they could onto the grill.  After what  must be a downright Swedish tenderizing, these little tentacles are about as tender as a king crab leg and go perfectly with a simple pancetta and garbanzo salad and topped with shaved “bottarga”, the cured whole caviar-sac of a Grey Mullet.

Now you just KNOW I don’t like the term “comfort food”.  It’s an odd idea, like food is supposed to make me uncomfortable unless it’s some fried junk crusted in a breakfast cereal.  The “Salmone e Caviale” however, fits the bill of being very physically gratifying as well as mentally stimulating.  The smoked salmon and marscapone cream makes a kind of “carbonara” experience, while the paddlefish caviar stands out with bursts of that delicious salty goodness.

Submitted for your approval like Rod friggin Serling was your waiter, a citrus cured, smoked swordfish carpaccio.  With technical bravado in removing the less desirable qualities of the massive fish and complimenting the meaty flesh, it is served with a stunning and complexly layered bite of shaved fennel, watermelon radish, vodka cream, and caviar dressing.  Swordfish has always come off as sort of a showy, pushy thing people grill up as steaks, but Chef Micheal Vitangeli dresses up this cockney street urchin into a real Pygmalion.

Chef Michael has never disappointed as an Executive Chef, and clearly hasn’t disappointed in any position since working his way from prep.  Did you note a theme up there?  This guy has more chops in his aquatic fare than some entire seafood-centric restaurants have in their entire menu, and he gets can drop such a problem ingredient like caviar into it like it comes naturally!  He gets a Blingee.

If we’re seeing this caliber of food close a restaurant, burger concepts being foisted upon us in place of possibly game-changing charcuterie places, I only wonder what the future will bring…

ACCEPT BURGER, HUMANOID

Your pal,

Mitchell

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Before ELV had even a moment to think up some clever/catchy/juvenile/suggestive moniker for this pulchritudinous pair people pleasers at Honey Salt, Yvette (or maybe it was Ashley), described their dynamic duality thusly: “I’m sweet and she’s savory,” said Yvette (or maybe it was Ashley), and from that point on, we had no qualms about commenting upon their deliciousness.

Together, they provide seating in style for this hot new Summerlin eatery, and send all the right signals to diners (well, the male ones anyway) that this is a place that looks as good as it tastes.

Those among you of keen eye (who appreciate the pinnacle of Hot Hostess professionalism) may remember one of them (Ashley, not Yvette) as a repeat designee  in our ongoing quest to find only the best in front of the house personnel. (Hold on to your feminist flags, ladies, the next one’s going to be a dude, we guarantee.)

For those of you with bad eyesight (or short memories) here’s a (slightly out-of-focus) reminder from Ashley’s (not Yvette’s) former gig at Simon:

Ashley can wear our shirts anytime

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Those of you with a fine eye for fashion (like ELV), will probably agree that a man’s shirt and tie should be a regular addition to Ashley’s wardrobe, no matter where she’s working.

HONEY SALT

1031 South Rampart Blvd.

Las Vegas, NV 89145

702.445.6100

honeysalt.com

I love Batali places and all, but I mean really now.

-Mitchell

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We were recently asked by a local p.r. person about our weekly food/restaurant segment on Wake Up With the Wagners on KSNV TV (NBC) Channel 3 with this inquiry: “What exactly is the context of your segment?”

Leaving aside for a minute that any public relations person worth their salt (especially one who reps restaurants)  should know what we do on local television (after all, we’ve been a regular on local TV now – first on Channel 8, now on Channel 3, for five years), we thought, as a public service, we should show and describe what is entailed when restaurants and chefs come to the studio.

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The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.

I’m a study of a man in chaos in search of frenzy.

I am no more humble than my talents require.

I never read bad reviews about myself, because my friends invariably tell me about them.

These are teeny tiny Mediterranean clam-like things are called goose barnacales:

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They are very small:

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…but huge in flavor. They reek of the sea, and those flavors mimic the taste of chewy-yet-tender-and-sweet- shellfish (think littleneck clams with a touch of the metallic)…reminding us, with every nibble, of sea foam spray and our beach-combing days. (FYI: you only eat the tender little neck inside the dark little sleeve.)

These are Sardinian red prawns:

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They are extremely large shrimp:

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“Extremely large shrimp” would seem to be an oxymoron, but it’s the only way to describe these lush and succulent swimmers that retain the faintest hint of gaminess.

This is the chart the captains at Bartolotta Ristorante di Mare use to keep track of the various fresh fish they have on hand every night:

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It lists the number and weight (in grams – very confusing that) of every whole fish available on the premises.

Speaking of being “on hand,” Paul Bartolotta — the chef whose passion and genius brought forth this seminal restaurant in 2005 — no longer resides in Las Vegas, but does come here once a month to check on his creation. In that sense, he has morphed from being the “on premises, all the time” chef Steverino Wynn trumpeted when he launched the Wynn, to just another celebrity toque who shows up contractually to make sure no tune-ups are needed.

Wynn has apparently made peace with reversing field on all the hype he dished when he opened the joint, so apparently we have too.

We have because, at least as far as Bartolotta Ristorante di Mare is concerned, very few tune ups are needed.

Which, we guess, is a testament to Bartolotta the Man’s genius and passion.

So we at ELV will give Paul B. a “go in peace” and look forward to going back to his restaurant for bites both big and small.

That is all.

BARTOLOTTA RISTORANTE DI MARE

In the Wynn Hotel and Casino

3131 Las Vegas Blvd. South

Las Vegas, NV 89109

702.248.3463

www.wynnlasvegas.com

“If you want bad tapas, go to Firefly; if you want good tapas, go to Forte.”

ELV couldn’t have said it better himself.

FORTE TAPAS BAR & BISTRO

4180 South Rainbow Blvd.

Las Vegas, NV 89103

702.220.3876

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Once you get past the sign at the just-opened (last Friday) Ogden’s Hops & Harvest, you will enter a worthless and feng shui-challenged foyer that makes absolutely no sense:

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This odd entryway will slightly annoy you, as it did the crowds who stayed away from the previous tenant (the without-a-clue Bottles & Burgers) in droves.

But pay no attention to this fatuous foyer, because fortunately, everything  forward  is familiar, fascinating and fantastic.

Beginning with the famous and flavorful blue corn muffins:

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….a carbo and corn treat so fine you will fast forget the design failings. These muffins are so good, and so addictive, you will nonchalantly polish off a plate of them before you’re even done perusing the menu.

These muffins are so good, they ought to be charging five bucks a basket — but they don’t, so consider yourself ahead of the game here from your first bite.

From there you will notice the menu:

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…again, everything a casual restaurant’s menu should be: short, descriptive, easy to read and mouth-watering.

Then, you’ll flip said menu and notice the superbly chosen beer list on the back:

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…a list both familiar and obscure, that makes you want to try everything on it. (Btw: The wine list is equally short, but not quite as interesting and a bit pricey — but anyone who comes here to drink wine ought to be sentenced to a week at Marche Bacchus.)

From there, you should just close your eyes and dive in — to the best food suburban Las Vegas has ever seen.

Want examples? Then how about a fork-droppingly-delicious summer vegetable hash:

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….or gorgeous mini-blue cheese souffles:

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….so vivid with the pungency of Maytag bleu, you’ll be astonished with every bite.

Or, how about grilled artichokes with lemon, fresh mayonnaise and crispy capers:

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…again as sharply flavored and pure as a vegetable dish can be. (The chefs at Poppy Den and Honey Salt could be taken to school by how perfectly seasoned everything is here.)

Carnivores will have nothing to carp about either, as the Ogdens (father and son Bradley and Bryan) have brought forth the H & H Burger:

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….which may not be quite the equal of the famous one from Caesars (no wood-burning stove here (sigh)), but is a mighty fine hamburger by any standard. Pursuers of porcine profligacy will palpitate over the piggish perfection performed in the preparation of the crispy sweet and sour pork belly:

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….again, a textbook version of how to make an ingredient sing.

Only one sweet was tried (those damn muffins can start to take their toll later in the meal, not that we’re complaining), but it was as superb as everything else we tried. Imagine if you will, a strawberry shortcake made with fresh, juicy, sweet berries, real shortcake, and luscious whipped cream:

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…an idea most modern chefs eschew in favor of trying to gussy things up.

But great chefs — especially great chefs like the Ogdens — know when a classic needs no improvement, and you couldn’t find a better one if you exhumed the ghosts of a thousand Midwestern grandmas and asked them to whip one up.

It’s easy to go overboard with praise when you first taste food this good, but as we said yesterday, the proof is in the pudding — the pudding being how the kitchen will perform six months into its run, after all the press has been served and the hubbub has died down.

But anyone who knows Brad and Bryan, and experienced what they brought forth at Caesars Palace, know these guys can cook. Great American food is in their bones and in their blood.

And now it’s in our neighborhood.

ELV is well known to both the Ogdens and considers himself a friend to the family. But if the food was shitty, or the least bit underwhelming, he would tell you and them. His meal was comped and he left a $30 tip.

HOPS & HARVEST

450 South Rampart Blvd. #120

Las Vegas, NV 89145

(p.s. H & H opens tomorrow for lunch.)