After a gastronomic debacle on his birthday (proving to us, once again, that if it’s top shelf eats you’re seeking, The Strip is where you should sojourn), we decided to take our staff (Anthony Robert Curtas, Y.O.B. 1975 – The Official Number One Son Of ELV) on a culinary tour de force he’d remember for awhile.
So we started out seeking apps only at Le Cirque — Las Vegas’s most civilized dining venue. Yeah, that was the plan. But once Chef David Werly got a hold of us, it was course after course of one stunning dish after another.
Scallops and beets ain’t exactly ELV’s idea of a phenomenal flight of food fancy, but Werly made it sing. Likewise, a simple chunk of Alaskan king crab was placed atop a black squid ink ravioli stuffed with more crabmeat. Then came the obligatory hunk of foie gras (perfect), followed by some house-made fettucine with white truffles that reminded us Francophiles there were Italians in the house.
Kickin’ it old school, the piece de resistance was an old-fashioned crepes Suzette that finished us off like the frogs at Agincourt.
Undaunted, and with more gustatory lives than Louis Quatorze had mistresses, we then crossed Flamingo on foot for some Iberian ham. Guy Savoy’s Jamon Iberico de belotta de pata negra was just the thing for a couple of fressers out to feast, and the perfect petit four for our evening among the Michelin stars.
Just a minor quibble, but I am sure your staff pointed out to Chef Werly that the orange supreme sitting atop the foie gras is poorly trimmed. One doesn’t expect to have orange pith with their foie gras at Le Cirque.