Happy F*cking Thanksgiving

Governor Sisolak signs bill ensuring mail-in voting for Nevadans next election | KSNV(Trust me, I’m the Gubernator)

God I wish there was more to be thankful for this year….but when it comes to being grateful, my toasting cup is almost empty.

For the past 6  years we’ve cooked increasingly elaborate meals for a crowd ranging from 15-20 hungry souls. This year there will be six of us.

Friends as diverse as a 70 year old regular to 40 year old couples to a and healthy-as-a-horse 25 year old Millennial have begged off, citing, “I really don’t feel comfortable going to people’s houses” as the reason.

In other words, boneheaded government and fear-stoking media have done their jobs well(?) — continuing to convince a large segment of the public that this “pandemic” is as dangerous as the Bubonic Plague and Polio rolled into one.

Groupthink and fear are powerful tools. Perspective takes time and thoughtfulness, two things politicians abhor. At this point it will take a mighty strong vise to break the grip of these things on people’s psyches. Or a vaccine.

All we at ELV know is that common sense and logic haven’t worked. Even if a statistically tiny portion of people are getting infected (67 per 100,000 population in Clark County, Nevada at last count), and an even tinier number are actually dying from it, people’s sense of health and safety has been shaken to the core.

We shudder to think how long it will take to return things to normal.

So, rather than giving thanks this year, mostly all we have to give is concern — worrying for the future of so many things we hold dear. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still raise a glass to those who deserve a chorus of huzzahs for all we’ve been through this year. And so, with all the enthusiasm of man being led to the gallows, here they are:

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A toast to Las Vegas! Sin City, the boulevard of broken dreams, now broken. Thirty years of progress reduced to a ghost town in mere months. Now, it is a sad shell of itself — a convention city without conventions, empty and without purpose. Though conventions may be gone, our giant, forlorn hotels still beckon them with empty rooms, unused spaces, and the defeated countenance of twenty vertical Titanics about slip beneath the waves and into the sands of time. (Mix. That. Metaphor!)

Three cheers to all of the restaurant owners and workers who have kept up a game face through one bone-headed shutdown order after another. More than anyone, they have seen and felt the insanity over the past nine months. How any of them can smile about anything at this juncture is beyond me.

Carolyn Goodman is mom before mayor for adopted children | Las Vegas Review-Journal(She’s everything Sisolak isn’t: smart and nice)

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A clink of the martinis to Carolyn Goodman (full disclosure: my client), who got things right back in the Spring and got crucified for it on social media. Las Vegas needed to open up and it did, to none of the plague-like, super-spreader consequences so many were predicting. To all of those who vilified her, we wish nothing more for you than a day of eating crow.

Let us hoist a cup (or three) to the nimrods and know-nothings, to the knuckledraggers and the MAGA hat-wearing, face mask dismissing, rock-hard conservatives who pointedly politicized this Covid crisis by objecting to the government ruining people’s lives (and livelihoods) in the name of keeping them “safe.” Not since the Vietnam logic of “We had to destroy the village in order to save it,” has government stupidity been writ so large before us. Without these noisy conservatives, no one would be calling out these continuing affronts to common sense and human freedom.

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While we’re at it, let’s pop some corks tomorrow for all the liberals — those folks who really really care about everyone — who want government to do its utmost (at whatever cost) to fight the virus. Every yin needs a yang, and every selfish, libertarian asshole needs the counterpoint of some clueless do-gooder who thinks she can save the world.

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And speaking of cluelessness, let’s bend the elbow for our Gubernator in Chief, Steve Sisolak, who reminds us of a burly bear caught in the headlights of his own contradictions. He hasn’t gotten anything right yet, but dadgummit, he’s still trying to fight Mother Nature with the only tool he has: seating arrangements.

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Finally, let us drink to 2020, to the death counts, the infection rates, the curve-flattening, the hyperbolic media, and the gullible public. To social media that fanned these flames. To people jogging and driving with masks on. To those huddled in their caves. To the constant stream of fear-mongering that millions swallowed hook, line, and sinker, never thinking to ask, “Why don’t they show us all the people who have recovered from Covid? Or at least mention them?” Here’s to all of this and all of them, for they got exactly what they deserved…even if the rest of us didn’t.

And, because it IS Thanksgiving, we should take stock of how grateful we are for the things that we truly are thankful for. In my life, today, these would include:

A 96 year old mother who is as spry and sharp as she was at 50.

Two wonderful sons who have found two quality women to share their lives with.

Totally adorable grand-kids.

A wife who puts up with me.

A job that is a perfect fit for this time in my life.

A house that I love.

Good friends, both new and old.

All those who follow me on social media, and you who are reading these words right now. Though blogs and blogging have diminished across the board over the past ten years (and Covid will be the death of food writing), I still cherish what few “regs” I have who take the time to read my stuff and reach out to me when they can. G. B. Shaw once said, “There is no love sincerer than the love of food,” and by that token, there are no more fascinating people than those who share a love of good food and drink.

A closet full of decent wine whenever I’m thirsty.

Along those lines: Mail order wine…and food….because the selections in both in this town basically suck harder than a Sisolak presser.

My health.

My wife’s health.

My wife’s body.

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The restaurants of Las Vegas and all who work in them.

And for Las Vegas itself I am thankful — a town with which have have had a 40 year love-hate relationship, but has allowed me to pursue my passion for 25 years, and gain a great deal of notoriety in doing so.

For these and many other things I am eternally beholden for what they bring to my life on a daily basis.

On a sour note, for this year of Covid idiocy, I wish nothing more than a bucket of rancid natural wine, and a salmonella-infected slab of putrid headcheese. Here’s to you, 2020:

Happy F*cking Thanksgiving

Things Will Never Be the Same

Ed. note: The following essay appears in this month’s Desert Companion magazine. Click here to read it in its original format.

We seemed invincible once, didn’t we? Thirty years of ever-expanding prosperity will do that to you. Having survived Gulf wars, dot-com busts, recessions, mass shootings and depressions, it was a cinch the public’s appetite for all things Las Vegas was insatiable. Since 1994, we had seen one restaurant boom after another: celebrity chefs, the French Revolution of the early aughts, Chinatown’s twenty year expansion, Downtown’s resurgence — all of it  gave us rabid restaurant revelers a false sense of security. A cocky confidence that the crowds would flock and the champagne would always flow.

And then we were floored by a Covid left hook no one saw coming. Poleaxed, cold-cocked, out on our feet.  In an instant, literally, thirty years of progress hit the mat. To keep the metaphor going, we’ve now lifted ourselves to the ropes for a standing eight count. The question remains whether we can recover and still go the distance, or take one more punch and suffer a brutal TKO.

There was an eeriness to everything in those early months, as if a relative had died, or we were living in a bad dream. A sense of loss and apology filled the air. Like someone knocked unconscious (or awakening from a nightmare), our first instincts were to reassure ourselves. Restaurants were there to feed and help us back to our feet and the feelings were mutual. Reassurances and gratitude were the watchwords whenever you picked up a pizza or grabbed take-out from a chef struggling to make sense of it all.

Then, as quick as an unseen uppercut, the mood turned surly and defensive. The moment restaurants were given the go-ahead to start seating people again, the battle lines were drawn. It took some weeks to build the trenches, but by July, what began as a “we’re all in this together” fight for survival devolved into a multi-front war pitting survivalists on all sides against each other.  Mutual support evaporated as tensions arose between those needing to make a living and those who saw epidemic death around every corner.  Caught in the middle were the patrons: people who just wanted to go out, take advantage of our incredible restaurant scene and have a good time. Suddenly, everyone felt uncomfortable, and in a matter of a few calamitous weeks, dining out in America went from “we’re here to have a good time” to “let’s all struggle to get through this’ — not exactly a recipe for a good time, which is, after all, the whole point of eating out.

Reduced hours and crowds meant shorter menus, since every restaurant in town was forced to narrow its food options. No one seemed to mind, since anyone taking the time to dine out was simply happy the place was open. But if you sum it all up — the rules, the emptiness, the fear, the feeling of everyone being on guard — it’s a wonder anyone bothered going out at all. But going out to eat is what we do, because it is fun, convenient and delicious, and because we are human.

As Las Vegas’s most intrepid gastronaut, I’ve had to curb my voracious appetite more than anyone. Overnight my routine went from visiting ten restaurants a week to a mere few. Even in places where I’m on a first-name basis with the staff, the experience is as suppressed as the voices of the waiters. Instead of concentrating on hospitality, the singular focus is now on following all the rules. All of which makes you appreciate how the charm of restaurants stems from the sincerity of those serving you — something hard to notice when you can’t see their face.

Nowhere are these feelings more acute than on the Strip. “Las Vegas needs conventions to survive,” says Gino Ferraro, facing the simplest of facts. “If the hotels suffer, we suffer.” He’s owned Ferraro’s Italian Restaurant and Wine Bar since 1985 and will be the first to tell you how thin the margins are for success in the business. Restaurants are in your blood more than your bank account, and micromanaging, cutting costs, and (hopefully) another year of government assistance are what he sees as keys to their survival. “Good restaurants will survive, but there’s no doubt there will be less of them.”

Unlike the free-standing Ferraro’s, the Strip is different. There, the restaurants are amenities — like stores in a mall if you will — and from Sunday-Thursday (when the conventions arrived) they used to thrive. These days, like Ferraro’s, they still pack ’em in on weekends, but almost all are closed Monday-Wednesday. This doesn’t mean the food or the service has suffered, far from it, only that everyone is hanging on by their fingernails, and this anxiety is palpable when you walk through the doors. The staffs are almost too welcoming, which is nice, but you can sense the fear and it’s not pretty, and it is not going away for many months to come.

As Vegas slowly re-opens, one thing you can no longer take for granted is that each hotel will have a full compliment of dining options, from the most modest to world famous. If I had to make a prediction, it would be that a year from now, some hotels may field a smaller team of culinary superstars, and their bench will not be as deep, and those stars will have another season of wear and tear on them without any talented rookies to come along and take their place.

Long before the shutdown, there were signs we had reached peak Vegas and things were starting to wane. Some fancy French venues were showing their age, the Venetian/Palazzo (with its panoply of dining options), seemed overstuffed, and rumblings were heard that even the indefatigable David Chang had lost his fastball. The same could be said for the whole celebrity-chef-thing, which was starting to feel very end-of-last-century by the end of last year. The Palms’ murderer’s row of newly-minted sluggers was mired in a slump, and our gleaming, big box, pan-Asian eye-candy (Tao, Hakkasan) were not shining as bright as they once did.

The stakes are much higher when you consider the reputation of Las Vegas as a whole. Survey the landscape these days and all you can ask is, how much of this damage is permanent? It took from 1989-2019 to take Las Vegas from “The Town That Taste Forgot” to a world class, destination dining capital — a claim to fame like no other — where an entire planet of gastronomic delights, cooked by some of the best chefs in the business, was concentrated among a dozen swanky, closely-packed hotels. Now, what are we? A convention city with no conventions? A tourist mecca three days a week? Can we recapture this lost ground, or is some of it gone forever? Everyone is asking but no one has the answers.

Perhaps a culling of the herd was already in the works and all Covid did was accelerate the process. Are the big money restaurant days over? Certainly until those conventions return, and no one is predicting that until next year, at the earliest. If that’s the case, it will be a leaner/meaner gastronomic world that awaits us down the road — not the cornucopia of choices laid before you every night, no matter what style of food struck your fancy. The fallout will include the casinos playing it safe; not throwing money at chefs like they once did, and sticking with the tried a true for awhile.  Less ambitious restaurant choices? Absolutely. It is impossible to imagine a single European concept making a splash like Joël Robuchon did in 2005, or any Food Network star getting the red carpet treatment just for slapping their name on a door. The era of Flay, Ramsay, Andrés and others is over, and the “next big thing” in Las Vegas dining won’t be a thing for a long time.

If the Strip’s prospects look bleak (at least in the short term), locally the resilience has been astounding. Neighborhood venues hunkered down like everyone else, but now seem poised for a resurgence at a much faster rate than anything happening in the hotels.  If the Strip resembles a pod of beached whales, struggling to get back in the water, then local restaurants are the more nimble pilot fish, darting about, servicing smaller crowds wherever they find them. Four new worthwhile venues are popping up downtown: upscale tacos at Letty’s, Yu-Or-Mi Sushi and Sake, Good Pie and the American gastro-pub Main Street Provisions, all in the Arts District. Off the Strip Mitsuo Endo has debuted his high-toned yakitori bar — Raku Toridokoro — to much acclaim, and brew pubs are multiplying everywhere faster than peanut butter stouts.

Chinatown — with its indomitable Asians at the helm — seems the least fazed by any of this, and Circa will spring to life before year’s end on Fremont Street, hoping to capture some of the hotel mojo sadly absent a few miles south. Going forward, some of these imposed restrictions will remain in place to ensure survival (more take-out, smaller menus, fewer staff), but the bottom line is look to the neighborhoods if you wish to recapture that rarest of sensations these days, a sense of normalcy.

Watching my favorites absorb these body blows has been like nursing a sick child who did nothing to deserve such a cruel fate. In a way it’s made me realize that’s what these restaurants have become to me over decades: a community of fledgling businesses I’ve supported and watched grow in a place no one thought possible. As social experiments go, the great public health shutdown of 2020 will be debated for years, but this much is true: Las Vegas restaurants were at their peak on March 15, 2020, and reaching that pinnacle is a mountain many of them will never again climb.

 

Eating Las Vegas – The High Water Mark

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Ah…the end of summer. Traditionally when we would be turning in the final copy for EATING LAS VEGAS The 52 Essential Restaurants.

But not this year. This year there is no joy in Mudville. This year the Mighty Las Vegas has struck out. What we once saw as invincible, unconquerable, un-defeatable, has been laid so low as to be in need of resuscitation, not inspection and dissection.

No way can we justify rating or ranking restaurants according to their quality this year. That so many of them are open at all is a testament to the fortitude of cooks, chefs, owners, staff and everyone connected with our hospitality industry.

Even places we’ve disdained in the past now have our undying respect. This is no time for poncy snobs and their persnickety-ness. Effete, elitist, edicts should not elicit during this era of almost endless enervation.

Put another way: it would be exhausting and unfair to critique any retail business struggling to survive in this climate. Our heart’s not in it, nor should it be.

Right now it’s all about survival, and even though a remarkable number of places have re-opened, it’s too soon to tell which ones will make it.

If I had to describe my prediction for the future of local eateries, I’d call it cautiously optimistic. There seems to be real support out there for the neighborhood joints who have weathered the storm (so far). And interest is high in the places on the drawing boards, ready to spring to life in the coming weeks: Main Street Provisions, Good Pie, Yu-Or-Mi Sushi, all have created real buzz, and the public’s appetite for going out seems to be increasing every week. Letting the bars re-open is also a big plus which will boost the business of many. (Restaurants need a lively bar just as much as a bar needs a lively bar.)

The Strip is another beast entirely, as the fates of so many of our favorite cookshops hang in the balance these days, as the beached whales of Las Vegas Boulevard South struggle to find their footing, right the ship, and regain their sea legs. (Mix. That. Metaphor!)

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As of this writing, 15 of our 52 Essential Restaurants remain closed. Some are gone for good (goodbye Twist by Pierre Gagnaire, Hatsumi, Sage…), others hang in the balance (Le Cirque? Picasso? Robuchon?), while a remarkable number have bounced back (even at 50% capacity) and are doing booming business on the days they’re open (usually Wed.-Sun.).

We’ve also gained new appreciation for some places we’d written off in the past (Costa di Mare), and developed an infatuation for a newcomers (ELIO, Letty’s, Raku Toridokoro, Osteria Fiorella) whose menus have knocked us out at every meal we’ve had. (If we were doing a 52 Essential list this year, all of them would certainly be on it, as would ShangHai Taste, Saga , Japaneiro, and Big B’s Texas BBQ.)

Throughout the summer, beginning in early June right through this past weekend, we hit dozens of restaurants, on and off the Strip, and usually found them teaming with customers. Sure, the mask thing makes everyone awkward, and early on, the feelings of discomfort was palpable between customers and staff, but over time these things have faded…even if the unease hasn’t disappeared completely.

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Looking back, it’s now a safe bet to say the publication of our 8th Edition of Eating Las Vegas was the high-water mark of Las Vegas’s gastronomic scene — not the book itself, but  everything that came before it, everything it represented. Thirty years of progress, thousands of hands working for three decades to bring better food and drink to the High Mojave Desert, in a place where once no one thought it possible. My own personal odyssey of eating, studying and writing about this scene led me and others to our event that evening, and it seemed like nothing but blue skies, handmade pizzas and top-flight champagne was ahead for everyone.

But of course it wasn’t. There was an iceberg looming ahead no one saw coming.

It was a grand night, made all the more possible by chefs like John Arena, Chris Decker, Ismaele Romano, James Trees and Vincent Rotolo pitching in to feed us all so well. Toasts were made; speeches were given; babies were kissed; books were signed. At the end of it all was a lively discussion panel with Kim Foster, Eric Gladstone and Trees weighing in with humor and insight on the future of the Las Vegas dining scene. Little did we know how wrong we would all be proven, only two weeks later.

At the top of the page you’ll see us with Paul — a genial fellow whose last name we can’t recall. Paul has bought every edition of ELV going back to 2011. He and his charming wife came, listened us bloviate, and waited for the discussions to end so we could sign all of his books. One thing led to another, multiple distractions intruded, and before we knew it, the evening was over and Paul and spouse had left without us making good on our promise.

No matter, we thought at the time, we’ll catch up with Paul _____ soon enough. Maybe sometime this year in a restaurant, or maybe at next year’s release party.

How foolish of us to take it for granted — because there may never be another book signing party — because there may never be another Las Vegas like there was on February 27, 2020.

Paul, if you’re out there, I apologize. I’m sorry I didn’t sign your books and I’m sorry I didn’t get your last name so I could hunt you down and return the favor.

Peak Vegas had been achieved that day and none of us knew it. But I’m still here with pen in hand, Paul, ready to be of service, if ever again you need me.

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