All ELV wanted was some tasty bivalves, a hunk of sourdough, a snappy Sauvignon Blanc to wash them down, and a little peace and quiet. What he got was three of the four, and some unwanted “entertainment” courtesy of The District. (more…)
Jean-David Groff-Daudet is no longer at the stoves of Marche Bacchus. Jean Paul Labadie is the restaurant’s new Executive Chef.* Labadie previously worked in various Emeril (Has He Jumped The Shark Yet?) Lagasse’s restaurants — including Emeril’s (New Orleans), Emeril’s New Orleans Fish House (MGM Grand) and most recently, Table 10 (Palazzo).
Let’s get a few things straight between us, shall we? NobHill “Tavern” is many things. It’s an attractive restaurant with stylish decor, good service, and an interesting wine list. It is also the domain of one Sven Mede, a German by birth who cut his teeth at Le Manoir aux Quat Saisons in Oxford, England; came of age at Bradley Ogden, and now struts his considerable talent in the service of keeping the Michael Mina brand intact and in good form throughout Mina’s MGM-Mirage restaurant empire.
What NobHill “Tavern” isn’t is a tavern. It doesn’t remotely resemble one (uber-designer Tony Chi took care of that), nor does its food pander to anything like the lowest-common-denominator denoted by those words. If Mina and his minions are trying to capture the culinary zeitgeist of the seminal Gramercy Tavern in New York City, we can forgive them that. But if they’re pulling this verbal sleight-of-hand as a way of seducing the slack-jawed hordes in the MGM to give the place a taste, they’re doing a disservice both to the know-nothings and to those who might appreciate Mede’s cosmopolitan food stylings. Because if you wander into this “tavern” expecting tavern-like food, you will be disappointed. If your expectations are much higher, you will be enthralled.
Sushi and sports bars? A natural fit? You tell us. In the meantime, you can find Sushi Pop (even the name advertises how superficial it is), beside the giant screen sports bar at the entrance to Mandalay Bay’s restaurant row. Neither ELV, nor his staff, will be bumping into you there anytime soon.
In Los Angeles, $3,000 tuition now gets you two entire months of training (and presumably) a certificate as a real, live sushi chef — suitable, no doubt, to make Walmart-worthy tekka-maki to your heart’s content.
As ELV has noted, the training in Japan takes ten years.
Read all about it here, and prepare to get depressed.
For those of you who didn’t read my “Mexican Mediocrity” rant a few weeks ago, today on Nevada Public Radio, I humbug my way through a commentary on how awful our Mexican restaurants are in this neck of the woods, and on how little my listeners seem to know (or care to know) about what constitutes decent, somewhat authentic, Mexican grub.
Click here to hear today’s commentary on News 88.9 FM KNPR - Nevada Public Radio; spoken, as usual, in the James Mason-esque tones for which ELV is famous.
“The trouble with touring in America is constantly having to eat what everybody thinks is Mexican food.” - Lyle Lovett
Like Lyle, I love it - “it” being real Mexican food. And I love all of you. You know I do. Some of ELV’s loyal readers are good friends. Some of you are restaurant professionals. Others are chefs or winos (in the best sense of the word). All of you are serious foodies and/or lovers of good grub and where to find it. But with all due respect for your impeccable taste in all things culinary, and your prescient recognition of excellence in Las Vegas restaurant blogs/websites, I have a modest, respectful request:
QUIT SENDING ME TO MEXICAN RESTAURANTS BECAUSE NONE OF YOU HAVE A CLUE WHAT MAKES A GOOD ONE!
(Pause here for parenthetical explanation before continuing rant)
At the beginning of the year, Nevada Public Radio asked listeners to e-mail in suggestions for where I should dine and review for the coming twelve months. By a margin of 3 to 1, Mexican restaurants took the cake for places I just had to try “…because it’s new and fresh and the owners are real Mexicans (as opposed to fake Mexicans) and we love it and they make great margaritas and we love everything on the menu and you really need to try it!”
(Return to Rant)
The beer true suds lovers love to hate isn’t really going anywhere, but Anheuser-Busch has just been bought by Belgium’s brewing giant InBev, basically because it’s been hemorrhaging profits like a busted keg for ten years. And it couldn’t have happened to a lamer, more insipid product.
In case you don’t get the point, we’ve always hated Budweiser (although we must confess in the past to having a certain fondness for Michelob). Here’s why we’ve disdained it so for years, concisely summarized in a Salon.com piece that traces the rise and fall of our least favorite beer.
Although it did inspire the only two beer jokes we know:
Joke #1: Drunk to drunk: “Does beer make you smart?” Drunk back to drunk: “Well it made Bud-wiser.”
Joke #2: How is drinking Budweiser like making love in a canoe? Answer: Because it’s f*cking close to water.
Writer Edward McClelland gets around to that last joke, at the very end of the article, and he bids a not-so-fond farewell to what’s been a blight on the American beer landscape for over a hundred years.
Fun Food Fact #1: early taste tests among St. Louis drinkers found them spitting Budweiser back at the bartender.
Fun Food Fact #2: founder Aldolphus Busch called his infamous brew “dot schlop” and drank wine instead.
Twenty years ago, Budweiser sold more beer in a day than all the craft beers in America did in a year! McClelland also quotes another of our favorite beer statistics: in 1980 (the year yours truly discovered those fabulous elixirs known as Anchor Steam and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale) there were but eight craft brewers in America. Today there are more than 1,300.
So raise a glass (of Rogue Porter, Fat Tire Amber, Abita lager, Stone IPA, Hennepin Farmhouse Saison et al ) to the McDonald’s of breweries, and let’s hope those fer-in-ners (who know a thing or two about the art and craft of beers), will improve things….or permanently relegate “Bud” to the back shelves of 7-11’s everywhere, where it belongs.
Every so often, we pause from surfing the soft-core porn and Asian massage ads in the Las Vegas Weekly to actually read something in it. This week, since the election, war in Iraq, stock market free-fall, gas and housing crisis might be a bit too much…er…uh…information for those consumed with whether to hit Prive, Christian Audigier or The Bank tonight, this ‘zine/free porn provider/club promotional device/etc. decided to feature The Ten Best Burgers in Vegas as its lead story.
And it gets everything wrong. Well, in a spirit of generosity, let’s say almost everything. There’s no argument with the In-N-Out double-double, or the sliders at CUT, or Brand (although who on God’s green earth wants to endure the clusterf*ck of trying to get to the Monte Carlo these days?)
But after those three, though, things get decidedly worse….and stupid to boot.
Because if you’re gonna feature the Top 10 Burgers….why not stick with….uhmm… HAMBURGERS? As in: round patties of cooked, ground beef? Instead, the “article” spreads the love (Do we smell advertising revenue? I think we do…) around to Veggie Burgers (The Claim Jumper?…Puhleeeze!); a Turkey Burger (a different subject entirely); a Lamb Burger and a Bison Burger (ditto).
Forsooth, not-so-fair-Weekly! Dost thou sayeth that the most regal of American foods, the hamburger, hath crossed the Martini Line? I beseech thee! Thou shall not condemn thy most royal of foods to the mendacity and mediocrity of poor Caesar (the much-maligned salad.) Do not, I beg thee, abandon thy noble burger!
But it would seem the Weekly has, since four of the Top 10 aren’t really hamburgers at all; and a fifth, the beyond-mediocre patty-melt at Kilroy’s (not technically a hamburger either), also made it onto this list. So now, if certain burghers (hambones? dillweeds?) are to be believed, we’re supposed to consider anything on a round bun (or any sandwich made with chopped anything) a “burger” (just like any drink in any martini-shaped glass can call itself one, and any salad made of romaine may hail to Caesar.)
Sadly, as long as vegetarians, something-for-everyone restaurateurs, and meretricious editors are around, the mighty American hamburger will face this onslaught of perversions. But methinks this humble-but-authentic creation won’t go gentle into that dark Applebee’s night of salmon/turkey/veggie/tofu burgers.
And any food writer that helps it to do so ought to be forced to spend a week eating this.
Purists unite! And forswear any attempts to call anything that isn’t a hamburger a “burger.”
And FYI: The Best Burger In Las Vegas is at Bradley Ogden. It is the Tiger Woods of cheeseburgers - when it’s on its game (which is every night at the bar at BO), the others are playing for second place. It’s also one of the best burgers in America.
So sayeth me and multiple James Beard Award Winner Alan Richman. Read about it in more detail here.
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p.s. For a great look at hamburger history, buy Josh Ozersky’s book on the subject here.
Restaurant reviews, quips, picks and pans-with some seriously salivating history-from the man who eats his way through Sin City every day.
