FIREFLY Makes People Sick

In all the world, there is not something that someone cannot make a little worse and sell a little cheaper, and those who consider price alone are this man’s lawful prey. – John Ruskin

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KLAS-TV (Channel 8) reported this morning that Firefly on Paradise Road was closed over the weekend after several complaints of food poisoning.

The way the story was worded, it sounded like the owner closed the restaurant “voluntarily” after a number of complaints of customers becoming ill after eating there.

This is unmitigated, p.r.-driven bullshit. Continue reading “FIREFLY Makes People Sick”

I Saw Him Drinking a Pina Colada at Trader Vic’s

Anything too stupid to be spoken is sung. – Voltaire


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ELV note: Yours truly is often accused of hating music. This is not true. ELV doesn’t hate music, he hates trite, tuneless, sappy, commercial, derivative, copycat, not-an-original-thought-anywhere music. Music that sounds like everyone else’s music. And jazz. ELV really, really, really hates jazz. And Guns ‘n Roses. He really hates Guns ‘n Roses. Other than that, he loves the stuff. Sort of.

THE TOP 66 JUKE BOX SONGS OF ALL TIME*

You know the drill.

You’ve been there a hundred times.

You’re in some bar with a friend or three. You’re a little drunk, but not too. You might be hitting on new meat or playfully noodling your significant other. Everyone’s happy and chattering away.  Tunes are playing on the Rock-Ola or Wurlizter, but no one’s paying close attention.

Over in the corner, there might even be a few people boogieing away and singing along to some mildly inoffensive ditty from J. Geil’s,  Billy Idol, Chili Peppers, Violent Femmes or Smash Mouth. Good times.

Then, just when things start peaking (a buddy has you in stitches, someone buys a round, she touches your knee/licks your ear/gently brushes the Amazing Python of Love, etc.) some punk-ass, lame-dick, shriveled-gonad pussy (or, even worse, some brain-dead, seen-better-days-bimbo) proudly strolls to the juke and punches in an hour of musical shite like Depeche Mode, “Satisfaction,”  “We Built This City on Rock and Roll,” or anything from the Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Fleetwood Mac or, heaven forbid, the Eagles (Joe Walsh excepted).

And do you know what happens next?

You know what happens next, don’t you?

Continue reading “I Saw Him Drinking a Pina Colada at Trader Vic’s”

Spring Selections Signal Savory Upswing

Things are improving, food-wise anyway, in our humble burg.

As young Wilburn points out in the previous post, our chefs and restaurants seem to be lifting themselves out of the doldrums. Menus (and cooking) seem more invigorated with passion this year, especially as compared to the last four. The molecular and the avant-garde seem to be fading (although foams are dying a slow, slow death, not fast enough for us) and fifteen course tasting extravaganzas (does anyone call them “degustations” anymore?) appear to be going the way of tasseled menus and tastevins.

One thing that will never go out of style is the well-crafted cocktail…and the list at Herbs & Rye is one of Las Vegas’s treasure troves of luscious libations:

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We at ELV consider a Bucks Fizz or Hemingway daiquiri to be the perfect way to launch (or end) an evening, and owner Nectaly Mendoza deserves major props for finally bringing the steakhouse fare up to something worthy of the cocktails.

After drinking at H&R, it’s an easy jaunt south on Valley View to Flamingo, where all sorts of modern, seasonal Japanese delights await at Yonaka,  like this ethereal tempura of shiso leaf:

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Continue reading “Spring Selections Signal Savory Upswing”