The 10 Commandments of Dining…and then some

AI Illustration of Moses with the 10 Commandments Tablet. Source: Jim Vallee/Adobe Stock(Thou. Shalt. Not. Manscape.)

Thou shall have no other gods before me

Ya gotta love Christian theology: they put the big one up front. Don’t even think of listening to anyone but me!  I am the oracle. The master. The Obi–Wan/Yoda to your Luke Skywalker. No matter what the rest of them say, they’re wrong and I have all the answers.

Sounds about right. Come to think about it, I am a lot like Moses, albeit with better manscaping.

To not believe in me condemns you to a life in purgatory, or worse, eating substandard pasta.

Admittedly, I am not as active as I once was, but Yoda was holed up in that shithole Dagobah for decades and could still wield his laser sword. And even if I’ve lost a little off my fastball, if you’re taking advice on restaurants from some paid influencer, or worse, some chesty chick with a big following, you’re barking up the wrong tits.

Thou shall not make unto thee any graven image of celebrity chefs

full throttle saloon kitchen GIF (Squeeze gently for ripeness)

“We’re coming to town, and my wife wants to eat in a Bobby Flay/Giada/Gordon Ramsay restaurant,” is a refrain I hear all the time. Fair enough. These brands didn’t get to where they are by putting out experiences which range from the ethereal (Guy Savoy, Bazaar Meat) to the service-ably mundane (anything by Gordon Ramsay). And when you hale from  Bumfudge, Indiana, Vegas is one of the few cities in American where you can sample a gigantic range of cuisines, from franchises which have now spanned decades. But in Vegas, as elsewhere, the shine has dimmed on many of these stars, and the more interesting cooking is going on in places that aren’t the 15th incarnation of an idea that was hatched twenty years ago.

Instead of Gordon Ramsay Steak, try Mae Daly’s, Scotch 80 Prime, Harlo, Nicco’s.

Estiatorio Milos is great, but you won’t need a second mortgage to eat similar fare at  Elia Authentic Greek Taverna or Naxos Taverna.

Image(Risotto at Aromi)

Instead of Amalfi by Bobby Flay (which I like), or Giada (which I don’t), give Balla (Sahara), Matteo’s (Venetian), Ferraro’s, Basilico, Milano, Aromi, Esther’s Kitchen, Al Solito Posto, or Cipriani (Wynn) a whirl for top-flight Italian which doesn’t break the bank.

Instead of limping through Bellagio, or getting lost in the maze of Caesars Palace’s infuriating hallways, go to Fountainebleau. You’ll still be gouged out the wazoo, but the decor, the service, and the concepts are much fresher than all those tired celeb warhorses — relics of the 90s and early aughts still going through the motions to please their corporate overlords.

Thou shall not take the name of Joël Robuchon in vain.

French cuisine elevated Las Vegas to status on the world’s gastronomic stage previously thought impossible. And despite it hardly flourishing here, we still sport four of the best French restaurants in the country in our backyard: Joël Robuchon, L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Restaurant Guy Savoy, and Bouchon. Insider tip: Brasserie by Bobby Flay ain’t half bad, either. Although getting to it, inside Caesars, is a pain in the baguette.

Honor thy Sabbath Day, keep it holy, but forget about brunch.

Image(Brunch? Non. Croissants? Oui!)

Overwrought pancakes? Eggs nine ways? Bottomless mimosas? Brunch is just a way for a restaurant to clean out its larder and overcharge for omelets and shitty Prosecco. F**k brunch and go have a real meal (and better croissants) at:

Bouchon

Winnie’s and Ethel’s

Cafe Breizh

PublicUs

Chamana’s Café

Daily Bread

1228 Main (Pictured above – Winner of the Croissant Crawl ’24 on Eat. Talk. Repeat.)

Burgundy French Bakery and Cafe

Le Cafe du Val/Le Cafe du Sud

The only thing worse than brunch is a jazz brunch.

Episode 2 Brunch GIF by The Simpsons

Thou shall NOT honor they father and mother….

…unless they were good cooks. Or knew a thing or two about good restaurants. Otherwise, forget everything you learned at the family table and all the boring-ass food you were served there. Picky eaters are bred, not born. Kick your parents to the curb (culinary wise) and you’ll be happier for it.

Thou shall not kill…cooking and cuisines which have developed over hundreds, even thousands of years solely to bring you pleasure

You are not there to “have it your way.” You are there because the people serving you are better at choosing, seasoning and cooking food than you are. And for this, attention must be paid and respect given. You want special food which fits your specific dietary needs? Stay home and cook it yourself. There are entire continents (Europe, Asia…) where people who go out to eat simply order and eat what is put in front of them. Only in America does the “can’t eat something” culture flourish. And flourish it has. Restaurants from Tokyo to Rome now reflexively ask diners if they have “any dietary restriction,” as if your inability to eat shrimp is somehow their problem.

Thou shall commit gastro-adultery…

…by being absolutely faithless to one form of cooking or eating. The world of Las Vegas restaurants (like the human body) is a playground to be taken advantage of — indulging with every whim or immediate gratification fantasy you’ve ever had (within reason, of course). Sticking to a fave restaurant, dish, or routine is like the Missionary position: functional but boring.

Thou shall not steal

From thyself or thy restaurant. Bargain hunting, 2-for-1s, early-bird specials, coupons, etc. is a fool’s paradise which cheats you and the people working hard to feed you.

John Ruskin said it best: There is hardly anything in the world that some man cannot make a little worse and sell a little cheaper, and the people who consider price only are this man’s lawful prey.

Do yourself a favor. Look for quality, the best you can afford, when it comes to things you put inside your mouth. Your body will thank you later.

Thou shall not bear false witness…of whatever “special needs” you claim to have.

See above. Face it: You only like to announce that you’re “allergic to _____” to call attention to yourself. Makes you feel special doesn’t it? To go out in public, gain a captive audience, and then tell the hapless waitron and your table mates how delicate your precious, vulnerable body is. The unbridled narcissism of the internet age has only magnified this solipsism. When someone tells me they “can’t eat something,” it invariably means: “I don’t like it.” So stop the bullshit or stay home.

Thou shall not covet:

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Thy restaurant steak(s) — which have become cripplingly expensive. Slavishly seeking overpriced slabs of steer muscle in a fancy steakhouse is more and more a game of diminishing returns. Yes, they get the best beef and cook it at temperatures which are hard to duplicate, but most industrial beef is a crime against earth, and the real, grass-fed, free-range stuff is out-of-reach for most mortals. These days it makes more sense to go to a good butcher and cook one at home. Peter Luger (above) gets a pass here because its dry-aged beef is nonpareil, and a $200 rib steak split four ways makes sense.

Thy neighbor’s sushi — Overpriced, fancified, sushbag Japanese has become a cliche. You want a good sushi experience? Find a small, Japanese restaurant like Hiroyoshi on W. Charleston, or Sushi Hiro in Henderson, get to know a sushi chef, and trust him to slice you the best fish he can find. And leave influencer-style seafood and A-5 fetishization to the more-money-than-taste crowd.

Thy cult wine — Wanna brand yourself as a world-class douchebag? Start bloviating about all the Cali cabs you drink. And don’t get me started about orange and “natural” wines tasting of kombucha steeped in dirty feet.

Truffled Caviar Bumps at Grant Achatz's NEXT Restaurant in ...(Fish bumps)

Caviar — A dumb, flash-in-the-fetish trend, which appears to have jumped the sturgeon.

Truffles — Want to see my eyes narrow? Try shaving raw black truffles on anything, in July. Or Summer truffles, anytime. As with caviar, the faux poshification of restaurant food is an insult to the food and to customers, most of whom have no idea they’re being taken for an upcharge ride.

Any restaurant you have to book more than a week in advance. Fueled by the food porn of Netflix’s Chef’s Table, and all the World’s 50 Best and Michelin Guide nonsense, the “we need to eat at ______ when we’re in _____” culture has attained unprecedented trendiness in the past decade — a slavish, FOMO tumescence, if you will, among the body politic of affluent restaurant goers — and the bullshit needs to stop. For every “must-have” or “bucket list” address on these sheeples’ radar, there are dozens, if not hundreds of similarly worthy meals awaiting at places not overrun by insecure show-offs.

THE REST OF MY (more secular) COMMANDMENTS:

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Thou shall not wear thy cargo shorts….

…or thy t-shirt or thy flip-flops, or thy ball caps into nice, sit-down, restaurants. I realize I’ve lost this battle, as the Wal-mart-if-i-cation of America is pretty much complete, but bray I will until they pry my Ferragamos from my cold dead feet.

Thou shalt honor thy Sabbath Saturday by NOT dining out then.

Saturday night is to eating out what New Year’s Eve is to drinking — strictly for amateurs. Restaurant food tastes best Wednesday-Thursday-Friday. YOU COULD LOOK IT UP!

Thou shalt eschew AYCE everything

“Premium All-You-Can-Eat” is an oxymoron. Like jumbo shrimp and plastic silverware. There has never been, in the history of the world, an unlimited, eat-all-you-can table which was slinging anything but under-priced cattle fodder to the slope-shouldered, mouth-breathing sheep who flock there like moths to a cattle trough. (Mix. That. Metaphor!)

Thou shall not covet thy hostess, thy bartender, or thy waitron.

I know, I know, They’re young and sexy and oh-so friendly. And you just know they’re dying to meet you later for a drink. But trust me, muchacho, you’re just a number to them. And unless you are either devastatingly sexy, very rich, or somewhat famous, that friendliness is part of their job, not a come-on.

Thou shalt always order the specials

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Every restaurant tells you right up front what they are good at. Sometimes it’s on a chalkboard, sometimes it is highlighted in a letter box. (Like the barbacoa lamb grilled cheese at Chamana’s pictured above.) Often the waitron will tell you what’s special that day. Occasionally, it is in the name of the restaurant. They’re making it easy for you, dummy, so pay attention. If you order the steamed fish at Xiao Long Dumplings, you have only yourself to blame.

Speaking of fish…

Thou shalt never mix fajitas with fish

I knew a woman once who loved Italian food. (Who doesn’t?) But she took her gastronomic myopia to ludicrous levels by always looking for pasta in the most absurd places. Thus did I witness her disappointment in her lasagna from a Lebanese joint, and the spaghetti served at a Connecticut fish shack. She also insisted upon ordering margaritas everywhere from beer halls to wine bars. These choices never ended well. Neither did the marriage.

Thou shalt tip like a potentate

Everyone knows I hate tipping. It is backwards, insulting, racist, sexist, and demeaning to both parties. But until America grows up and starts paying its restaurant servers a living wage, these “gratuities” are the only way many at the lower end of the socioeconomic spectrum can make their rent. The only people who like tipping are restaurant owners and the microscopically few waitrons fortunate enough to work in high-end (read: $100/cover minimum) restaurants. I say: F**k tipping with a dirty fork. But then leave 20% minimum, and be thankful they are serving you and not the other way around.

Thou shalt disdain Strip wine lists.

Big Hotel has officially ruined wine drinking in many of our mega-resorts. (This does not hold true for certain restaurants (Guy Savoy, Peter Luger) and the Venetian-Palazzo lineup (where the tenants have the freedom to set their own boundaries). Bring your own and pay the corkage, or stick to by-the-glass.

Honor thy establishment by not overstaying thy welcome.

Read the room, nimrod. Don’t stay past the end of your meal chatting up your table when a line is snaking out the door — not just as respect for the customer, but for the owner of your favorite hang out. If the place is emptying out, however, feel free to stay until you hear a vacuum cleaner. Then leave a huge tip. (See above.)

Thou shalt not order oysters in a month without an “r” in it.

And with global warming, perhaps it’s best to keep your bivalve lust to between Halloween and Easter.

Thou shalt avoid (most) vintage Vegas restaurants like the plague

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From the antediluvian Bootlegger  to the indefensible Michael’s, Vegas’s old restaurants hang on to their hoary clientele with prehistoric menus, somnambulant service and decor more dated than a Steve & Eydie duet. Like the person typing these words, they were cool once, but have hung on way past their expiration date. Unlike this person, they exist in a bubble that ignores the last forty years of America’s food revolution.

FINALLY…

Thou shalt never:

  • Order the fish on Mondays
  • Take more than five minutes to peruse a menu
  • Ask for wine in a cocktail bar
  • Try to impress a sommelier with your wine knowledge
  • Ask to speak with the chef
  • Eat any food pretending to be something else (vegan “cheese,” froyo, tofurkey, etc.)
  • Arrive drunk at a restaurant
  • Drink cocktails with dinner
  • Lick your fingers at the table (unless the barbecue easement is invoked)
  • Speak of anything gross, bathroom-related, or appetite-inhibiting at the table
  • Expect the service at most small Asian restaurants to be anything but functional
  • Expect the wine selection at most Asian restaurants to be anything but horrible
  • Use your knife and fork as if you were hacking a vicious animal to death (Here’s tutorial if you need one.)
  • Season your food before tasting it
  • Assume “the customer is always right” because the exact opposite is usually true
  • Go to any party restaurant (Tao, STK, Papi Steak, et al) for the food
  • Eat in a place called Mom’s, play cards with a man named Doc, or sleep with a woman whose troubles are worse than your own.

But enough about me.

Cheers!

Brunching GIFs | Tenor

April in Paris

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The trouble with Paris is the human body is only designed to eat 4-to-5 meals a day.

Such is the conundrum we face daily as we ramble down its rues, and contemplate the cornucopia before us.

Spring is the perfect time to provoke the appetite for this moveable feast. The air is crisp but not cold. It may rain a little but there is revival in the air, and spring in everyone’s step. Sun worshipers flock to the public gardens and you can literally feel the city stirring itself from months of slumber. April is too late for somber bleakness to blanket the city in its wintry cloak, and too early for tourists to harsh your mellow. You can dress up (or down) without fear of ruining your clothes through sleet or sweat, and walk all day without rising temperatures stealing your stamina.

Other than October, April is the ideal month to eat your way through Paris.

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So gird your loins and crack a bottle of your favorite fermented French libation, for here is another love letter to the City of Light, and why springtime is the best time to pursue its pleasures of the palate.

HIT THE GROUND EATING

Image(Frites thief)

It was around my third bite of a tangy tartare de boeuf  at Ma Bourgogne — one of my favorite bistros in Paris — that I realized one of my dreams had come true: despite my pitiful failure to master all but the most rudimentary words and phrases, I have never felt more at home than when I am dining in a French restaurant in France. (Lest you think me delusional, I can claim a fairly rigorous command of menu French — in comprehension if not conversation.)

“My Burgundy” puts me at ease even before we’re seated. The greeting may be in French (and they easily peg us as tourists), but they still ask (in jovial, broken English) if we prefer sitting outside (facing the gorgeous Place des Vosges), or inside, where the view may not be as spectacular, but neither do you have a highway of pedestrians jostling your table. We have the usual foggy-headedness from fourteen hours in an airplane, so it is comfort food we seek when ordering and we head straight for the classics.

Image(Grenache v. Mourvedre…how interesting,,,)

The fresh-cut tartare and some gorgeous smoked salmon hits the table while I am bloviating on the virtues of the house wine (50 cl of dense, grapey St. Emilion for 24 euros), as the groggy Food Gal feigns interest through sleepy eyes and soaks up some wine, and the atmosphere.

She finds additional solace in a soothing oeufs en gelee (another impossible-to-find dish on this side of the pond), and even after we’re stuffed and sleepy, we can’t resist the gossamer charms of an île flottante:

Image(Île of enchantment)

Less than three hours after touchdown, we feel like we’re right where we’re supposed to be.

Image(Ma Bourgogne)

We then trek back to our digs at the Grand Hotel du Palais Royale — one of the best-situated hotels in all of Paris — before resting up and strapping up for, you guessed it, dinner.

Only a few blocks from our hotel is the candy store for cooks known as E. Dehillerin, which is a stone’s throw from Rue Montorgueil (below) —  a pedestrian-friendly street where scores of cafes/bistros/restaurants beckon for a mile.

Stroll another ten minutes south and you find the cacophonous wonders of Les Halles and the Marais in one direction, or the beginning of the trés chere shopping district along the Rue Saint-Honoré, in the other.

Image(Dream Street)

Rue Montorgueil (pronounce Roo Montor-GOY-a) is filled with joints like this below, all of which tempt you to sit and watch the world go by, or plan your next three meals from a cozy table nursing a cappuccino:

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We’ll get to dinner in a minute, but first some oyster discourse …another reason to hit Paris in April before the season ends.

OYSTER INTERLUDE…or PLEASE EXCUSE OUR SHELLFISHNESS

Image(Marennes v. Belons)

France is the oyster capital of the world, and 80% of all oysters raised in France are consumed within the country. People used to American oysters — even the good ones from Cape Cod and Washington State — are in for a saline surprise when they slurp their way through these tannic-vegetal-metallic wonders, best described as licking a penny under seawater. April is the last great month of the year to get your fill of these briny bivalves, so consume by bucket-load we do.

They are sized by number on menus in inverse relationship to their heft: No. 6 being smallest, while 000s (nicknamed pied de cheval – horse’s foot) are big boys for those who love swallowing their fleshy/slimy proteins in tennis ball portions. We look for fines (small-to-medium) Ostrea edulis (called plates, flats or Belons, even though they don’t always come from Belon, yes, it’s confusing) usually in the No. 3-4 range, and always from Brittany, as these are the most strongly flavored (and usually the most expensive). If you like your molluscs on the sweeter side, look to Utah Beach.

Unlike America, oysters in France don’t travel far from seabed to table, so when you polish off a douziane at Flottes or Le Dôme, you will be so taken by their intensity, you’ll forget about how silly you sounded trying to order them in French.

undefined(JC’s Senior trip pic)

One does not live by oysters alone, so at Le Dôme Café one orders them solely as an entry point for a seafood feast amidst an old-school, brass and glass decor that would make Pablo Picasso feel right at home. The look may be classic, but it has aged like a soft-focus painting from the Belle Époque, and the service could not be better. The Dover sole is the standard by which all others are measured. Its firm, sweet, succulent nuttiness puts it on a level worth flying an ocean for:

Image(Hand-modeling by our staff)

TAKE A HIKE

The language of France may have defeated me, but the streets of Paris have not. Various map apps have turned the city from intimidating into a walkable wonderland.

In the past, we thought nothing of taking cabs or the Metro between sites and neighborhoods. Now we hoof it everywhere. Most of what a tourist wants to see (and eat) is within a three-mile radius of the First Arrondissement, and if you dress for urban hiking (thick, comfortable soles are a must), you will walk off those croissants in no time. And if you like to toggle between the Left and Right Bank (as we do), you’ll become as familiar with the Tuileries as your own back yard:

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Exercise is but a side benefit of all the sightseeing done much better on foot. Cars move too fast, and the Metro shows you nothing but your fellow sardines. Walking is the best way, the only way, to properly absorb the mood of a city. Even the ugly walks can be worthwhile; schlepping from the Trocadero to Saint-Germain-des Prés (if you don’t walk along the Seine) is one stolid grey block after another, but you get a feel for everyday Parisian life that you will never see if you stick to the tourist/scenic routes.

Five-to-ten miles a day is a snap for us these days, and a necessity when calories entice at every corner.  In my younger years (when ostensibly I was in better shape), I wouldn’t have considered walking from the Eiffel Tower to Les Halles. Now, as an aging boomer, I see that it is less than three miles (2.8 to be precise), and take off without a second thought.

The equation is simple: Urban hiking + bigger appetite – fear of gaining weight = more restaurants to explore.

SO MANY CROISSANTS

Our croissant quest began one morning at Stohrer — the oldest patisserie in Paris — and another at Ritz Le Comptoir: two ends of the pastry spectrum: one as traditional as they come; the other, a modern (perhaps too modern) take on puff pastry as you’ll see from the not-very-classic pain au chocolat below:

Image(Old school, actually, the oldest school)

Image(Croissant log au chocolat à la Ritz)

Neither of the above was the best croissant we had in our 17 days of patrolling the streets of Paree. We went high; we went low. We even went to a so-not-worth it 170 euro brunch at the Hotel Le Meurice which featured a tsunami of small plates aimed at the Emily Shows Off In Paris crowd.

Image(That’s a brunch of plates)

The meal had more moving parts than a Super Bowl halftime show, and like whatever the f**k this is:…was more concerned with choreography than harmony.

To be fair, its croissants were mighty fine even if they were linebacker-sized. (Any mille-feuille aficionado will tell you what you gain in girth, you lose in finesse — sorta like football players):

Image(Yeast favorite croissants)

Side note: the Meurice was one of the few places we encountered women as servers. Waiting tables in Paris (from the lowliest cafe to temples of haute cuisine) remains a valued profession very much dominated by men. Which is one of the reasons service is so good.

Oh No You Didnt GIFs | Tenor

I kid. I kid…

As for our best crescent roll we tried, that honor goes to an award-winner from La Maison d’Isabelle — which won best in show at some hi-falutin’ bake-off a few years back. In our contest, it was the compact, pillow-soft butteriness (encased in a delicate, easily shattered shell) that separated this laminated beauty from the also-rans.

Image(Crustomized croissant)

People were lined up every morning for them, as they were taken directly from the baking sheet to the oven to your hand: the kind of only-in-Paris experience that spoils you for French pastries anywhere but here.

Image(These are a pain to make)

THE OFFAL TRUTH

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The offal truth is you can’t find “variety meats” hardly anywhere in America. Americans have no compunctions about inhaling hamburgers by the billions, or polishing off chicken breasts and filet mignons by the metric ton, but put kidneys, sweetbreads, or brains in front of them and they recoil faster than a vegan at a hot dog stand.

This is where the classic restaurants of Paris come in to sate you with pleasures of holistic animal eating. As in: if you’re going to slaughter another living thing to keep yourself alive, you should respect the animal’s sacrifice and make the most of it.

Europeans are much closer to their food, both geographically and intellectually, and that relationship broadcasts itself on the menus of Parisian restaurants older than the United States.

Image(La Rive Gauche)

To give you an idea how old Le Procope is, they have a plaque out front (just above The Food Gal®’s noggin in the above pic) celebrating customers going all the way back to Voltaire, who, as you recall, died in 1778.

Whatever fat he and Jean-Jacques Rousseau chewed here is lost to history, but no doubt one of them was rhapsodizing over Procope’s blanquette or tête de veau when they did so. Three hundred and fifty years later, this 18th Century artifact (the oldest café in Paris) still delivers the goods, with cheery, old world panache, to regulars and tourists alike, at remarkably gentle prices.

Our “calves head casserole, in 1686 style” was about as hip as a whalebone corset, and all the more delicious for it. Besides being the most wine-friendly food on earth, it is also the most elementally satisfying. No tricks, no pyrotechnics, just foods to soothe the savage breast.

Image(Calves head, circa 1686)

Having successfully tackled a veal head, it was time to go scouting for lamb– at a cheese shop/restaurant perched atop the tony Printemps store near the Palais Garnier, of all places.

Laurent Dubois is reputed to have the best croque monsieur in all of Paris, so we escalated to his cheese-centric spot for a jambon et fromage, but ended up swooning over the navarin (stew) loaded with tender morsels of lamb napped with electric green baby peas in a mint-lamb jus sharpened by jalapenos:

Image(Ewe won’t believe how peafect this was)

On the cuisine bourgeoise level, this was the dish of the trip.

As good as the stew was, we were hunting bigger game. So we strolled through a spring drizzle to Le Bon Georges, a temple of bistronomy which combines classic technique with terroir-focused creativity, hyper-seasonal ingredients, a killer wine list, and very informal but informed service — all squeezed into a cramped, casual space. Like all in the bistronomy movement — the food was simple but surprisingly intense.

Service is by kids who may look like teenagers (with big, patient smiles), but you can tell they are no strangers to dealing with out-of-town gastronauts with all kinds of accents. The chalkboard menu tells you all you need to know (they will happily explain a poussin (baby chicken) from a poisson (fish) to the clueless), and the wine list is Michelin-star worthy in its own right, at prices far gentler than what you’ll find at tonier addresses.

The noise level is tolerable (we were in a back room closer to the kitchen) and the chairs were actually comfortable (not always a given). Describing the food as gutsy doesn’t tell half the story.

Image(Just getting started)

Clockwise from above left: duck paté en croûte with foie gras and prunes; smoked trout with orange sauce; morels with grilled onions, napped with Comté cheese/vin jaune sauce; and white asparagus smothered in vinaigrette, just the way we like them. And these were just the starters.

From there we proceeded to roast duck with carrot puree, sweetbreads over potatoes, and daurade royale (sea bream) with a citron/saffron sauce. We finished the meal with baba au rhum, soaked with booze drawn with a pipette the length of your arm from which you suck just enough libation from a humongous bottle (containing your spirit of choice) to bring it to your glass. Over the top? Of course, but also effective in sending everyone home with a happy glow.

We also got quite the show from chef Lobet Loic as he broke down a cow udder to include in a vol-au-vent concoction he was working on for the next night’s dinner.

https://twitter.com/i/status/1646381805308657665

 

“Just when I thought I’ve tried every part of the cow,” one of our social media followers observed. Us too. This was a new one for even an all-animal appreciator like yours truly.

Even our very French waiters told us it was a part of the animal they had never seen broken down for consumption. They were just as amazed as we were.

LISTING DU PORC

Our hunt for oddball animal parts was hardly over after Le Bon Georges and Procope, so to Le Comptoir du Relais Saint Germain we trotted the next day to make a swine of ourselves over Yves Camdeborde’s crispy, rib-sticking pied de cochon:

Image(I suffer from foot in mouth disease)

Then there was a trek to the far reaches of Montparnasse to try what many call the best cassoulet in all of Paris. (An honest cassoulet being harder to find in America than an authentic choucroute…or a toothsome lamb stew on top of a department store for that matter.)

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L’Assiette (“plate”) has received this accolade from Paris by Mouth, who knows her way around a Tarbais, and the version we had in this non-descript spot was so dense with meaty/beany flavor all we could do is quietly thank her in between mouthfuls.

Image(Cassoulet a L’Assiette)

L’Assiette is the ultimate neighborhood gastro-bistro, so small (we counted 24 seats) and so far off the beaten path that nudging your way past Instagrammers will not be a problem. Even as strangers, our welcome was as warm as those bubbling beans, and as soothing as the Languedoc-Roussillon red wine (Domaine Les Mille Vignes Fitou Cadette) that hit the spot on a chilly night.

Choucroute can go stuck rib to stuck rib with cassoulet, which is why this apotheosis of pork beckons us like a holy grail, and why we usually make a beeline to old reliable  Brasserie Lipp  to demolish a platter at least once every trip.

We’ve always been in Lipp’s thrall — from its 19th Century vibe to the burnished wood and ever-present cacophony — it is a restaurant where time seems to stand still.

We even enjoy the narrow, elbow-rubbing two-top tables that are so cramped, they make flying coach on Spirit Airlines feel like a private jet.

And we’ve always found the service to be the opposite of the bordering-on-rudeness reputation of the place. Even now, they gave our brood of six the best table in the house for a late lunch without reservations, and our aging waiter couldn’t have been nicer. (At Lipp, “aging waiter” is a redundancy, since some of them look like veterans of the Franco-Prussian War.)

This time, we loved everything about it…except the food.

Image(Not a naked mole rat)

Lipp’s jarret du porc (above) used to be de rigueur on every trip. This time, like most of our meal, it was disappointing, The portent came from a too-cold house pâté, then succeeded by a slapdash Dover sole and then the chewy pork knuckle, Everything felt perfunctory. Even worse, this “Alsatian” restaurant had but four wines from Alsace on its list. Wassup with that?

Perhaps it was an off day, but the food looked and tasted like no one in the kitchen cares anymore….which is what happens when social media ruins your restaurant.

Luckily, good ole Flo restored our faith in the flavors of Alsace.

Image(Not on menu: lots of falafel)

If Lipp is getting worn around the edges from over-popularity, Brasserie Floderer is holding its own in the sketchy 10eme Arrondissement. — perhaps for the opposite reason. To get there on foot, however, you’ll have to pass some pretty dodgy blocks and trip over lots of kebabs. You know things have taken a turn for the worse, we thought to ourselves as we surveyed the chickpea-strewn streets, when the falafel stands start popping up.

Against this backdrop of littered streets and skewered food, Flo shines like a beacon from days gone by:

Image(Toothsome time warp)

The interior feels like a movie set (above) and the menu is as no-nonsense as the 1909 vintage decor.

As the most stubbornly Alsatian of the remaining brasseries, the Franco-German classics check all the boxes: celery root salad (here cubed not shredded), textbook onion soup, and a “Choucroute Strasbourgeoise” of tender pork belly (poitrine fumée), spicy kraut, smoky sauccisse cumin,  a second sausage (Francfort) – because a single sausage choucroute is akin to sin when “garnishing” this cabbage.

Image(Choucroute is kind of a pig deal)

In case you haven’t had enough pork, there’s also a big hunk of shoulder (échine) to finish you off. How something so fundamental can feel so fresh for so long is a secret known only to Alsatian cooks. They also do a seafood choucroute here, named after Maison Kammerzell — the venerable brasserie in Strasbourg — but we were too busy pigging out to try it.

Brasserie Flo wasn’t the best meal of the trip. It wasn’t even in the top five. But there was something deeply satisfying about returning to a restaurant, far from the madding crowd, where locals still value out-of-fashion recipes for their pure deliciousness.

Which is why we never tire of Parisian bistros, brasseries and cafés —  places with deep roots in country cooking, which have withstood the test of time, and stand in proud opposition to the cartwheels-in-the-kitchen gymnastics of fusion food…and so much falafel.

This is the first part of a two-part (perhaps a three-part) article.

Image(Jardin des Tuileries)

The List 2021 – Vegas on the Rebound

Image(A toast to sanity restored!)

These are the times that try men’s appetites.

And by “try men’s appetites” I mean tempt them unmercifully.

After the trying times of 2020, it seems like nothing but sunshine and rainbows in our culinary world these days. With venue after venue opening (or reopening) to eager mouths and hungry souls.

Downtown is exploding (in a good way), the Strip is awakening like a slumbering giant (or an unstuck freighter?), and the ‘burbs are getting better than ever. Even Tivoli Village has become a destination.

Circa has pumped new life into Fremont Street; Oscar’s now serves the best cheeseburger in town, and we’ve even found a brunch we don’t hate. (High praise indeed!)

For grins and giggles we’ve decided this year to officially keep count of every restaurant in which we eat. In years past we never kept a running total, but generally we averaged around 500/year…for 20+ years.

Covid put an end to that streak — turning us into a soporific shell of our former self.  A somnambulant supper slacker, if you will.

But things have turned around in a big way: It took us all of 2020 to make it to 100 restaurants. This year we did it in a little more than three months.

These are thumbnails of where we’ve been, and why we think you should go there. They are mere sketches, pithy positive platitudes of pontification for your palate’s pleasure, and probably as paired down and word-penurious as our prolific personality can parse.

In other words, they’re short and upbeat and we’ve tried to keep the negativity in check.

And like we at #BeingJohnCurtas always say: you get what you pay for on this website.

So, without further ado, here it is….

THE LIST 2021

THE HEAVYWEIGHTS

Bazaar Meat

Image(Meat me at Bazaar)

It’s been almost a decade since I steaked out the great meat emporiums of the Big Apple, but I’d bet my sweet tenderloin none of them can hold a candle to this pinnacle of prime.

Cipriani

Image(Or as I call it: Friday)

Almost every Friday you’ll find me here at lunch. When someone else puts out a midday repast this elegant, you’ll find me there, too.

Costa di Mare

Image

As stunning as ever. As expensive as ever. Our splashiest seafood venue is worth a splurge, so don’t complain about the soaking. (You get what you pay for, and ingredients this good, and cooking this precise, are both trés chere. Ivo Angelov, Mark LoRusso and Daniela Santos have this place tuned tauter than the mizzenmast on a ship-of-the-line.

CUT

There are two great steakhouses in Las Vegas and this is one of them. The quality of the meat between CUT and Bazaar is a toss-up (although they source their beef from different purveyors with different philosophies), but on any given night I’d give CUT the edge for the restless inventiveness of Matthew Hurley’s cooking.

Edge Steakhouse

Image

A real sleeper in the Westgate Hotel. Neither the hotel nor the Yelper clientele quite seem aware of just how great Steve Young’s food is, but if I were forced to rate Vegas steakhouses right now, it would be a strong #3.

Estiatorio Milos

The best Greek restaurant in Las Vegas that isn’t Elia Authentic Greek Taverna. Simply incredible seafood in a stunning new location.

Kaiseki Yuzu

Image(Itadakimasu, Kaoru-san and Mayumi-san.)

Japanese food so authentic you’ll want to start acting like Toshiro Mifune.

Oscar’s Steakhouse –

Image

(Umani bombs away!)

Ben Jenkins has this place on a roll. His double-cheeseburger (above) belongs on a pedestal of prime.

Raku –

Image

Image(Hokkaido uni)

Still the best izakaya in the West. Fight me.

NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK

Ada’s Wine Bar –

Image(Shrimply the toast of the town)

Eclectic list; small menu; fabulous food  by Jackson Stamper; al fresco setting. So good I’ll even brave the depressing empty-ugliness of Tivoli Village to go there.

Big Dan’s Chinese Noodles –

Image(Long noodles = long life)

Inside the SF Market on Spring Mountain Road are Biangbiang noodles so good they’ll scare the Shaanxi into you.

Barry’s Prime Steakhouse –

Barry’s will forever be a war with itself over whether it wants to be a serious steakhouse or a hangout for the rich and beautiful. Celebrities and good food go together like hockey and high tea, but if that’s the way they want to market themselves, who am I to argue?

Burgundy Cafe & Bakery –

Image(Missing: a mime)

Our French bakery scene is starting to resemble the Left Bank. To Cafe Breizh, Delices Gourmands, and the newly opened Le Cafe Du Vegas, you can add this gem on West Sahara, built from the floor boards to the mille feuille by Chef Florent Cheveau. Straight outta Paris it is, with pastries so Parisian they ought to come with a mime and an organ grinder.

D’Agostino’s –

Donny Thompson’s makeover of Cafe Chloe is still in mid-stream — waiting for the old regulars to either die off or seek their pre-chewed pasta at some other insipid Italian. There’s lots to love here (Tablecloths! Better wines! True Bolognese!), but also some red sauce holdovers on the menu which are best forgotten. Let Brandi guide you and you’ll eat damn well…especially if you start with the antipasto salad.

8East –

Image(We’re very picanha about our steaks)

Fremont Street’s most fascinating food. Asian-fusion filtered through Dan Coughlin’s American-Thai sensibilities. Open for lunch and dinner. So good it ought to be featured on the Circa Hotel marquee. Get the appetizers — all of them — and that picanha steak (above). On second thought, get the whole menu…except the lobster fried rice. It’s good but not worth the tariff.

Good Pie –

Too many pizzas! That’s what I complain to Vincent Rotolo about: his menu is too damn big. Too many toppings. Too many crusts. Too many options. On the other hand, we have yet to have a bad bite here so I should probably just keep my (pizza) pie hole shut.

Johnny C’s Diner –

Image

A real, old-fashioned diner, tweaked with just enough cheffy accents to keep the snobs satisfied. Avocado toast may be to savories what cupcakes are to sweets, but Johnny Church’s version is to others what a symphony is to a square dance.

Letty’s –

Image(Toasted Oaxacan cheese-wrapped quesataco at Letty’s)

The best tacos downtown. Don’t even think of arguing with me about this.

Main Street Provisions –

Image(Wagyu eating anywhere but Main Street Provisions?)

They took the ham steak off the menu, and for this I can never forgive them. But they kept the polenta hummus, gonzo babaganoush, the fry bread and the best veggies this side of Sparrow + Wolf, so all is forgiven. P.S. We love the short wine list and the cocktails too.

Osteria Fiorella –

Three previous Italians in this space have all fallen flatter than stale focaccia. Marc Vetri’s troops made it a raging success right out of the chute. I actually enjoyed my brunch there, even if the whole time I was dreaming about dinner.

Pizza Forte –

Image

Mimmo Ferraro is casting pearls before swine by bringing legitimate, big city pizza to unworthy college kids at UNLV who probably think Little Caesars is an upgrade from Domino’s. They won’t appreciate his cheesy, crusty, New York-inspired pies. But we do, Mimmo, we do.

Rainbow Kitchen –

Image(Dungeness love crab?)

Holy har gow, Batman! The dim sum here is spectacular! And a dumpling or three above its competition. This place had the misfortune to open one month before Covid hit (late January last year), and had been limping along since last summer. Now that restrictions have loosened, it has become Number 1 on every shu mai researcher’s list. A well-heeled Chinese clientele has taken to it like hoisin to spare ribs. Killer deals on Dungeness crabs (above) and lobsters, too. Very Cantonese, but also quite welcoming to gwailo. No carts, you order off a menu, much as you do in the nicer dim sum palaces of Hong Kong. “All of our food stays fresher that way,” says owner Bill Chiang, and he’s right.

Robata En –

Ramir de Castro returns! Bringing his unique brand of Japanese fusion to Spring Mountain Road. Like many of the newbies on this list, he’s had a brutal go of it for the past year, waiting to open, then opening with all kinds of restrictions. If you liked him at Yonaka (where he first made his mark), you’ll love his updated takes on tsukune, kaarage and such. I was always puzzled about why Yonaka threw in the towel after an awesome start, loyal fan base, and plenty of publicity, but whatever the reason, he’s back and Chinatown is richer for it.

Saginaw’s –

Image(Better than…?)

Sex is great, but have you tried “Derek’s Favorite” roast beef and salami sandwich?

YUGA KOREAN –

A pleasant surprise right next door to the Village Theaters on West Sahara. Friendly service. Easy to love Korean ‘cue.

Yu-Or-Mi Sushi –

Is it top-drawer, drop-your-chopsticks sushi of the Kame, YUI, or Kabuto persuasion? No, but it’s a damn site better than most neighborhood spots, with some interesting sakes and Japanese beers.

OLD RELIABLES

China Mama –

Image(The Mamas of China Mama)

Our best Chinese restaurant. Period.

DE Thai Kitchen –

Small but mighty. Small but incendiary menu. The Kua Gling (spicy southern Thai dry curry) separates the men from the boys in the Thai spice brigade.

E-jo Korean –

Image(E-jo banchan, I say, before I do.)

It had been ages since we ate here. One of the first Korean restaurant locations in town that’s still going strong. (Back in the day, there were several in Commercial Center, but all have gone to that great banchan in the sky.) Modest but satisfying, and filled with fellow Korean travelers chattering away in their native tongue the day we visited.

Elia Authentic Greek Taverna –

Jammed every night it’s open, with good reason. Beautiful Greek food even my yia yia would approve of.

Ferraro’s –

Former Chef of the Year Francesco di Caudo was a Covid casualty — which tells me means they’re going back to basics at our oldest and best Italian. But the basics here have always been solid, and the wine list remains an Ital oenophile’s dream come true — now with some beautiful discounts on some of its best bottles.

Kung Fu Thai-Chinese –

There is something delightfully old school about this institution on Valley View at Spring Mountain Road. Most of it is standard issue, but sometimes a body just wants to getta big dish of beef chow mein.

Los Antojos –

Image

Image(Tacos, tacos, y mas tacos!)

Hadn’t been in almost a decade, even though it was in the early editions of EATING LAS VEGAS – The 50 Essential Restaurant (Max Jacobson was a huge fan). I was alone. Ordered a couple of things. Sat down. Removed the mask; fiddled with the phone. Within minutes the manager came over, dropped his mask to reveal and ear-to-ear grin and shook my hand. Then he pointed to various notices, articles, and awards on the wall (from Saveur magazine to Food Network) and thanked me for all the national recognition they received after our first book came out in 2010. Made my fucking day. P.S. The food is still great (as it has been since 1995), at this ultimate Mexican hole-in-the-wall.

Nakamura-Ya –

Image(I’m urchin you to try this uni linguine)

Japan goes Italian with some creamy, seafood-packed pastas. The real deal that’s also a real deal.

Ohlala French Bistro –

French resilience should never be underestimated. Another mainstay that came through Covid smelling like a rosé.

Orchid’s Garden –

Not the best dim sum by a long shot, but a lot better than it used to be.

Partage –

The Three Musketeers — Vincent, Yuri and Nicolas — have created a following for all things French….in the middle of Chinatown. Their new wine store venture — French Cellar by Partage — has quickly become the in-spot for Burgundian imbibing.  Incroyable!

PublicUs –

This place is so crowded nobody goes there anymore.

The Black Sheep –

Jamie Tran is on this season’s Top Chef. Go Jamie Go! And go you should to hear neighborhood powerhouse that’s soon to be one tough ticket, until she expands, which we hope happens soon.

7th & Carson –

The Irish breakfast is worth a trip all by itself.

Sparrow + Wolf –

Image(Endless pastabilities)

Brian Howard’s seasonal menus are things of beauty. Blink and you’ll miss them. Therefore, we suggest you hit S+W seasonally, if not more often, if you want to thoroughly examine what our most restless chef is rustling up.

Windy City Dogs –

A thing of beauty.

The Italian beef didn’t wow us; the Chicago dogs did.

Yi Mei Champion Deli –

Weird Taiwanese spot tucked deep into a Spring Mountain strip mall. No one speaks much English, service is spotty, decor is mid-century-someone’s-warehouse, but some of the soups will save you a ticket to Taipei.

JURY STILL OUT

Flock & Fowl –

Will be changing its name and concept soon. Good bar food is tough to find, and better-than-average bar vittles is what they’ll be shooting for here. We’re rooting for it.

Milpa

Image(Everything but the location bowls me over)

Beautiful, fresh-ground tortillas, nice tacos, local sourcing, and hard-working chefs with a great idea in the wrong place.

Steve’s Pig Pickins BBQ –

Good ‘cue. Terrible location. We shall see.

NEVER AGAIN

Hugo’s Cellar –

Read this and weep.

Mint Indian Bistro –

Vegas once boasted a host of outstanding Indian eats….or at least a half-dozen addresses of acceptable sub-continent alimentation. What the hell happened?


That’ll do it for the first quarter of the year. As bullish as we are about Vegas’s restaurant future, it won’t truly be “back” until the great Strip dining palaces are open more than 3 nights a week. Fingers are crossed; breath is being held.

In the meantime, find someone who covers more territory than I do, and I’ll buy them dinner at Restaurant Guy Savoy.

If you’re interested, here are the restaurant meals I’ve had since January 1st of this year, in order:

  1. Jack Pots – Circa
  2. Cipriani
  3. Saginaw’s
  4. D’Agostino’s
  5. PublicUs
  6. Vegas Test Kitchen
  7. Cipriani
  8. The Tap House
  9. DE Thai Kitchen
  10. PublicUs
  11. Hugo’s Cellar
  12. Cornish Pasty
  13. Goodwich
  14. Yu-Or-Mi Sushi
  15. Cipriani
  16. Orchid’s Garden
  17. Financier – Winter Park, Florida
  18. Hamilton’s – Winter Park, Florida
  19. Boca – Winter Park, Florida
  20. Croissant Gourmet – Winter Park, Florida
  21. Bosphorous Turkish – Winter Park, Florida
  22. Rocco’s – Winter Park, Florida
  23. Financier – Winter Park, Florida
  24. FARM – Bluffton, South Carolina
  25. Skylight Inn – Ayden, South Carolina
  26. Sam Jones BBQ – Ayden, South Carolina
  27. Rodney Scott BBQ – Charleston, South Carolina
  28. Lewis BBQ – Charleston, South Carolina
  29. Waffle House – Somewhere in Georgia (Birthday Breakfast!) Image
  30. China Mama
  31. Main Street Provisions
  32. Cipriani
  33. Oscar’s Steakhouse
  34. Yi Mei Champion Deli
  35. Kaiseki Yuzu
  36. E-jo Korean
  37. Ferraro’s
  38. Robata En
  39. Cipriani
  40. Yu-Or-Mi Sushi
  41. Barry’s Prime
  42. Cipriani
  43. Johnny C’s Diner
  44. Good Pie
  45. Good Pie
  46. Cipriani
  47. Oscar’s Steakhouse
  48. YUGA Korean BBQ
  49. Steve’s Pig Pickins BBQ
  50. 8East
  51. 7th & Carson
  52. Elia Authentic Greek Taverna
  53. Saginaw’s
  54. Yu-Or-Mi Sushi
  55. Milpas
  56. Cipriani
  57. Burgundy Bakery & Cafe
  58. Bazaar Meat
  59. Windy City Dogs
  60. 7th & Carson
  61. Kung Fu Thai-Chinese
  62. Raku
  63. Main Street Provisions
  64. Yu-Or-Mi Sushi
  65. Esther’s Kitchen
  66. Cipriani
  67. Big Dan Chinese Noodles
  68. Ohlala French Bistro
  69. Saginaw’s
  70. Osteria Fiorella
  71. 8East
  72. Saginaw’s
  73. Edge Steakhouse
  74. Cipriani
  75. Big Dan Chinese Noodles
  76. Estiatorio Milos
  77. Letty’s
  78. Partage
  79. Los Antojos
  80. Del Taco (Yes, Del Taco.)
  81. Yum Cha Dim Sum
  82. Mint Indian Bistro
  83. Osteria Fiorella (Brunch!)
  84. Milos
  85. Nakamura-Ya
  86. Papa Noodle
  87. Los Antojos
  88. Saginaw’s
  89. Cipriani
  90. Costa di Mare
  91. Flock & Fowl
  92. Good Pie
  93. Sparrow+Wolf
  94. The Black Sheep
  95. Main Street Provisions
  96. Cipriani
  97. Pizza Forte
  98. Ada’s Wine Bar
  99. CUT
  100. Cipriani
  101. Rainbow Kitchen
  102. Letty’s
  103. Milos
  104. Main Street Provisions
  105. Cipriani

Image(Big Dan Shaanxi Noodle Shop)