I'm in Las Vegas again for business. It's back to the grind of working 14-hour days stalking miles and miles of a trade show floor in pursuit of skittish corporate executives and then boozing up the interviewees the rest of the night. It's also time to replenish my diet with foie gras. Because California is ruled by a bunch of food Nazis, I've decided to eat foie gras every single day while I'm here. They don't call it Sin City for nothing! Tonight's repast was held at Daniel Boulud Brasserie in the Wynn hotel.
Over the ethical objections of my dinner dates, Todd and Emili, I ordered the duck confit wrapped around a tube of foie gras inside a puff pastry cylinder. Todd said I was going to suffer from bad karma and be reborn as a duck or goose in the next life. But I told him that you can only be reborn as one of the 12 critters in the Asian zodiac. The rooster is the sole avian in that astrological system, and we all know that chicken foie gras is an oxymoron. The duck confit-foie gras appetizer was as smooth as it looked.
I'm not that much of a hedonist. Rather than ordering a traditional entree, I chose a second appetizer for my main dish: a tomato tarte tatin.
Emili was intrigued by Earl Grey ice cream that came with the poached pear. My tongue wasn't completely convinced of the coupling. I think Earl Grey ice cream would have gone more nicely with a sponge cake. Dulce de leche would have provided an exotic base for the delicately poached pears.
I wanted to support my peeps and order the Vietnamese cinnamon ice cream that was paired with a fritter dessert. But I thought the fried pastry would be too heavy. Instead, I cleansed my palate with the dark chocolate mousse and praline ice cream combo. Opting for coffee over sweets, Todd made himself useful and lit the dessert dishes for my ghetto photojournalism.
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