The trade show circuit that I run circles in twice a year makes a long and excruciating stop in Las Vegas. On the recent installment, Miguelito helped me to balance my professional obligations with a bit of silliness. After treating me to Cirque du Soleil's acrobatic-intensive Mystere show, he picked up fun sunglasses for the both of us at a $10 shop in Treasure Island Hotel. We're such rock stars!
Rock stars must eat. Daniel Boulud's restaurant in the Wynn Hotel cooks up yummy meals that earned one star from the Michelin critics.
The problem with Las Vegas is that no matter how classy the food is in a restaurant, the atmosphere reeks of campy condescension to the tourists who stroll the roulette tables clutching foot-high plastic containers filled with liquor. At the start of our dinner, this giant frog rose from behind the high wall to serenade us.
The cote de boeuf with big onion rings.
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. On my last day in the Glitter Gulch, I made a point to wake up early to eat at Bouchon with Max. To fuel himself for one more trek around the Las Vegas Convention Center, Max slurped up the baked eggs. Don't worry that the brioche toast was burnt. Our attentive waiter promptly offered to bring a new plate of toast for Max.
I had the honey yogurt parfait.
Strawberries tinted the base of the glass jar. A sweet clump of oatmeal, raisins and cashews floated atop the thick mass of yogurt speckled with vanilla beans.
Before I glanced at the list of specials, I ordered a plain croissant to dip into my yogurt. Once I scanned the day's delicacies, I became curious about the strawberry croissant. Max and I ordered one to share. It was a plain croissant that was halved and then baked with a strawberry paste and a crunchy coat of flour and sugar.
Eating one-star food all the time can be boring. So my first meal back in L.A. was sausage pizza from Taste Chicago, which was conveniently located between the Burbank Airport and my house. Max and Josh got a kick out of the fact that Joe Mantegna and his missus own the low-key pizza joint. There's even a signed picture of Fat Tony, the cartoon character whom Mantegna voices on "The Simpsons," hanging on the wall.
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