I ate at L'Atelier in April. My co-worker Adam said he never swims in the same river twice in Las Vegas. That's because there is a plethora of new restaurants to try. I'd jump into any river in order to get to the other side and taste the foie gras that Monsieur Robuchon always fabulously prepares. For my second visit, I sat again at the bar, between two co-workers.
We had a prime view of the kitchen. In the far left corner of this picture is the executive chef. He wouldn't even talk to us after our waiter introduced him. Maybe he was nervous that Mr. Robuchon was planning one of his semi-monthly visits to Las Vegas in late September. I asked our waiter what will the honcho do on his week-long stay in the city. "Critique," was the heavily coded and slightly nervous reply.
For my appetizer, I chose the sheets of sheep's milk cheese served with black cherry marmalade. The raisin nut bread heightened the sweetness of the fruit and cheese combo. Emili, Rachel and I then listed all the pairings of cheese that we like: blue cheese with honey, Brie with cranberries, etc.
I decided to try a different preparation of foie gras at L'Atelier. Instead of the seared foie gras burgers that I had last time, I ordered the quail stuffed with foie gras and accompanied by truffled mash potatoes. The quail was so little that I abandoned my fork and knife by the wayside and picked up the tiny drumstick between my thumb and forefinger. I have to say that the foie gras burgers were a showcase for the full flavor of the fattened livers. Still, the roast quail was not a bad way to feed the body after a long day of reporting, being snubbed by press-shy executives and walking at least four miles on a trade show floor.
I couldn't decide on one dessert so I chose five. From left to right: a raspberry tart, a peanut tart that tasted like a gooey triangle of a Snickers bar, a cinnamon tart, a coconut tart that had a hint of passionfruit and kiwi and a chocolate tart.
The good thing about swimming in the same river twice was that I was prepared for the swift undercurrent. I preempted the waiter from pouring the hot raspberry sauce over the white chocolate sphere housing the dollop of yuzu ice cream. Though my co-worker Rachel ordered this dessert, she let me snap the picture before and after the sauce transformed the perfect globe into an edible Death Star.
How I wanted to geek out and hum the Empire's theme from "Star Wars."
After dinner, I caught the late show of Cirque du Soleil's "Love" at the Mirage hotel. I impressed a bunch of Southern gentlemen by ordering a vodka and Cointreau cocktail dubbed A Hard Day's Night. Sure, it was a girly drink. Because I ordered the large size, however, the cocktail was poured into a "Love"-themed cup the size of my forearm. "Are you going to drink all of that?" one of the Southerners asked me. "I think so," I said, glancing at my co-worker Adam who went to the Cirque show with me and some executives from a licensing company and the Apple record label that manages the Beatles' estate. "It's been a long day."
One of my favorite segments of the show was the fast-pace rollerblading stunt performed on two half pipes to the kinetic song "Help." The skaters wore furry legwarmers that matched their black and white striped suits.
To keep the audience suspended in the imaginary world lived by Paul, John, George and Ringo, the ushers were dressed as Royal Guards and female Bobbies and spoke in faux British accents.
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