odd
Most people go on crazy shopping sprees after they've hit the jackpot at the Wheel of Fortune slot machine. Others buy a Maserati after having taken the pot at a poker tournament. Well, I spit my complimentary cocktail at those people, those earn before you spend conventionalists. I am a risk taker.
On Saturday night, the boyfriend and I had a reservation at MIX which is atop THEhotel. It is celebrity chef Alain Ducasse's sky-high restaurant with an oval dining room and ceiling from which were hung hundreds of glass "bubbles." It was like stepping into a glass of champagne. If the decor was any indicator of the meal, we were in for a treat. We were not deterred by being down $200. We were going to eat in high style despite our meager finances. As expected, the meal was delicious and I took detailed notes for my friend who works at Sona, the very avant-garde house of cuisine on La Cienega. The restaurant industry is a small incestuous world when it narrows at the top and chefs gossip like little girls. Thoughts on lobster "au curry" served on coconut basmati rice were greatly appreciated. I had striped bass served on brussel sprout leaves, topped with seared Hudson Valley foie gras all in a small pool of black truffle reduction. I get weak knees when in the presence of a fatty duck liver. To indulge, we had a fantastic side of elbow pasta with French ham and gruyere also known as "mac and cheese," a banal term Monsieur Ducasse detests. And of course, since we were down on our luck, we ordered the signature dessert, a baba "au rhum" which was in essence, a sponge cake soaked in citrus vanilla sauce, then served with vanilla whipped cream and a tiny pitcher of rum which you added yourself. The dessert was a little disappointing although they did bring out an amuse of fresh Madeleines which you pulled from the mold yourself. Madelines are cakey cookies in the shape of a scallop shell. Very French. Very awesome. Honestly, the view from the restaurant was the best dessert and I will post pictures soon. Wipe up that drool.
We returned to our hotel glowing and sated. We sashayed through the casino with the hopes of reclaiming the cash which was rightfully ours but after stopping at our non-smoking room to change out of haute couture, we realized we were feeling and looking a bit slovenly. We could barely lift ourselves up to arm wrestle for the remote (I had had enough SportsCenter) let alone sit upright and focus on cards. We went to bed early and the next day woke up to a complimentary breakfast for two courtesy of our hotel. Judging from the patrons in our hotel, we suspected the breakfast to be somewhere between appalling and disgusting. The mere thought of buffet scrambled eggs made the both of us nauseous. We lucked out though and instead of breakfast we had brunch which means prime rib at 10am. Like I said, I'm a risk taker.
After brunch, we went to do what I do best when things go wrong. We went shopping. You don't drive back and forth past an outlet mall and tell me I shouldn't go in just like you don't dangle a steak in front of a Doberman. As an appetizer, we started with the Nike Outlet where I bought a new pair of Shox. The boyfriend was looking for basketball shoes he liked which he was unsuccessful in finding. I supposed he'll just have to carry the team on his back and shit while wearing his old cross training shoes. My tricked out Bentley and acrylic nails with diamonds spelling my name on each finger will have to wait. For my second course, I bought a camera bag for my SLR. And for dessert, I agonized over a pair of Oscar de la Renta sunglasses at Off 5th, the outlet version of Saks Fifth Avenue. I know! Heaven! I love that store. To give you an indication of how I shop there, the boyfriend couldn't hang for more than twenty minutes, went to the car and waited so long that he had to come BACK in and hurry me the hell up. I did get the sunglasses. Convenient for muting the boyfriend's exasperated glare.
In the red even further now, we headed to the Strip to walk along the roads paved with flyers for dirty girls. The traffic was so bad that we parked early at the Monte Carlo and walked to Paris and the Bellagio. The boyfriend and I pondered the themed hotels and casinos, spanning the most exotic and alluring places around the world like Mandalay Bay or The Venetian or the most fascinating times in history like The Excalibur or The MGM Grand.
"What theme would your hotel be?" the boyfriend asked.
"Purses." Can't you just see it? A purse-themed hotel for women with the same handbag addiction I have. There are few themes left which don't seem like a pathetic reach. Take our hotel for example, the South Coast? It's just sad. The next monstrosity will surely be The Reno at Las Vegas.
We had lunch at Olives in the Bellagio. You know, the restaurant located across from the Prada store which is next to Christian Dior and Gucci. The meal started with an assortment of olive tapendades both kalamata and green. I had the best caesar salad I have ever had. The leaves were crisp and the dressing just garlicky enough to be delectable yet not turn me into a putrid pox on society. It was topped with fresh parmesan and olive oil croutons and a smattering of tomatos, a rare find in most caesars. The boyfriend had a flatbread pizza which was also very good. We paid and on the way back to our car, I collected a bunch of dirty flyers from the men who were bundled up in ski jackets, with stacks of beautiful women in their mittens. You notice they never stand by themselves? It's always a group of three or four and as I approached a row to my right, I took the booklet the first one handed me and thanked him. I proceeded to thank the gentlemen individually as they each added their contribution to my smutty handful. Oh, Demi looks nice, thank you. Jessica AND Holly for $99? Thank you to you. Beautiful, exotic girls to my hotel room in less than 15 minutes guaranteed. That's efficiency. I saw a trampled booklet on the ground that had an assortment of "Asian dancers" and as I stopped to pick it up, the boyfriend reprimanded me with a stern "Don't touch that, it's dirty." Exactly.
We returned to the Monte Carlo to retrieve the car and head back to our hotel with plenty of homework in hand. The boyfriend spotted an empty $10 black jack table and now, after losing money the day before, dropping serious coin on a gourmet dinner and shopping for things we didn't need, we finally sat down to wager on a game of chance. Earlier in the day, we played roulette here and won. My coworker had given $10 to bet on Red so as we approached the table I turned on my sixth sense for numbers and told the boyfriend to put down the money. "It's gonna come up red," I predicted. The feeling was stirring deep within my heart. Red. Red. Red. So Red. I was confident in my prognostication. It was Black 8. Fortunately, the boyfriend didn't get to the dealer in time and wasn't able to put the money down. So, there I was, pretty much turning off my sixth sense and it indeed landed on Red 36 and my coworker was $10 richer. Hopefully the luck would rub off on us.
Who doubles down on 14? Who splits a pair of 8s? I do. Why? Because gambling is a game of chance and I will not be beholden to a bunch of mathematically proven statistics. Who cares what "the book" says. I bet with my gut which seems to puzzle the boyfriend who knows this game fairly well. His eyes grew with incredulity as I kept betting as if I was looking at a completely different hand than the one in front of me. As a few more people joined our table, I was quickly getting coached by everyone and anyone. Bianca, our dealer was effectively playing FOR me and since this seemed to please my tablemates, I stifled my capricious gambling nature. I am not usually a team player but whatever I was doing seemed to help everyone else and since there was money involved, I figured it best not to piss anyone off. After all, the boyfriend might get upset and come to my hotel and break my legs. In the end, after tipping Bianca $20 over the course of an hour, I was up $60. I had had enough of the ups and downs and the betting according to the odds and the man smoking cigarette after cigarette to my left so I asked the boyfriend if we could leave. He would have preferred to stay and win enough to pay his rent for the rest of the year but he had to settle for $150.
Our trip wound down with dinner at Lotus of Siam, one of the most famous Thai restaurants in the country. Fried dumplings were a great appetizer. My pad see-ew was the best I've had so far although the boyfriend got a spicy steak dish which was spicy but not inspiring. After dinner, we tried our hand at a few more rounds of black jack but lost. Frankly I was more amused by the slot machine names than the games themselves. "Get Egg-cited" and "Dam Lumberjack Beavers" were my favorites. We decided to turn in early and get ready for the drive back to L.A.
By Vegas standards, we had a crazy weekend. We got more than forty-five minutes of sleep each night, we only ate at a buffet once and we stayed sober. I mean, that's how I roll. Sometimes you have to rock the boat. I wasn't concerned about the potential stripper bonanza I was missing or the one life changing pull on the Star Wars slot machine. I was coming home with silly pictures, a pair of sensible shoes, old lady sunglasses and no regrets. I am, afterall, a risk taker.
Pictures to come!
On Saturday night, the boyfriend and I had a reservation at MIX which is atop THEhotel. It is celebrity chef Alain Ducasse's sky-high restaurant with an oval dining room and ceiling from which were hung hundreds of glass "bubbles." It was like stepping into a glass of champagne. If the decor was any indicator of the meal, we were in for a treat. We were not deterred by being down $200. We were going to eat in high style despite our meager finances. As expected, the meal was delicious and I took detailed notes for my friend who works at Sona, the very avant-garde house of cuisine on La Cienega. The restaurant industry is a small incestuous world when it narrows at the top and chefs gossip like little girls. Thoughts on lobster "au curry" served on coconut basmati rice were greatly appreciated. I had striped bass served on brussel sprout leaves, topped with seared Hudson Valley foie gras all in a small pool of black truffle reduction. I get weak knees when in the presence of a fatty duck liver. To indulge, we had a fantastic side of elbow pasta with French ham and gruyere also known as "mac and cheese," a banal term Monsieur Ducasse detests. And of course, since we were down on our luck, we ordered the signature dessert, a baba "au rhum" which was in essence, a sponge cake soaked in citrus vanilla sauce, then served with vanilla whipped cream and a tiny pitcher of rum which you added yourself. The dessert was a little disappointing although they did bring out an amuse of fresh Madeleines which you pulled from the mold yourself. Madelines are cakey cookies in the shape of a scallop shell. Very French. Very awesome. Honestly, the view from the restaurant was the best dessert and I will post pictures soon. Wipe up that drool.
We returned to our hotel glowing and sated. We sashayed through the casino with the hopes of reclaiming the cash which was rightfully ours but after stopping at our non-smoking room to change out of haute couture, we realized we were feeling and looking a bit slovenly. We could barely lift ourselves up to arm wrestle for the remote (I had had enough SportsCenter) let alone sit upright and focus on cards. We went to bed early and the next day woke up to a complimentary breakfast for two courtesy of our hotel. Judging from the patrons in our hotel, we suspected the breakfast to be somewhere between appalling and disgusting. The mere thought of buffet scrambled eggs made the both of us nauseous. We lucked out though and instead of breakfast we had brunch which means prime rib at 10am. Like I said, I'm a risk taker.
After brunch, we went to do what I do best when things go wrong. We went shopping. You don't drive back and forth past an outlet mall and tell me I shouldn't go in just like you don't dangle a steak in front of a Doberman. As an appetizer, we started with the Nike Outlet where I bought a new pair of Shox. The boyfriend was looking for basketball shoes he liked which he was unsuccessful in finding. I supposed he'll just have to carry the team on his back and shit while wearing his old cross training shoes. My tricked out Bentley and acrylic nails with diamonds spelling my name on each finger will have to wait. For my second course, I bought a camera bag for my SLR. And for dessert, I agonized over a pair of Oscar de la Renta sunglasses at Off 5th, the outlet version of Saks Fifth Avenue. I know! Heaven! I love that store. To give you an indication of how I shop there, the boyfriend couldn't hang for more than twenty minutes, went to the car and waited so long that he had to come BACK in and hurry me the hell up. I did get the sunglasses. Convenient for muting the boyfriend's exasperated glare.
In the red even further now, we headed to the Strip to walk along the roads paved with flyers for dirty girls. The traffic was so bad that we parked early at the Monte Carlo and walked to Paris and the Bellagio. The boyfriend and I pondered the themed hotels and casinos, spanning the most exotic and alluring places around the world like Mandalay Bay or The Venetian or the most fascinating times in history like The Excalibur or The MGM Grand.
"What theme would your hotel be?" the boyfriend asked.
"Purses." Can't you just see it? A purse-themed hotel for women with the same handbag addiction I have. There are few themes left which don't seem like a pathetic reach. Take our hotel for example, the South Coast? It's just sad. The next monstrosity will surely be The Reno at Las Vegas.
We had lunch at Olives in the Bellagio. You know, the restaurant located across from the Prada store which is next to Christian Dior and Gucci. The meal started with an assortment of olive tapendades both kalamata and green. I had the best caesar salad I have ever had. The leaves were crisp and the dressing just garlicky enough to be delectable yet not turn me into a putrid pox on society. It was topped with fresh parmesan and olive oil croutons and a smattering of tomatos, a rare find in most caesars. The boyfriend had a flatbread pizza which was also very good. We paid and on the way back to our car, I collected a bunch of dirty flyers from the men who were bundled up in ski jackets, with stacks of beautiful women in their mittens. You notice they never stand by themselves? It's always a group of three or four and as I approached a row to my right, I took the booklet the first one handed me and thanked him. I proceeded to thank the gentlemen individually as they each added their contribution to my smutty handful. Oh, Demi looks nice, thank you. Jessica AND Holly for $99? Thank you to you. Beautiful, exotic girls to my hotel room in less than 15 minutes guaranteed. That's efficiency. I saw a trampled booklet on the ground that had an assortment of "Asian dancers" and as I stopped to pick it up, the boyfriend reprimanded me with a stern "Don't touch that, it's dirty." Exactly.
We returned to the Monte Carlo to retrieve the car and head back to our hotel with plenty of homework in hand. The boyfriend spotted an empty $10 black jack table and now, after losing money the day before, dropping serious coin on a gourmet dinner and shopping for things we didn't need, we finally sat down to wager on a game of chance. Earlier in the day, we played roulette here and won. My coworker had given $10 to bet on Red so as we approached the table I turned on my sixth sense for numbers and told the boyfriend to put down the money. "It's gonna come up red," I predicted. The feeling was stirring deep within my heart. Red. Red. Red. So Red. I was confident in my prognostication. It was Black 8. Fortunately, the boyfriend didn't get to the dealer in time and wasn't able to put the money down. So, there I was, pretty much turning off my sixth sense and it indeed landed on Red 36 and my coworker was $10 richer. Hopefully the luck would rub off on us.
Who doubles down on 14? Who splits a pair of 8s? I do. Why? Because gambling is a game of chance and I will not be beholden to a bunch of mathematically proven statistics. Who cares what "the book" says. I bet with my gut which seems to puzzle the boyfriend who knows this game fairly well. His eyes grew with incredulity as I kept betting as if I was looking at a completely different hand than the one in front of me. As a few more people joined our table, I was quickly getting coached by everyone and anyone. Bianca, our dealer was effectively playing FOR me and since this seemed to please my tablemates, I stifled my capricious gambling nature. I am not usually a team player but whatever I was doing seemed to help everyone else and since there was money involved, I figured it best not to piss anyone off. After all, the boyfriend might get upset and come to my hotel and break my legs. In the end, after tipping Bianca $20 over the course of an hour, I was up $60. I had had enough of the ups and downs and the betting according to the odds and the man smoking cigarette after cigarette to my left so I asked the boyfriend if we could leave. He would have preferred to stay and win enough to pay his rent for the rest of the year but he had to settle for $150.
Our trip wound down with dinner at Lotus of Siam, one of the most famous Thai restaurants in the country. Fried dumplings were a great appetizer. My pad see-ew was the best I've had so far although the boyfriend got a spicy steak dish which was spicy but not inspiring. After dinner, we tried our hand at a few more rounds of black jack but lost. Frankly I was more amused by the slot machine names than the games themselves. "Get Egg-cited" and "Dam Lumberjack Beavers" were my favorites. We decided to turn in early and get ready for the drive back to L.A.
By Vegas standards, we had a crazy weekend. We got more than forty-five minutes of sleep each night, we only ate at a buffet once and we stayed sober. I mean, that's how I roll. Sometimes you have to rock the boat. I wasn't concerned about the potential stripper bonanza I was missing or the one life changing pull on the Star Wars slot machine. I was coming home with silly pictures, a pair of sensible shoes, old lady sunglasses and no regrets. I am, afterall, a risk taker.
Pictures to come!
posted by Katie at 2:57 PM
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