Condiment Grrl in Vegas, Part I
So, Condiment Grrl went to Vegas, baby, Vegas. And she's still tired and can barely hold her head up to type to you, devoted readers. But she persists. And she will blog about condiments in Vegas.
And here's my review: Eh. Vegas isn't about condiments. It's about glitz and huge, giant, over-the-top capitalist craziness that is more reminiscent of Rome before the Fall. My god, I'm still having dreams about New York, New York. It's such a twisted, cleaned-up replica of New York that you can't help but be captivated by it's tiny Central Park and it's Greenwich Village ala Munchkinland. But here's the thing, we went on Saturday morning looking for bagels. Thinking, that of all the casinos on the strip, that we were most likely to find a bagel there. Har de har har har. We even went into "Greenberg's Deli" which anyone actually named Greenberg should sue and burn to the ground because THEY DIDN'T SERVE BAGELS.
We did dine in a Chinese restaurant with a lousy breakfast buffet, but they had a decent fried rice, so I was briefly sated. Of course, we were in Vegas to celebrate Big Mama Salsa's 70th birthday and she enjoyed a Bloody Mary with the FINEST garnish I'd ever seen in a drink. It almost made up for the lack of bagels. It was a skewer that sat across the glass with a cube of salami, a cube of cheese, a big green olive, a cocktail onion and a lime almost breaking the stick in two with the weight of their condimenty goodness. I took photos with my Aunt Joyce's camera which I will post when the Las Vegas police let my Aunt Joyce out for that unfortunate incident involving Australia's Thunder Down Under at the Excalibur.
There was a slot machine with a Tabasco theme, but I didn't have a camera or I would have had myself photographed losing money into it.
We dined at a bistro in the Paris monstrosity with the Eifel Tower and everything. The restaurant was actually quite good. Siegfried and Roy were there and we saw Roy being pushed out in a wheelchair. POOR TASTE COMMENT ALERT - I guess we should be glad the tiger didn't have the right condiment or there would be no more Roy -- END POOR TASTE COMMENT.
We had steamed artichokes which had a disappointing thick gloop that was supposed to be a lemon butter for a dipping sauce. But they were redeemed by the horseradish sauce that was served with Big Mama Salsa's Prime Rib. I had a nibble or two when BMS was otherwise occupied with her wine and it was most delicious, especially the sauce. When we were getting up to leave, BMS offered me the leftover Prime Rib, but I only grabbed the horseradish sauce which I carefully placed in my bag in case I came across something that needed dipping.
Unfortunately, I lost it later that night after bumping the night away in a club in the Hard Rock cafe.
And no, Thunder Down Under was not involved. Now THERE would be a prodigious use of the dipping sauce.
Viva Las Vegas!
Condiment Grrl
And here's my review: Eh. Vegas isn't about condiments. It's about glitz and huge, giant, over-the-top capitalist craziness that is more reminiscent of Rome before the Fall. My god, I'm still having dreams about New York, New York. It's such a twisted, cleaned-up replica of New York that you can't help but be captivated by it's tiny Central Park and it's Greenwich Village ala Munchkinland. But here's the thing, we went on Saturday morning looking for bagels. Thinking, that of all the casinos on the strip, that we were most likely to find a bagel there. Har de har har har. We even went into "Greenberg's Deli" which anyone actually named Greenberg should sue and burn to the ground because THEY DIDN'T SERVE BAGELS.
We did dine in a Chinese restaurant with a lousy breakfast buffet, but they had a decent fried rice, so I was briefly sated. Of course, we were in Vegas to celebrate Big Mama Salsa's 70th birthday and she enjoyed a Bloody Mary with the FINEST garnish I'd ever seen in a drink. It almost made up for the lack of bagels. It was a skewer that sat across the glass with a cube of salami, a cube of cheese, a big green olive, a cocktail onion and a lime almost breaking the stick in two with the weight of their condimenty goodness. I took photos with my Aunt Joyce's camera which I will post when the Las Vegas police let my Aunt Joyce out for that unfortunate incident involving Australia's Thunder Down Under at the Excalibur.
There was a slot machine with a Tabasco theme, but I didn't have a camera or I would have had myself photographed losing money into it.
We dined at a bistro in the Paris monstrosity with the Eifel Tower and everything. The restaurant was actually quite good. Siegfried and Roy were there and we saw Roy being pushed out in a wheelchair. POOR TASTE COMMENT ALERT - I guess we should be glad the tiger didn't have the right condiment or there would be no more Roy -- END POOR TASTE COMMENT.
We had steamed artichokes which had a disappointing thick gloop that was supposed to be a lemon butter for a dipping sauce. But they were redeemed by the horseradish sauce that was served with Big Mama Salsa's Prime Rib. I had a nibble or two when BMS was otherwise occupied with her wine and it was most delicious, especially the sauce. When we were getting up to leave, BMS offered me the leftover Prime Rib, but I only grabbed the horseradish sauce which I carefully placed in my bag in case I came across something that needed dipping.
Unfortunately, I lost it later that night after bumping the night away in a club in the Hard Rock cafe.
And no, Thunder Down Under was not involved. Now THERE would be a prodigious use of the dipping sauce.
Viva Las Vegas!
Condiment Grrl
posted by CondimentGrrl at 10:46 PM
2 Comments:
Seriously, how good can the condiments be in a town where food is treated as if it were all just condiments - I mean, you see how them folks pile the stuff on at the all-you-can-eat buffets, right? Like the tapioca pudding is just a condiment for the potato salad, which is really just a condiment to the butterfly shrimp, which is a condiment to the NY Strip Steak, etc., etc., all the way down, until the whole schmear ends up looking like a sort of sad, saggy parfait-on-a-plate...
Real condiments don't glitter.
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