The 2005 Holiday Season
Pre-Christmas Las Vegas
Surprise
T
he
reason we celebrated Christmas in Boston quite so early was that Robert and
I were flying out to Las Vegas at 9:30 Wednesday morning for three days and
two nights of a relaxing pre-Christmas vacation, just the two of us. This was
a surprise to Robert, however, who thought that we were flying straight to New
York to spend a week with my family; when I explained his Christmas surprise
late Tuesday night, on our seventh-and-a-halfth anniversary, he seemed quite
shocked. It wasn’t until we were two hours away from Boston the next morning
that he seemed to really understand what had happened. He began many unfinished
sentences, such as, “So that’s why you packed my suitcase. . .,”
and, “But you must have been planning this for awhile. . .,” and,
“So your parents must have known too. . . .” Eventually he relaxed,
to the point of napping on the plane, and when our Boston-Vegas flight got in
almost an hour early, he was completely out of the work mindset of the last
few months and utterly in the spirit of the vacation.
For future reference, Las
Vegas is quite cheap the week before Christmas—we got a $70 a night room
at MGM Grand, with a $35 dining credit at any of their restaurants, and the
flights in and out were good deals as well. We were able to check into our room
right at the airport, and then take a cab to the hotel and just go straight
up to our room, even though it was barely 1:00 when we got in. The weather was
beautiful: 65-70 degrees everyday, and sunny and bright, so much so that upon
exiting the hotel we felt like moles or vampires or other pale creatures ever
unused to the sun. It was strange to realize that we ever had spent Christmas
in a warm place (Los Angeles); the Christmas decorations in palm trees and casinos
just added to Las Vegas’s already surreal quality, but we were quite happy.
We
immediately went back out and investigated walking to the In and Out that looked
quit
e
close to the Strip but appeared to be unreachable by foot; instead, we went
to the NY, NY casino and had a progressive lunch of a Schrafft’s coffee
ice cream soda and a Nathan’s cheese fries. We walked across the Brooklyn
Bridge during New York’s 60-hour transit strike—compare our picture
to the real thing—and then walked up to the Bellagio to inspect their
indoor botanical gardens, which included carnation polar bears, fake snow, and
animatronic penguins. We continued walking up and across the Strip, through
Bally’s to Paris, where we had a crepe Suzette to cap off our lunch. Walking
outside as much as possible—no indoor passageways for us, unlike on our
other, 90+ degree visits to Vegas—we detoured inside into the Aladdin
Desert Passage mall, where we saw their rainstorm. Robert observed how odd it
was that we were inside a mall in a desert area watching a fake rainstorm and
watching tourists photograph—and videotape—the rainstorm. We circled
back to our hotel and rested and changed before our 8:15 dinner reservations.
Dinner was at L’Atelier
de Joel Robuchon, where we sat at the counter, and where Robert ordered the
tasting menu and I ordered two small plates and one main course (and a dessert,
of course). It was a wonderful, two-plus hour experience. My king crab stick
with avocado was wonderful, but the langostine fritter was not as exciting;
my main course of veal carpaccio with tuna sauce was light, cool, and delicious,
and it was accompanied by the most perfectly seasoned romaine salad; my dessert,
which Robert had to talk me into getting because at this point—with the
time difference—I was practically falling asleep, was the tart assortment:
five beautiful, classic and creamy tarts, with the best being the truly intense
coffee tart and the incredibly tart (way too sour for Robert) lemon tart. The
highlights of the tasting menu included the fruity, fluffy dessert (there were
two dessert courses—one was a little too chocolatey for Robert), the “egg”
course (poached eggs, mushroom mousse, in a martini glass—airy, creamy,
savory, and one of the best bites I’ve ever had), and the tomato mousse
with avocado cream (which the chef also sent out a complimentary portion of
for me, so I could begin the tasting menu along with Robert).
Thursday morning we again
walked over to New York, NY and had hot pretzels for breakfast—a cinnamon
and a jalapeno—which we then complemented with a terrible, terribly expensive
coffee from the Bellagio coffee shop, after our now-familiar outdoor walk up
the Strip. We went to the Bellagio salon, where Robert had a shave and a facial
from a vigorous Russian woman named Luda, and where we both then had manicures
and pedicures while sitting in facing chairs. Robert was in his element—he
had long heard from my father about the benefits of a “real” (i.e.,
non-electric) shave, and he had long wanted a manicure and pedicure. I’d
never had a professional one of either, so I braved the perils of strangers
touching my hands, arms, feet, and legs to participate along with Robert. Robert
had people listening to him, laughing at his jokes, and massaging his arms and
legs, and his nails were buffed to the most amazing shine, such that three days
later he was still showing them off to my family. I got gold glittery polish
on my toes, after the mango aromatherapy scrub and lotion, and a very pale,
shiny pink—just paler than natural, actually—on my fingers. It was
quite the experience—I would consider trying another salon and/or spa
appointment another time, especially along with Robert.
After our appointments,
we went to the Bellagio buffet for lunch, since we had such fond memories of
it from the first time we were in Vegas, now over six years ago. The buffet
didn’t disappoint—the shrimp were huge, juicy, and perfectly cooked
(not at all overdone), and the desserts (especially the chocolate-covered strawberries
and the raspberry-lime tarts) were wonderful.
We left lunch, walked across
the street to Bally’s, and bought unlimited use 24-hour monorail passes.
Our first ride took us to the Hilton, where we had pre-purchased, online discounted
tickets for Star Trek: The Experience waiting for us. We wandered through the
museum, comparing it to the changes that had taken place since we were last
here three years ago, and then went on the rides: first the new one, the Borg
experience, and then the older one, the Klingon encounter. It’s hard to
say which is better, really—certainly any Star Trek fan would love both,
and the ticket includes unlimited rides for one day on both; the Klingon one
had more motion; the Borg one had more complications; but I think all in all
it’s the classic Klingon one that still has my heart. With that, we went
to have our picture taken with a Klingon. “Don’t cut off his head,”
someone warned as Robert zoomed in for the shot; a valid warning, considering
that the first time we were here, that’s exactly what he did! Immediately
after this, Robert bought me one of my most-loved and nerdiest tee shirts, a
“Klingons [Heart] Me” shirt. I threw it on and tried to find the
same Klingon again, but he was nowhere to be seen. We wandered around waiting
for awhile, approached a slow-moving Borg instead, talked to a nerdy guy, and
then gave up and headed out to the monorail home, where we discovered a Ferengi
going off of work. The Ferengi was, typically enough, cranky. “Can I take
your picture?” Robert asked politely. “Why not? You’re here,
I’m here, the camera’s here,” he muttered, and posed. He also
commented on my shirt, which made me very happy.
I changed out of the shirt
before dinner, though, which was back up on the monorail to the Wynn (annoyingly
in between two stops, though that may change when the new casino next to it
is finally finished) at Okada. The Wynn had gorgeous grounds, with huge cliffs
and waterfalls and lakes, and the lakes have funny colored light shows and statues
and something about a frog appearing out of it; inside, it’s clearly trying
to out-Bellagio the Bellagio, with even more vibrant and lovely mosaic floors,
holiday-decorated gardens, and flowers in the reception area. Okada was very
attractive, with a nice view of a small waterfall, and we had a lovely, friendly,
knowledgeable waitress. We had a hamachi sashimi and a salmon temaki to start;
both were very good, but they simply weren’t the best raw fish we’d
ever had, even at some cheaper places in Boston, NY, etc. Then we had the robata
pork short rib and the robata seabass, both excellent—wonderfully carmelized
and charred, with the pork in a perfect sauce, falling off the bone: it was
truly a chopstickable pork rib. Next we had two cold plates: a trio of tartares,
each served in a tiny taro taco shell, and which were delicious, and a perfect
plate of raw oysters (wellfleet and baby kumamoto) served with two different
gingery-vinegary sauces. I think I could live on kumamoto oysters (and chocolate,
of course). We then finished the savory portion of our meal with two hot plates:
a crab and rock shrimp spring roll and a nasu dengaku topped with a rock shrimp
and vegetable salad. The nasu was probably my absolute favorite thing after
the oysters. For dessert, Robert had a coffee-tea mousse dish, which was really
his kind of dessert—flavorful, unchocolatey, light, and fluffy. I had
the more traditional hot red bean soup with freshly made mochi (the chef has
a mochi maker like ours and makes his own, and the waitress said she always
tries to duck into the kitchen when he’s making it to steal some pieces.
I confided in her that it’s great when fresh and hot, dipped into—“yes,
I know, sugar or cinnamon sugar,” she said. “No,” I said,
“maybe that too, but I meant hot fudge sauce, like a chocolate fondue.”
She found that idea quite intriguing.)—the warm, hearty, comforting and
starchy dessert that is really right up my alley.
After dessert we walked
across the street to try to see the former pirate show at the former Treasure
Island—now the siren show at “TI.” Sadly, the sirens were
on vacation until the next night, so we weren’t going to get to see them
after this. This is extra funny, and extra sad, because Robert had missed the
old pirate show no fewer than four or five times—there was always something,
a scheduling change, a wind delay, a weather problem, a holiday, etc., that
prevented him from seeing them, and tonight was no different. We hopped on the
monorail back to our hotel and called it a night, sans pirates (or sirens).
On Friday morning we got
up and made our way down to Witchcraft in the MGM Studiowalk shopping area,
where we had a terrible eggnog chai latte from Starbucks and a really nice breakfast
sandwich of fried eggs, greens, bacon, and blue cheese on a great Italian roll.
We wandered out to look at the pool and then down to look at the children’s
arcade. Back up at the room, we changed into bathing suits and returned to the
pool area, with me carrying nothing and with Robert responsible for—as
I impressed upon him multiple times—his watch and a room key. The pool,
though heated, was a little chilly in the almost 70-degree air temperature,
and so only a few children were in it. We bypassed the pool and headed over
to the completely deserted hot tub, which was large enough for Robert to swim
across it while I sat on the steps (I am not a water lover). After we’d
been there for awhile, and were just starting to dry off and get ready to leave,
a father and two boys came over. I mention this only because, as we were leaving,
I located Robert’s watch to check the time but couldn’t find the
room key. “Oh yeah,” Robert said, “it might have fallen out
of my pocket in the pool.” I flipped out, since he’d only had two
things to keep trackc of, and the room key could clearly have been put with
the watch inside his shoe. I didn’t relish the idea of walking moistly
through the large, air-conditioned hotel hallways and lobbies in my bathing
suit and cover up in order to get a replacement key, so I was quite relieved
when the two little boys, diving down again and again to the bottom of the pool,
found our key for us.
We then went back upstairs,
changed, packed, and checked out by 1:00. After storing our bags at the bell
desk, we took another free monorail ride up just one stop to Bally’s,
where we crossed the Strip to the Bellagio and wandered in to check out a special
dim sum buffet at Jasmine, one of their fancy, high-end Chinese places. Usually
non-buffet, and dinner-only, Jasmine decided to have a dim sum buffet from 11:00
to 3:00 just for four days around the Christmas weekend, and today was their
first day. There was really no information available about it, and no advertising
whatsoever beyond two or three signs in the Bellagio lobby which were only posted
the day before. Still, we had high hopes for the buffet, and they were realized.
The restaurant was beautiful, high-ceilinged and airy and bright, and we had
a table near the windows looking out onto the man-made lake. There was an extensive
soup area, where a chef would plate up noodles for you with different broths,
and where you could choose from many garnishes. There was a wonderful raw bar,
with mussels, clams, and oysters; I must have eaten a dozen of the oysters,
small New England Wellfleets, perfectly shucked and unsandy, with a nice vinegar-red
onion sauce drizzled over them. There was sushi (mainly pickle rolls and spicy
tuna rolls), as well as a selection of cold Chinese salads, including one delicious
spicy-sweet dried shrimp salad. Among the large selection of hot dishes and
dim sum, every individual dim sum item was delicately prepared, nearly grease-free,
and perfectly hot and fresh. The dessert section had many lovely looking cakes
and tarts, but we didn’t try those; I stuck to the huge, ripe, chocolate-covered
strawberries and the bowls of ripe cherries and clementines. Robert sampled
nearly everything at the buffet, and he loved the nice rare lamb, the roast
duck, the pork deep-fried rice balls, and the soup. I stuck mainly to oysters,
clementines, cherries, and chocolate-covered strawberries, with only a few other
items thrown in for a slight amount of diversification. We spent about two hours
there, enjoying some of the absolute best service we’ve ever had at a
buffet, as well as some excellent jasmine tea, and near the end of our stay
we got to see the Bellagio water fountains do their first show of the day, dancing
up and down like crazy water Rockette legs to Italian opera songs.
After dim sum, full and
happy, we wandered out into the bright sun and walked down the strip. We stopped
briefly in at the M&M store, where Robert got me a Star Wars M&M tee
shirt, and then we went back to MGM Grand. Once there, we headed straight to
the Star Wars slot machines--they’re penny slots, but they only take bills,
so we planned on putting in a single dollar bill and choosing a penny bet. Annoyingly,
the machine wouldn’t accept anything smaller than a $5 bill, so we planned
on getting a lot of cash back. Just for the record, we’re fully aware
that we don’t really understand slot machines--why they’re fun,
or how sometimes you win with weird diagonals and jagged line-to-line things
and sometimes you don’t--so we hit the button and realized with a shock
that we’d bet 30 lines at a penny apiece: in other words, we had just
wasted thirty whole cents. We had our second shock when it turned out that we
won with one of those weird cross-line bits, so we hurriedly cashed out, getting
over $7 back. Wow--what a profit! Clearly, after this heady round of excitement,
there was nothing else to do but get our luggage, and take a quick cab to the
airport.
At this point in our slightly
over forty-eight hours in Las Vegas, I ended my holiday sweater spotting contest.
I had spotted thirty-one separate holiday sweaters (most obviously Christmas,
but I included a few non-denominational “winter” sweaters with snowmen
and snowflakes). Many of them were three-dimensional, with ribbons or bows or
buttons and things. Many had decorations on the back as well. Of the thirty-one,
two were sweater vests and another two were identical sweaters worn by white-haired
old lady sisters (twins?). Not included in this count were a holiday denim shirt
(worn over a holiday turtleneck by a middle-aged woman) and a long-sleeved green
tee shirt with “This is my holiday sweater” printed on it, worn
by a teenage boy. Sometimes, they really came thick and fast, with multiple
ones walking at us along the Strip at a time. Robert thought that the sheer
numbers were remarkable, especially given that it wasn’t even particularly
sweater weather.
In the airport, comfortably
ensconced in seats facing the windows and near the outlets, we not only got
to see the sunset over the mountains and the casinos, but also my high school
friend Sal Desiano, who was flying from San Francisco to New York with a change
of planes in Las Vegas. We talked happily until they started calling for boarding,
and then Sal said, well, he didn’t board until Group 6—he was all
the way in Row 10. “That’s funny,” Robert said, “because
we’re group 3, and also Row 10.” It turned out that, despite the
bizarre numbering of the groups (I was actually 3 and Robert 4, when we were
right next to each other, and how you go straight from Group 3 to Group 6 I
don’t know at all), Robert, Sal, and I all sat next to each other on the
plane, purely by chance. It was a fun, talkative flight, with no delays, landing
in JFK around 1:30. So, fully relaxed, well-fed, and happy after three days
of Las Vegas fun, we hopped in a cab and were lying in bed at my parents’
house by ten after 2:00, early in the morning of Christmas Eve.
next--
Christmas (really) with Christina's family in NY
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Created: 01/19/06. Last Modified: 01/19/06.