Foodie Phil's Version - Annual Poker, er, Foodie Trip Sept 30 - Oct 5

This is Foodie Phil....



Phil has been a regular on our Annual Poker Trips since 2010 (and has joined me on a few Super Bowl trips, too). Phil recently had an inspiration to write a food-centric trip report. However he had never done this before and it took him longer than he thought it would to complete it... he had wanted to make it perfect.

Unfortunately, Phil is afraid of technology (apparently) as he didn't want to sign up for an account on the Vegas Message Board. Not sure why, exactly, as its not like getting a soft approval for a mortgage or filing your taxes (although, I do wonder why @Sonya wanted my credit card number to sign up....) But maybe - just maybe - if you enjoy his posts, you'll smush the LIKE or LOVE buttons and heap praise on his report in the comments, then we can convince him to join and respond to each of you directly. And if LIKE and LOVE and positive comments don't work, the idea that “enough belief in something will cause things to happen” will require us all to vigorously clap so that maybe he will come to life as a Vegas Message Board contributor.

Below is Phil's entire report. I literally copy/pasted it from an E-mail he sent to me. I didn't change any grammar, punctuation, spelling or accounts of myself to make me more darling than I already am. The only thing I did do is to add photos (where we had remembered to take them) and offer a brief caption. I resisted the urge to link to menus and such... that was harder to not do than you might think.

So enjoy Phil's report. I think it is so good that he'll never do better, but that's on him.

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Thursday, September 30 - So now’s about the time when the leaves start to change colors, the days get shorter, the shadows longer, and the furnace kicks on for the first time. That smell of singed dust send most to buy new nine volts for the smoke detector. Not me. Sends me to the bank to cash in my coins, get a stack of two-dollar bills, and gets me thinking “do I stand or hit a soft 18 against a ten”? Fall is time for the guy’s Vegas trip. The coins are found money to be recklessly spent. The 2-dollar bills are for our spontaneous proposition bets. The answer on the soft 18, hit it. This trip started out like most others. Pat won the bet on cash value of the coin jar, Pete won bet on the rental car mileage. As the trip went on and the bets got more deranged and desperate, I noticed a trend. The 2-dollar bills were not flowing my way. Nor were the buffalos, the pocket aces, or the blackjacks. This trip was missing something. Well two things if you include Scott.

Lady luck was nowhere to be found. She was so busy wandering around and blowing on other guy’s dice, mine got frostbite. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t nice. All I can say is good thing she had a sister with a much better personality that knows how to treat a guy. No, no, not what you’re thinking. This girl was not on a flyer, not on the side of a bus, or in “that” section of the rather thick Vegas phone book. She made me very happy in a different way. Through my stomach. So looking back at this trip, I ponder less on the licking of my gambling wounds and more on the licking of my lips. Luck be a gourmet!

Friday, October 1 - So the first foray into my food happy place was “The Egg and I”. This menu read like Shakespeare to me. It was poetic. The words “Habla Diablo” in bold red font was peppered throughout the entire menu. Bottles of hot sauce with the same moniker adorned the table. I knew I was in my kind of place. This menu was full of dishes that spoke to me. The menu dared to be different, in all the right ways. This was not your typical greasy spoon. It was the “Blackened Prime Rib Benny” that ultimately beckoned. This may harken to one of my best and never repeated prime rib dinners. Two things made that dinner different. First, was the one and only time I saw blackened prime rib offered on a menu, second it was at an East Peoria gentlemen’s club (another story). The story of this breakfast fails in comparison to that meal and that evening (but then again how could it possibly compare). First, I must comment on the concept. Grilled croissant with blackened prime rib, sauteed spinach, roasted red peppers, and of course poached eggs and hollandaise. Superb. I would call the execution the same except for two reasons. First, was the cut of the prime rib. They were little cubed bits. I think sliced prime rib would be much more succulent and would lend so much more to this dish. Second, as is often the case on “blackened” dishes, it was no such thing. The seasoning was there but the char was not. I was also ever so slightly disappointed with the “Habla Diablo” potatoes. I asked for extra spicy not knowing if that was a request they could fulfill. It was not. That however was rectified with their “Habla Diablo” hot sauce. Which if not for TSA rules on carry on liquids, would be in my cupboard right now. Spectacular. Again, with the shape thing, think those delectable little spicy spuds would have been oh so much muchier if cut cottage style. All in all, happiness was achieved. By far my favorite breakfast of the trip. I will be back and looking forward into delving deeper into their inspired menu. My sights set on the “Chili Rellenos Omelet”, “Cincy Chilli Loco Moco”, or some other “Cincy Chilli” covered concoction.


The Egg and I's Blackened Prime Rib Benny... with cubed potatoes that weren't spicy enough.

The next opportunity for me to pitch a food tent was at the Able Baker Brewery. Which I later found out was not named after a competent bread maker but named after the first two atomic bombs detonated at the Nevada Test Site. They were codenamed after the military phonetic alphabet at the time. Who knew? So didn’t take long for me to realize I was slightly out of my element. When asking for a menu I was curtly pointed to a QR code. Dude does NOT abide. I’m the kinda guy who reads the album cover while I listen to my music. I demand the same when I dine. I’d much rather hold a greasy laminated menu at arm's length than scan a QR code and repeatably spread my fingers across the screen letting the genie in my phone know I forgot my cheaters. I had no choice but to give in. I then grew more frustrated as I had no clue why my genie kept bringing me to some place called the “Arts District Kitchen”. I then learned this was a co-op. The AD Kitchen being the restaurant within the brewery. Ok Millennials, Gen Zer’s, or whoever is behind this, hope you are having fun watching us gen Xer’s and boomers cluelessly negotiate this fresh hell (insert confused Travolta). Ok, done shaking my cane. First the beer. While I may indeed be a bit of a curmudgeon, my curmudgeonliness does not extend to my beer. I’m all for fruit infused, twig and berry, botanical steeped brews of that ilk. Now we are not talking skinny white can flavored malt beverages here. I started with and couldn’t leave my “Calutron Girl Mango”. This was probably one of the finest mango beers I had. No weapons grade artificial flavoring here. Just beautiful essence of mango in a well-crafted and balanced hefeweizen.


The Mango Calutron Girl is also known as #19

For food we went splitzees. I got the Elote Salsa and Chips along with the Pork Belly Tacos. Michael got Tiki Masala Fries and Steak Kimchee Tacos. The Elote Salsa was KILLER! Some got in Pats mouth. He didn’t even mind! The Elote had everything an Elote should. The chips were only a device to shovel it in your mouth and added little more than that. Just me trying to improve something that really doesn’t need improving, but a flat bread with a smear of mayo, generous portion of Elote, and for my taste a heavy dusting of Tajin and a squirt of lime sounds sublime. The Tiki Masala Fries were tasty but a bit overpowering and did not work in harmony with the fries IMO. Some of this also got in Pats mouth. He was not amused. The Pork Belly Taco was out of this world! You hear pork belly and you do not think light. This was like meat popcorn. The pork was nicely glazed and paired exquisitely with the cabbage, pickled chilis, fried shallots, and cooled with the herb aioli. The Steak Kimchee taco was fabulous in its own right, but the Pork Belly Tacos stole the spotlight. Left the Arts district feeling particularly satisfied. Life is indeed good.


Tika Masala Fries


Pork Belly Tacos


Steak Kimchee Tacos. Not pictured... The Elote Salsa. Phil should be ashamed.

Saturday, October 2 - The next day brought an opportunity to top breakfast at The Egg and I. Jamms was the selected contender. I like places that have a “thing”. Jamms had at least three that I saw. First was the “Pot of Bread”. This was basically a pop-over. Can get it plain, cinnamon raisin filled, or the special. The special that day was pumpkin spice. Michael vehemently objects to anything pumpkin. I however do not. Michael needs to lighten up. It was the bomb. Little mushroom cloud dough glob of airy deliciousness with and injection of October. The next two “things” I saw on the menu were the “Breakfastrito” and the “Chicken BLT Green Waffle”. The “Breakfastrito” was any one of their rather creative omelets wrapped in a tortilla. The “Toot Toot” Omelet caught my eye. Refried beans, green pepper, jalapeno, onion, cheese, and tomato. Out of respect for my roommate Pat, I refrained. I instead went with the “Chicken BLT Green Waffle”. This was advertised as a “deep fried battered” waffle with green onions, crispy chicken, cheddar cheese, the B, L, and T. This waffle did not at all looked battered and or deep fried. Nor did I really get a hit of the green onions. The chicken was of your normal finger variety. This was a bit of a letdown. I must admit I never got the whole chicken waffle thing, despite trying it in several different iterations. To me the sum of the parts just did not add up to the whole. This by no means rules out Jamms. Everything else on the table looked great, the pot-o-bread was amazing, and there remains much more on that menu to explore.


A non-pumpkin photo of a Jamms Pot of Bread, stolen from the internet.


Jamms Chicken BLT Green Waffle... photo also stolen from the internet. Don't @ me....

Feeling not so satisfied after breakfast, and even more dissatisfied ad an abysmal showing at the poker table, I needed a pick me up. Was not particularly hungry, but definitely up for some sport feeding. South Point is ripe with opportunities. Opportunities for both those who enjoy food and those who think Chick-Fil-A and Subway are haute cuisine (Pete, Pat). Any time I’m at South Point and have even an inkling of an appetite, I make it a point to hit Zenshen. Many a wasabi inspired fist pumps have been initiated here. Michael, while also not quite hungry did not object to the idea. They run a happy hour there, which after looking at an older version of the menu online used to be much happier. Prices did go up quite a bit, but still very reasonable for the quality of food. We ordered the Zenshin Seafood Goyza, 777 and Harmony rolls. The goyza (pot sticker) was decent, the harmony roll even more so, but the 777 had me jacked as a 3X red seven line hit. Spicy soft shell crab roll, topped with spicy tuna, spicy aioli & eel sauce. Hells ya. All is right in Vegas again.


We were so engrossed in discussing how our poker fortunes were going to turn that we sort of forgot to photo the food. Whoops.

Still on my food high, and at least one more in me, Pat and I had to make our obligatory trip to the ice cream parlor. While in line debating what flavors to get, a grinning customer proudly strutted by with an ice cream split the size of a parade float. Pat exclaimed “oh man!”. Was our turn in queue. Pat surprised us all by ordering black cherry. The odds on black cherry were 4:1. Chocolate and vanilla were even. I called an audible and got that big bad momma of a banana split. It did not disappoint, nor did I. Ate the whole damn thing. The others made their way to the car as I finished, but I was not done yet. I returned to the car with a hot dog in hand and a grin on my face. If you have not had a hot dog a SP, I highly recommend it. The best buck twenty-five you can spend, and no bad gas station hot dog regrets here. As I said, MANY options at South Point. Had I more time, I would have hit the Big Sur oyster bar, and maybe a burger and shake at Steak-n-shake with Pete.


Guess what Foodie Phil is eating.

So yet another kick in the ole pills on the poker table at the Sahara. To add insult to injury, one young Worm wannabe decided to dissent from the table vote to pay the bubble, who of course was me. Now I’m knocked out of another tournament, out another entry, and vowing not to let the buffalos trample on my testicles anymore. I have only one small light glimmering at the end of the tunnel. Pizza. The group earlier decided Pizza Rock downtown for a late dinner. That was all I could think of. All Michael could think of was rolled up kings over aces and stacks and towers of checks he can’t even see over. Lady luck was blowing hard on his dice and he was positioned to win this tournament. The clock was ticking, you could cut the tension with a knife, check, check, check. All night long with the check. “Enough is enough, Michael. Finish the fucking kid off!”, as I point to my watch and mouth the word PIZZAHHH. Michael finally wins the damn tournament. Pay the man his money!


I didn't tell Phil that I was adding this photo, but then again, he didn't want to sign up and post this himself. Neener, neener, neener.

I check Google for the hours of Pizza rock. In red letters I see closing soon. Franticness sets in. We get to the Cal leave the car at the valet. We speed walk east down Ogden Avenue, jumping over homeless people and kicking empty wine bottles, short on breath, but spirits intact, we make it. “Sorry guys, take out only”. Fuck! Plan B: Evel Pie is set in course. We then proceed into the belly of the beast, Fremont Street. The stickiest of the ickiest of aromas overwhelm our olfactorys, like Slot-zilla just let off a 12 story bong hit. Our steely eyed resolve was tested by the sirens of Fremont Street. Hypnotized by the visions of barely covered scoops of flesh, leather, and fishnet stockings, we are suddenly snapped back to our senses by the sad sight of a grown man in a diaper. Our ears are accosted with a mashup of bad hair bands and ump, ump base of god knows what. Like getting a syringe full of regurgitated red bull and Jägermeister simultaneously injected to each ear canal. Oh so no longer my place. I wonder what the mullet headed, Z-Cavaricci wearing, Phil of the yester year would think? Probably be doing beer bongs, shots of Rumple Minze, and projectile vomiting on the bathroom wall of Glitter Gulch (another story). At this point I am in terminator mode. I must acquire my target. I walk slightly ahead of the rest of the soldiers. With a contact high and a slight case of tinnitus, we make our way to Evel Pie. I fight my way in, find a place in line. The rest file in. I see an open table. I point to Pat and Pete, then point two fingers to my eyes, then one finger back to the table. They fall in. Michael falls out. I motion to him to take my place in line. That F’er won tonight. He’s paying. I take a seat at our table, half inside, half out. The din from the street collides with that of the restaurant. I look at all the heavy glassy eyes. My mind wanders to thoughts of the killing I can make by opening a Taco Bell on East Fremont, or least hocking Fritos or Funyuns. My concentration is broken as the Pizza arrives. It is gorgeous. Giant freshly baked New York pie ala Nevada. Glistening greezy pepperoni cups, steaming gooey cheese, a halo of golden crust with puffy dough blisters surrounding the giant foldable isosceles.


Pat and Pete, doing well to avoid melting the roof of their mouths with molten cheese.

After my first bite my mood is lifted, it was as good as it looked. The din parts and I can hear Social Distortions “Story of My Life” coming from the bars sound system. I start to look around and notice everything I was missing. The place was decorated with Evel Knievel paraphernalia, the TV played and endless loop of Evel’s jumps and gloriously bad 70’s TV. A soundtrack played that any kid that had a Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle was sure to appreciate. Holy crap! This is EXACTLY my kind of place. Could absolutely see myself bellying up to the bar and enjoying many pints of whatever they had on tap. But not tonight, we are all tired and ready for bed. Tonight, there was no fight for the last slice. I grab a to go box and have a new mission: feed the homeless. I scan the street for a worthy candidate. Empty sheets of cardboard and blankets lie where bodies once did. Was just going to leave the box, but selfishly I wanted the credit for my good deed. I then see a figure kneeling on a blanket slightly obstructed by some newspaper machines. I’m going to make this poor soul’s night. As I approach, I see this guy kneeling over a neatly arranged assortment of take-out fare. The guy’s having a freaking smorgasbord that put our dinner to shame. No pizza for you! So the extra slice came home, only to be jammed into a mini-fridge it did not fit into. There it slowly mummified. The next morning, out of guilt I took two bites. One from the point and one from the crust, just to re-live the essence of one fine Evel Pie.

Sunday, October 3 - On gameday we forgo breakfast. We know we have brats and wings waiting at Rumrunners. While waiting for the rest of the guys to show up at the Cal’s valet, Pete mentions he can go for a doughnut. Oh I know a place. Once O-face, now the less amusing Doughnut Bar becomes our next stop. I generally over do it there because everything looks so good. I refrain this time. Just go maple bacon long john. Unlike my poker choices this was an excellent one. Pete and Pat who would have been perfectly content with Dunkin, both looked like kids in the candy shop. Think everybody enjoyed, with one exception. Michael’s peanut butter AND jelly doughnut was a peanut butter THEN jelly doughnut. This due to poorly executed injection of the sticky goo’s.


From upper left, Pete's Birthday Cake donut, my Peanut Butter THEN Jelly donut, Phil's Maple Bacon donut and Pat's, um, donut.

The game at Rumrunners was good as it always is. Great place to watch the Pack. The giant mugs of Bud made me realize I haven’t been keeping up on my 12 oz curls. The apps we ordered were average. The brats, from what I heard, are about what you would expect of a brat. Can’t say the food is the draw here. It’s definitely the atmosphere, which is hard to beat. I’m a Bear fan, and somehow still love this place, despite the crowd sing-a-long at halftime of “The Bears Still Suck”. The game ends and I’m feeling good.


The food isn't worth the photo, so here's a look at the Strip Mall signage.

Decide it is time for another food adventure. But where? Let me consult my Vegas Eat Sheet. Michael typically spends hours scouring the depth of the poker pages and compiling a War and Peace sized spreadsheet meticulously detailing every game when we are in town. Me, I scour the internet searching for all that is edible, meticulously detailing a multitude of meal options while on the town. On that sheet was Ping Pang Pong, my next stop. The guys with bellies full of brats, naps on their minds, and less adventurous palettes than I, were not up for another round. So I had them drop me off at the Gold Coast. I had one thing on my mind. Dim Sum. Or is that two things? Took me a while to get a table. Began to grow impatient, but before irritation set in, I was seated. After flipping thru several pages of the menu, I only found a small section on the back for dim sum. I was a little disappointed. I ordered the Sui-Mai, Seared Golden Chive-Shrimp Dumpling, Har-Gaw Shrimp Dumpling, and Chinese-Sausage Bun. As I waited for my food to arrive, I skimmed thru the menu. It was extensive. This was not your average local Chinese take out joint. Dishes like “Home Sauce Burst Circulatory Vessel” and “Wok Tossed Beef Tripes with Salted Black Bean & Pickled Mustard Green”, and “Salt & Pepper Salmon Head” made me realize I was not in Kansas anymore. I not adverse to putting anything in my mouth. However, to explore this menu I needed a Sherpa. Next time. The Dim Sum starts to arrive. Really like the small plates and the pace at which they arrived. Little steamed fleshy dough wraps of goodness. The Chinese Sausage buns were like little Asian bagel dogs, with a much softer and doughier wrapper. Everything was great, but I was ready for more. I order the “Macanese Egg Custard”. They were out. Having no clue what it actually was, I guess I couldn’t be that disappointed. I then switch my order to the Red Bean Sesame Balls. They were fine, but no pleasant surprises as I’ve partook in these before. Feeling really good about my detour I grab an uber to catch up with the now rested rest of the group at the Golden Nugget.


I am not just a pretty face on these trips... I am the one that remembers to take food photos.

Monday, October 4 - Monday morning arrives. The night before Michael made it deep into a tournament and won another one. Fucker. He won a yellow chip and lost about 4 hours of sleep. I don’t do mornings. Michael decides today he doesn’t either. After breakfast and Ubering Pat and Pete to Southpoint for the 10am tournament, he’s back in bed. Me still snoozing away. I awake just before the crack of noon. I check my eat sheet to decide what’s for lunch, or is it breakfast? Nothing stirs my palate, or at least enough to warrant the cost of an uber. I then remember while enjoying my shave ice and ice cream at Lappert’s I was smitten by the plates I saw coming out of Aloha Specialties across the way. I have to say, the Hawaiians took the worst from American cuisine in the best way. Spam, gravy soaked meatloaf, hamburger steaks, hot dogs, macaroni salad. There were some Asian inspired saving graces. Saimin, stir-fry, and teriyaki. I decided to split the difference. I got the Aloha Bento. Teriyaki Steak, Korean Chicken, Mahi Mahi, and a Redondo hot dog over rice. The teri-steak was thinly sliced, succulent, and nicely sauced. The pork was smokey, tender and also had a nice glaze. The Rodondo dog was intriguing. This thing looked like a hot dog fucked a candy apple. Was a red that just does not exist in nature. I loved it. It’s uniqueness made it my favorite part of that meal. You may notice I didn’t mention the Mahi Mahi. It was just that forgettable. Had time to kill and wandered around the Cal. I soon succumb to the Let it Ride table. That did not last long. Being I was having a much better time eating than gambling I went back for more. Was really close to ordering some Saimin, but those bowls were huge. I’m good, but not that good. I decide to try another thing I had no idea what it was, Haupia. Turns out it was basically a slab of coconut Jell-O. Being that weird kid that traded his Snickers at Halloween for Almond Joys I really liked this. Creamy coconut that was satisfyingly fun to eat. Glad I had that instead of the Saimin. When I met Michael at the valet he had an idea that required my appetite. Tacos El Gordo.


Dude will eventually remember to take food pictures if he's gonna keep up his Foodie Phil persona.

Now Tacos El Gordo is my jam! Rarely do I make a trip to Vegas without a stop here. The Al Pastor is fricken out of this world. I have yet to find a place that does Al pastor right like this place does. I’ve seen so called Al Pastor on the menu and had it many a time. Never has it been freshly carved off a spit, seared, chopped, and served as it should be. The cilantro, onions, avocado sauce, and what ever else they put on those things sing together like mariachi in your mouth. My biggest regret has been limiting myself to only the Al Pastor. I’ve had the Asada, Suadero (beef brisket), and Chorizo. Each good in their own right. But the Al Pastor is so good I can’t stay away. One of these times I need to expand my horizons and try the Cabeza (beef head), Buche (pork stomach), Lengua (beef tongue), and Tripa (beef guts). Just a couple of pointers for the uninitiated. You stand in a different line for each of the different meat stations. Oh, I should mention, Adobada and Al Pastor are the same thing. I tried ordering one of each my first time there and got a bewildered stare, outing myself as a true gringo.


A bounty of tacos


But let's be honest. We were here for the Al Pastor Taco.

Our next meal to come was one of my picks, Bootleggers Italian Bistro. Saw this place on Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown. Live piano, sultry crooner, stand-up bass, and circular leather booths looked like Frank and Dino would fit right in. The history of this joint spanned back to the fifties. I studied the menu weeks before arriving. I was psyched. Despite pictures online I still had hopes of an old school dive worthy of historical landmark status and reeking of vino and garlic. Instead, we got an early 2000’s strip mall. Should not have been surprised, as Vegas does not relish their landmarks, they implode them. As we stepped inside, we were however transported back. A bowl of match books sat at the entrance. Dim lighting, brick walls and archways. The twinkle of piano keys and strum of an upright bass. The beautiful stench of garlic. I was happy even before I sat down. We were seated in the corner under a photo of the restaurant’s matriarchs including Great Grandmama Maria. After being seated we got a plate of Panetti and a history lesson on Chef Maria and her descendants. I did not have to look at the menu. Veal Saltimbocca for me. I order after Michael who beat me to the punch and ordered exactly the same thing. I however did not need to be convinced to take the Fettuccine Alfredo as the side. Learned a few things on this trip. Michael doth protest to pumpkin, Alfredo, and mushrooms. Pussy. So I have never had this dish, but it read like a symphony. It also tasted like one. There was not a single part of this meal I did not enjoy. The veal was fantastic. The Genoa Salami and Capicola added some spice and complexity. The cheese tamed the palate. The sherry wine and mushroom sauce (yes Michael, mushrooms) were exquisite. The Fettuccine Alfredo was creamy and not at all congealed as Michael may have suggested. Apparently, this dish is often served with spinach, but being I’m a Saltimbocca virgin, it was not missed. This dinner and experience was spectacular. Took a little donation from the table and placed it in the giant brandy snifter atop the piano. Gave them a bow and a smile an exited the restaurant, grabbing a matchbook as souvenir of an amazing dinner.


An over-mushroomed Veal Saltimbocca.


Phil forgot that he and I split a sublime Tiramisu and each cut it with an espresso.

Tuesday, October 5 - So one more day in Vegas. The food opportunities are about to run out. Tuesday morning, we all join once again for breakfast. This time at Mr. Mamas. This is Pats favorite. This is a straight up breakfast and lunch joint. No freaky weird stuff that might get in an unexpecting mouth. Just very solid and well executed breakfast classics. I got the French toast, bacon, and a bowl of oatmeal. The French toast was perfect. Nice thick Texas toast, consistently browned outside, creamy on the inside. Included a nice hint of cinnamon. Not a smack in the face, but like a gentle hand on your shoulder to let you know it was there. The bacon was thick and perfectly cooked. The oatmeal, well was oatmeal, no fitting similes come to mind. If you may have noticed I used the word perfect a couple of times. That’s what this place is. A perfect place for a perfectly fine breakfast.


Phil didn't photo his perfect breakfast, but this is my perfect BLT and perfect hashbrowns with peppers and onions from a previous trip. There is a reason we dine here every trip.

Our trip is drawing to a close. One last tournament at Sahara. Surprise, I’m knocked out again. This time so was Michael. Was nice to have his company. Not so sure he enjoyed mine though. Vegas’ed out and not willing to gamble another penny I am reserved to hover over Michael’s shoulder and watch him relentlessly attack the slots. We still have a horse in the race, Pat. Unfortunately, this race is coming close to the wire. Our flight boards at 5:40. It’s 4:00. Pat is still plugging away and it can be a while before this tournament can resolve. I enter panic mode. I’m the type of guy that likes to get to the airport early, just to account for all contingencies. Michael is the kind of guy that wants to milk every last second of Vegas, and stroll in right as they are calling his boarding position. God bless him, I don’t have his fortitude. I go into crisis mode, contingency plans go into effect. First, I start looking for later flights. Nothing. Next thought was how to buy time for Pat. Figured Michael and I could drop off the rental then go to the airport. Pat can then Uber straight to the airport. Pat could then use the time that would have been spent dicking with the rental to negotiate a chop. Pat does not Uber. So if this happened I would be dropping off the car and Michael and Pat would be left to Uber directly to the airport. I tried feverishly to explain my plan to Michael. He calmy kept pressing the button on the Lightening Link, slightly irritated, but politely tells me to calm the fuck down. Next contingency plan, the valet. On a prior visit we waited a good 15-20 minutes to get the car. Figured I buy us that time. I go to the valet and hand him the ticket with a couple of my remaining two-dollar bills. The valet points me to the car, which never left the valet lane. “Cool, okay if I leave it there”. Valet says sure. I toss him the keys in case he has to move it. We are positioned for a quick get away. As I go back into the casino to let Michael know we are good, I hear somebody shout “PHIL!”. It was Pat. He unfortunately dumped a bunch of hands to get out of the tournament. Hated to see him go out like that, but it’s 4:30 so we are in “pretty” good shape to make the flight.

We get in the car and Michael was doing something on the phone. While I thought my annoyance was well disguised, this was not the case. Michael again politely asked me to calm the fuck down. Maybe this is why I suck at Poker, gotta work on mum mum mum mah poker face. All said and done we arrive at the airport on time. We breeze thru the rental drop off, security, and are at the gate with time to spare. Admittingly, I almost wanted something to go wrong so I could tell Michael “I told you so”. Luckily no such luck. So more time = more food. I’ve yet to have a burger on this trip. I knew there was a Shake Shack at the airport but I could not remember at which terminal. As we pass thru security and make our way to the gates, I see it in all is perceived glory. Now I have had Shake Shack once before. I was not impressed but willing to give it another shot. Strike two. And this is like slow pitch softball. The count starts at 1 and 1. No idea what all the fuss is about this place. Not a single damn thing did I find notable about this burger, the fries, or the cheese sauce. What am I missing? Did it need a shake? I can say I “get” IN-N-Out, Five Guys, and if from the Milwaukee area, Kopp’s. So my last food opp was a dud, although not a total one. Cheeseburgers are kind of like sex. Even when they are bad they are good.

So that ends another Fall Vegas trip. Hope you enjoyed sharing the ride, the meals, and maybe had a couple of laughs. If not at least that, maybe I helped you remember to replace the batteries in your smoke detectors. Happy fire safety month!

 

That was great, thank you for sharing. Am I to understand that Pizza Rock is not doing any inside seating at all, or was it just because you were getting there late?

 

They were doing inside seating and closed at Midnight. However, when we arrived at 11:30 they said that they were no longer seating.

 

Awesome. And where's that Tacos el Gordo place? that looks awesome

 

Great report thanks for posting it!

 

Nothing like reading a great food review to make you hungry! Thank you for posting this!!

 

Not surprisingly, this was awesome.

 

Haha not bad at all, I like Phil’s writing style just wish he took more pictures.

Two out of like five places you went where called Rum Runners and Bootleggers. You sure you didn’t go to an Appalachian themed restaurant/bar called moonshiners?

 

Great stuff! Well written and organised. One suggestion might be to split the longer paragraphs more. I suspect some readers will gloss/skim to the end and miss the details in the middle.

Keep them coming!

GG

 

The location most are familiar with is on the north end of The Strip, just north of Wynn and across from Resorts World. However the location we were at is the location on Charleston Blvd, just west of Fremont St.

 

Excellent reporting. But since you don't have an account, perhaps my favorite food photo is @mjames1229 that should be captioned, "All you can eat, baby!"

 

By the way, Mike - I assume you heard the shout out on YCBOT... I laughed in my car when I heard it... "Hey I know all about that tourney win!"

 

The funniest thing to me was the amount of texts with Timothy Lawson and Mark DeVol trying to set a time to meet. Originally I thought we'd play at Sahara that night and we would be done at a reasonable time. When I was outvoted and we went to the Golden Nugget, I told the guys that it may be a good thing... if I drop early it would take no time flat to get to the Plaza or Circa. But as the night wore on and my stack got larger and larger... and they stopped returning my texts.

As anxious as I was to meet Mark (I'd met Tim a couple of times), I think I'd still have the tournament win. There will be a next time.

 

If you authored a book, I wouldn't be able to put it down until I finished it cover to cover.
The Lengua tacos at T el G are fantastic. I agree that In/Out burger is non-repeatable.

 

No doubt.

"You never walk away from the table when you're on a heater." - The Hangover.

 

Such a great read! Thanks for sharing.

 

Excellent, well written report! Thanks for writing. I really enjoyed and appreciate all of the detail. Based upon your review, I have added Bootleggers and Mr. Mamas to the dining list for my December trip. I hope you join the Board and provide your comments on other Las Vegas eateries. Thanks again.

 

A great read! Bootlegger's sounds delicious. I happened onto Evel Pie when Le Thai was closed, and realized I'd found a gem.

 

This was a great write up! Super entertaining & funny. And I concur on the Egg & I. With their great service & delicious foods, they are always our first stop in Vegas.
Foodie Phil, set up your VMB account already!

 

Excellent Foodies Phil!