Last Thursday, Vegas food critic extraordinaire John Curtas gave me the grand introduction to food writing. We started the afternoon at Enoteca San Marco at the Venetian. Over pizza, wine, a spagetti thingy (don’t kill me John for forgetting the name), and a plate of charcuterie he quizzed me on my food writing credentials. I finally gained his respect by telling of how I once ate andouillette and didn’t die. (Wikipedia says it tastes like decaying pork sausages.) Now that I was “in the club,” John ordered another bottle of wine and invited his totally awesome food writer friend Grace Bascos to join us.
Then the worst thing happened: Opera singers and their hourly tourist spectacular. We had to escape the racket, but where to?
Restaurant Charlie and its incredible cocktails was just down the hall at the Palazzo, and before I knew it, I was sipping a cocktail that tasted exactly like applesauce, but better. By the time we finished the cocktails we were hungry again. So we walked down the hall once more to eat Kobe heaven at CUT. Then we migrated to the MGM Grand, where I sipped my favorite drink (a dirty vodka martina) at Fiamma until the start of the suprisingly educational saki tasting at Shibuya. By then it was time for me to meet my editor at TAO, where I consumed absolutely nothing but bottled water.
This may have been the best day in my life.