So, we had an excuse to abandon Wine Giques headquarters and head to Vegas for two of my favorite things, both best served hot: basketball and great food. The basketball was compliments of the Men's USA Olympic team, who proceeded to blow Canada out of the water. ("Hockey's our game," say all my Canadian friends, "Talk to us during the Winter Olympics, eh? This, we don't care about.") Yeah, I cheered for Kobe. Don't tell any of my relatives, please.
The food came compliments of Julian Serrano, via his restaurant in the Bellagio hotel, aptly named Picasso. I say "aptly" for a number of reasons: Like Picasso, Julian is a divinely-talented Spanish artist, although apparently considerably less temperamental. And like Las Vegas, le maître Picasso was cavalier about money, draped with a bevy of women, and undeniably larger than life.
I arrived at the restaurant in an advanced state of starvation: A couple of basketball beers and some trail mix consumed on the road are not adequate sustenance for a red-blooded girl. My dining companion looked good enough to eat in his suit, but I decided to save my appetite for the menu.
I was rewarded for my discipline.
First, you must note, everything is bigger in Vegas. This "intimate" restaurant seats nearly 100. The flower arrangements sit on oversized wooden tables designed by Picasso's son Claude. $50 million worth of Pablo's doodles hang on the wall. The wine list is 95 pages long. And the restaurant prices come in two levels: expensive and more expensive. After a bit of dithering about reading glasses (eventually a pair was produced by our spectacular and ever-observant waiter, Richard), I delegated that muscle-bound winelist to the Boy in the Delicious Suit and settled in with the menu, which was terse, vibrant and evocative, just like Picasso's best neoclassical work.
Here's the list of what we ate: Boy in the Delicious Suit: Warm Quail Salad with Sauteed Artichokes and Pine Nuts; Ragoût of Vegetables with Foie Gras; Roasted Milk-Fed Veal Chop with Rosemary Potatoes au Jus. Me (girl in the Françoise Gilot-style ballerina dress): Poached Oysters with Osetra Caviar and Vermouth Sauce; Grilled Langoustines with Lobster-Tarragon Jus; Roasted Pigeon with Wild Rice Risotto. And some tasty dessert. And little amuse-boûches at the beginning and the end (the latter taken away to the hotel room in a handsome fabric box). Spectacular.
The wine? Suitably, not Spanish, but something from a little farther south in France, a soulful, spicy and round Gigondas, 2004 Domaine Les Pallières. Fruit, leather and herbs. An appropriate accompaniment for Le Dejeuner Sur L'Herbe and the spirit of Pablo.
BTW, the Boy in the Delicious Suit and I shut down the joint. But not before we enjoyed the Bellagio's famous night-lit fountains to the strains of a soaring Italian aria. An excellent thing to do with someone whose company you enjoy. 'Nuff said. Merci, Maître, et une trés bonne nuit à vous, aussi.
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