I am desperately trying to get Vegas out of my head. ffffffffff….Sorry; my left index finger is stuck in this weird reflex to hit the “Play one credit” button. My only hope is that by writing about our weekend trip, I can rid myself of this affliction, although ridding oneself of the sensual overload of Vegas is a pretty tall order.

 

In one block, you can eat lunch under an erupting volcano in Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville; down a glass of Harp while listening to Irish music in an authentic Irish pub; eat real onion rings in a famous New York restaurant; and linger over delicious calamari with homemade marinara sauce in an Italian cucina.

 

I realize that it sounds like a huge food court; but that is what Vegas is: a food court for all the senses. You can buy ANYTHING in Vegas.  

Our new favourite place to eat, Il Fornaio, conveniently located in our own hotel, New York, New York, filled our basic criteria: it was Italian; it was busy; and it had a great open kitchen with bar seating.

From our perch, we could enjoy the performance of a well-oiled cooking machine. As the restaurant hit its peak around 8:30, with at least one wedding party in the house, we were witness to an apparent miscue.

 

ffffffff….Sorry!

Just as J and I were both commenting that there was no apparent leader in the kitchen, we heard a heart-stopping call from the hot food line: “Pizza!”

 

Until then, everything was done silently, with the orders being printed out at every station. The wait staff always appeared to have their orders when needed ready for pick-up. This was the first time we had heard anything called audibly.

 

And then, from the mysterious caves behind the white-tiled walls, the underbelly of the cucina, there came two uniformed men, one behind the other. The head chef in front, his superior rank indicated by the number of pens and thermometers in his sleeve pocket; the other his first lieutenant. They marched to the area where the infraction had occurred, and quietly had words.

 

Our seats were directly in front of one of the large forno ovens where an expressionless cook was using a large shovel to move about pizzas, calzones, and pasta dishes in an unhurried and seemingly stress-free manner. He would occasionally tend to his fire, pulling out the needed foods and passing them to the pick-up station as if he had heard some inner voice. I guess he missed one call from his inner chef, and something had gone awry.

 

This was all resolved in total discretion, and as the men in white marched swiftly back into their cave, none of the other several hundred people in the dining room would have realized that a drama of reality show proportions had just taken place. We love sitting at the kitchen bar.

 

For the following two days, every time we passed the front of that restaurant our favourite hostess waved at her favourite customers and when we came back in the next two times, she took us to our favourite spot.

 

I guess I was being somewhat naïve when I thought that we were special, and I hate to be a cynic, but as Jordan pointed out, and after two other instances, I began to realize, it might be a hustle. Everything is for sale in Vegas.

 

At the car rental place, the perhaps overly accommodating desk clerk—once you have the seed of doubt sown, you see cracks in the veneer everywhere— was calling up a “special” car for us because we were such a lovely couple. I was flattered until we arrived at the rental parking lot and saw rows on rows of the same car. My second reality check came that evening at the lobby bar of Mamma Mia! The server pouring our wine made a big show of pouring the wine from the “regular” sized plastic cups into larger ones, because we were such “nice people.” Hmmmmm!

 

If I had any remaining doubt that we had fallen down a rabbit hole, there was no doubt left after seeing the Cirque du Soleil production of Zumanity, a production best described as seductive bordering on X-rated. One of the highlights of the evening was when one of the famous Botero Sisters came down our aisle and straddled Jordan, shoving her large bosom into his face. The MC of the show was Joey, a she-male, and anyone not enchanted by the sight of the two contortionist females in the fish-bowl must have been seriously dead. Did I mention that most of the show was done in semi-nudity?

It may just be that because Jordan and I are rather gregarious, we found it easy to talk to the service staff and other locals.  But, I choose to believe that this is not just a phoney front; the people of Vegas are genuinely friendly and generous. Under the glitter, there is a very real community, trying to make a living just  like the rest of us.

We were in Vegas 13 years ago with the kids, and a lot has changed. The most obvious is the cleaning up of The Strip, particularly the new high-rise condos that start at $600,000.00 for a tiny studio. After hitting Starbucks for your latte in the morning, you will have to dodge the joggers, babies in strollers, and groups of men off to their World of Concrete convention. The sin of Sin City is still there; it is just now wrapped in a more mainstream and legitimate package.

I think I may have fffffixed this index finger thing; now if I could just get the sound of the casino bells and whistles out of my head, I could focus on what to make for dinner tonight.