Although the broccoli soup at Schlotsky's in the food court of my hotel was a tasteless goo with the word "broccoli" waved over it a few times, the tomato soup was astonishingly good. So there is a breakfast option in my otherwise foodless hotel? Snow was predicted for the day, but instead it was pleasently sunny so I walked up to Paris, having made a lunch reservation for Eiffel Tower when it opened. Chef's Joho's baked vegetarian crepes are one of my favourite things in Vegas. I'd had a glass of white wine when having the crepes at night and a fine cup of ginger-peach tea when I dined on them for lunch but I'd been hearing great things about the Eiffel cocktails so I ordered a pearish beverage called Autumn in Paris, thinking pear might be a good element to add to the walnutty crepe. Alas. The crepes had fallen off in quality, and the pear drink was too pushy. On my walk back to the hotel, I pick up some cans of Mike's Smashed Apple Cidre, a fine apple beverage we don't have in Vancouver, unfortunately. It quickly erases my Parisian unpleasentness. Dinner at Tetsu. I've had nothing but great teppanyaki in my life, 5 times in Japan and once in Vancouver. Usually the sauce makes the dish. The web menu promises Ohimi beef, which I've actually had in Ohmi and is about as good as beef is gonna get. When I ordered it, I was told it was $34 oz, minimum 9 ounces. I could go to Ohmi for that price. Instead, I ordered the vastly cheaper Autralian Wagyu Filet Mignon. It was tasty, rather than reveletory. Many things I wanted were oddly off the menu, as if they knew I was coming and went and hid. I'd read great reviews of the maitaki in truffled butter and I loved the maitaki with black truffles at adjacent Bar Masa but this dish failed to impress. Maybe the teppanyaki thing isn't for Masa after all. HIs sauces would impress only someone who thinks sauces are things that come in cans. Only the asparagus worked well with one of the sauces, one of four. Batting .250 wont even get you out of the minor leagues.
I had Rick Moonen's Jumbo Lump Crab cake on a previous trip and thought it was the best crab cake I'd ever eaten. That was 2 years ago. I had already filled up on Schlotsky's tomato excellence and I knew the crab cake was small, but I still shocked to see exactly how small. The word Jumbo could only be applied by Liliputians. Unfortunately, you can't eat memories. The crab cake was oddly neither crabby nor cakey. The luxuriousness of a well made cake and the proud sea taste of a good crab were no where to be found here. Instead, a blitskrieg of chipotle aioli pounded my palate and was thereafter scrupulously avoided. What to do with this uh, "crab" "cake?" I had had a fine, very subtle and stimulating cocktail when I'd first had this crabcake 2 years before. Quickly, I summoned Superdrink to the rescue. Called The Carribean Dream, surely it would save the day. Yes, a fine beverage indeed. The boring crabcake is brought a few degrees closer to taste and I'm pleased to see it gone. A few nights before, I had a delicous cocktail called a Poire Dakar at RX Boiler Room, the more cockail oriented joint uptstairs. My learned local companions told me Rick was doing well. That's 3 for 3 with the cocktails, but only one for three on entrees. His catfish sloppy joe was curiously devoid of fish. Was it Rick's lesson for his guests about vanishing fish stocks? The crab cake home run of 2 years ago is replaced by a crabcake devoid of virtue, jumbo only in clumsy irony, and finally, just a lump. Mighty Ricky has struck out.
Things did not improve when I went to The Top of the World. Funny, it souded like a fun place. I was advised to go to the lounge first to view the sunset from 107 floors and enjoy 2 for one drinks and half price appeys. Ok, the pork belly should really have stayed on the pig. Even at half price it squeeled meatily as I attempted to eat it. The 2 for one sangrias were perhaps Mexico's revenge on
Spain. The sun set slowly. I went downstairs to eat.
The restaurant revolves. This is a good thing. I could not say that about the branzino. It did not REQUIRE a wine intervention to bring it into the realms of edibility, as did its cousin the lavraki at Milos, but it was pretty much a non-happening in tasteland. Instead, I bathe in the beauty of revolving city lights.
Cab back to hotel suprisingly cheap. Back in my room in time to watch The Simpsons. Hi-light of the day.
3 more days to go. This is turning in to a LONG trip.