Birthday at Bouchon.
Pilar's birthday found us at Bouchon, Thomas Keller's french restaurant in The Venetian casino and hotel. The food, atmosphere, and service approximated perfection. Instead of wine, we accompanied our meal with 3 Vesper martinis (Boodles gin, vodka, Lillet Blanc, twist). I say "approximated perfection" because the third martini had ice crystals in it. Perhaps to be expected since James Bond did say it should be "shaken, not stirred." To start, we were served the best baked bread I've had outside of Europe, with salted butter. Why can't Americans get good bread? why is good bread here a rare delicacy when the French can just walk into any bakery and get wheaty kneaded heavenly goodness?
Then followed the appetizers: we received a complimentary plate of carpaccio with bread and goat cheese, rabbit with diced plum, and olives. Our main course was roast leg of lamb and beef short ribs. 
Presentation was king, and each dish was softly understated, with masterfully hidden surprises. For example, the lamb was on a bed of finely diced and sauteed sweet peppers and arugula, and underneath that, unseen at first was a small bed of toasted bread a centimeter thin that soaked in the au jus and all the other savory delectability.
They even provided a birthday platter with a single candle mounted on the plate with its own wax.
Afterwards, we sampled the uber gaudy mockery of Venice, strangely interesting in its own grotesque way, the way things are in Las Vegas. A frighteningly impressive fake sky that messes with your sense of the time of day is combined with singing gondoliers. Seeing these unrivalled feats of bad taste always reminds me of a psychological map of the American culture- A blissfully and willfully ignorant disneyfied fantasy of stereotypes. This is where American adults go to be mesmerized like children doped up on anti-depressants.
On the way out, a gigantic moth, which i'll refer to as Mothra, was trapped in the hallway that led to the parking garage. For some reason, Mothra landed on Pilar's skirt, and once there, decided it didn't want to flutter about anymore while banging its head against the swinging glass doors. I think Mothra sensed that Pilar was not like the others (others being the visiting tourists gawking and freaking out and thinking Mothra was a bat.) Mothra clung to Pilar's skirt down the hallway, and even into the elevator. I guess it wanted to get the hell out of there as well!
Then followed the appetizers: we received a complimentary plate of carpaccio with bread and goat cheese, rabbit with diced plum, and olives. Our main course was roast leg of lamb and beef short ribs. 
Presentation was king, and each dish was softly understated, with masterfully hidden surprises. For example, the lamb was on a bed of finely diced and sauteed sweet peppers and arugula, and underneath that, unseen at first was a small bed of toasted bread a centimeter thin that soaked in the au jus and all the other savory delectability.
They even provided a birthday platter with a single candle mounted on the plate with its own wax.
Afterwards, we sampled the uber gaudy mockery of Venice, strangely interesting in its own grotesque way, the way things are in Las Vegas. A frighteningly impressive fake sky that messes with your sense of the time of day is combined with singing gondoliers. Seeing these unrivalled feats of bad taste always reminds me of a psychological map of the American culture- A blissfully and willfully ignorant disneyfied fantasy of stereotypes. This is where American adults go to be mesmerized like children doped up on anti-depressants.
On the way out, a gigantic moth, which i'll refer to as Mothra, was trapped in the hallway that led to the parking garage. For some reason, Mothra landed on Pilar's skirt, and once there, decided it didn't want to flutter about anymore while banging its head against the swinging glass doors. I think Mothra sensed that Pilar was not like the others (others being the visiting tourists gawking and freaking out and thinking Mothra was a bat.) Mothra clung to Pilar's skirt down the hallway, and even into the elevator. I guess it wanted to get the hell out of there as well!
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