Past My Borders: Las Vegas

It was recently brought to my attention that it has been a long time since I posted a food blog. The calendar seems to indicate that it is now July. While I was pretty sure it was still March (at least that is what it was when I last had a clear head), the lack of snow seems to indicate otherwise.

Perhaps I have come to accustomed to like in the Frozen Nort. Maybe I need to go outside of my comfort zone in order to get a better understanding of the things that I see every day.

Jack Karouac took his search On The Road. Ken Kesey kept trying to go "Further". Hunter S. Thompson (and more recently Anthony Bourdain) looked in Las Vegas. Sure, I dig those last two guys, let's try there.

In the 1970s, Hunter Thompson decided to take an assignment from Rolling Stone magazine to another level. He went on an epic bender through the streets and alleys of Las Vegas in search of the American dream.

If you want, I can save you the read (though I still recommend it): he didn't find it.

And if you dislike me as much as I dislike you, I can save you time here as well: I didn't find it either.

The Las Vegas of Fear and Loathing can only be read as a gross caricacture of a life that most of us have never known.

The neon pink adult playground of yore are gone. Now it is a city of excess where you are as like to see fake ***s as much as you are likely to see children being pushed down the strip in strollers at midnight.

"Hey hon, we need a vacation. Where should we go?"

"Well, we have an infant and a four year-old... hmmm... Las Vegas?"

"Perfect! What other place can I get a $35 85 ounce plastic guitar fool of booze that I can strap over my shoulder as I push my infant along?"

Are you people f***ing kidding me?

I'm guess social services is either really busy or non-existent in Vegas.

Now, when I was a kid, families were also just starting to flock to Vegas. But it was still that grey area of turning it into a family destination. Excalibur was the newest in theme hotels. Luxor wasn't even around yet. You could go to shows with the family and spend an afternoon in the arcade.

Ah, the glory days before the f***ing Jersey Shore crowd.

I can only assume that Las Vegas has become the official dumping ground for all those douchebags that just weren't douche-y enough for MTV.

Everywhere I look are women dressed like prostitutes, prostitutes dressed like tourists and men dressed like... I don't know, let's just call them a bunch of ****-******** ******** that can **** a **** with the best of them.

Food. I need to get back to food.

When it comes to Vegas, I usually keep things simple. Get me coffee whenever I fall out of bed. It doesn't matter if it is a hotel cafe or the lobby McDonald's. Give me what the Ojibwe people call "black medicine water". Vegas was a long way off when the created their word for coffee.

A people of great foresight... well, not really, but they had their moments.

When it comes to breakfast, I keep it simple. Find something, anything to sit in your belly. Grab a muffin, whatever. Don't sit down unless your hotel has a coupon or comp. The key is to keep moving. This isn't a city of complacency. To survive, you have to be a shark.

Lunch is a no-brainer: Mon Ami Gabi in Paris.

If you are the type that enjoys the sun, they have one of the best patios in Vegas with a view of Bellagio fountains. Perfect for people watching or just sitting and enjoying your food. If you need to slow down, this is the place to do it.

Steak and frites. A medium-rare steak sandwich that has been tenderized, peppered and cooked to perfection. Served on a fresh, warm, cabbata roll and given a heaping helping on frites. A glorious cross between chips and french fries. There is a salty crunch to them that has the ability to create feelings of nostalgia from seemingly nowhere.

I had two on my trip and could go for a third.

Though, to tell the truth, get whatever you want. This is one of the most reasonably priced restaurants on The Strip and has some of the best food I have ever had in over a half dozen trips to Vegas.

Afterwards, if you need a drink as much as I do, head to O'Shea's, right next to The Flamingo Hotel. The smart Vegas goers, that aren't welded to a gambling table, know where to drink. For me it is the $1 bottles of Miller High Life served until 6pm. And I am glad the deal ends, by 6pm I had converted several people that "hate High Life" to the dark side.

And we were better off for having a time limit to our drunken debauchery. With a little Johnny-Walker-Judgement, the $5 blackjack tables have a Siren's Call that few can refuse.

For dinner you have more options that you can deal with. The more people that I talk to about Vegas, the more that I hear, "I don't go there for the gambling, I go for the food."

If I may go on a tangent for a moment: bull****.

Saying you go to Vegas for the food is a lot like saying you go for the bathrooms. Just because they are really nice and you have to use them eventually, doesn't make it the reason you go there.

You go there because you can drink on the street and act like a douche because no one there knows you. And if you do run into someone you know, you ignore them. That's the rule. Every year millions of people "don't go" to Vegas.

For dinner, take your pic. I tend to find myself back at Paris, either at Mon Ami Gabi or The Eiffel Tower restaurant, which features not only a beautiful night view of the Strip, but also one of the must incredible pairing menus I've ever eaten.

From there... **** you, ain't tellin'.

What do I actually think of Vegas?

I can find a reason to go there, but I can't last too long. The city is too much for me and in the end, it is still the same place that Hunter Thompson saw.

The pink is mostly gone. Circus Circus is dilapidated and sad. Debbie Gibson is no more. Some people seem to think that the book doesn't relate to the new generations. I think those people are ****ing idiots.

Vegas is a caricature of life in America. Back in the day it was the bright gaudy colors and the celebrities that no one really knew that much about.

Now it is all about dressing like it is Halloween (by which I mean: a whore), acting as though you are a high-roller and living a life of such excess that you should start to understand why other countries hate us. Loud yelling, physical conflicts, illegal transactions. This is not Raoul Duke's Vegas.

This is Las Vegas: The Next Generation.

As we take daily life to a new extreme, Vegas rushes to keep up. As hem lines rise, the lines outside Vegas clubs grow.

Dave Chapelle once pointed out that just because a woman dresses like a whore, doesn't make her a whore. However, should he dress like a cop, you can't assume that he is a police officer. If you are going to wear the uniform, expect the reaction.

Two days was more than enough for me to miss the simplicity of Minnesota. I missed Acapulco's, Aurelio's, the joys of Target Market Pantry.

I can't pretend to be a person I'm not. Not even on vacation.

People that can't be the person they want to be, go to Vegas. They want the chance to let loose and be children; or maniacs.

The men and women that will drink until closing time in downtown Minneapolis will flock to the Vegas clubs that don't close until 8am. They will party (and spend) until they are sick. Looking for an extreme to remind them of the life they think they left behind by putting on a suit and tie.

As though working a 9 to 5 job means sacrifice. These people can't really find escape at home. They relish the idea of telling their friends, "I'm going to Vegas" just to see their eyes widen and their jaws drop in envy.

I find my own reasons to go to Las Vegas that are none of your ****ing business so get passed it. By the end, I am ready to get off the plane at MSP. I like my simplicity. I like to find things that are out of the way in my own home. I don't need to search for the American Dream.

I am lucky in my realization that the American Dream isn't out there. It isn't something you can search for and find, like a hooker that won't stab you.

It doesn't exist.

If you are the sort of person that needs Vegas to remember what you have (or had when it comes to your money) go ahead. No other place can serve to reinforce the appreciation for life like Las Vegas.

Just don't do something stupid and pretend that your reasons to go to Vegas are for the food or just "a vacation". You are looking for what Thompson couldn't find. What Kesey was chased from and what Kerouac got lost looking for.

Now leave me alone, I'm tired. Wake me for Halloween.

Maplelag Resort, Detroit Lakes, MN... The Epic

What better way to make a triumphant return to the world of amateur-Minnesotan-snarky-food critiques than in the tradition of Homer himself.

Not Simpson. Homer, as in The Iliad. The Odyssey... nothing? I hate you people.

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the
hallowed heights of Troy.

Could any man, woman, poet or God have put so perfectly the f***ing drive from the Twin Cities to the Maplelag resort?

Our hero, we shall call him Manicus (like Manic, but Greek, but without the creepy sex stuff like in TV series Spartacus), has found himself lost by the wrath of the Gods in the back woods deep within the foreboding world of Northern Minnesota. Far too close to the North Dakota border to find him comfort.

He travels as such, with companions, in search of glory, honor and, of course, several kegs of cheap domestic beer. His journey will be marred on all  sides by vengeful deities, wayward spirits and the most evil, vile and feared of them all: 4 Loko.

Their destination the wedding of Minnesota royalty (okay, they were a couple of dentists, but they make way more money than me so they might as well be royalty), there captain and trailblazer being the great Manicus. A man of such infinite renown that no one else could take on such a mission...

Okay, I was a +1 on the invite, but still, I'll take it over the normal "occupant" mail that I get.

Expectations were non-existant as when one is summoned by royalty, one has no choice but to come. That and the Maplelag website didn't have that man details about what to expect.

His entry into the hidden world within the forests of Native Land was one of wonder and curiosity. Soon met with smiling faces carrying flagons of lager and native dogs would just love a good ear scratch, our hero has found a home that is not his own.

The land itself spotted with cabins and cabooses (yes, the train cars) for lodging. The cabins sport some of the more curious architecture with hidden sleeping areas and trap doors. But this was not Manicus' concern. He was there for food and drink.

He got A LOT of both.

Dinner served promptly at 7pm and family-style. Plates and bowls filled with food were set at each table. Maplelag is a cross-country ski resort in the winter and a summer camp in, well, the summer. As such they are used to feeding people en mass. And as such, they do it quite well.

Dinner on Friday was massive amounts of beef brisket that tasted as though it had been cooked in Merlot. Don't let Paul Giamatti fool you, sometimes merlot is okay, just not to drink.

The meat tender and delicious was accompanied by potatoes, carrots, a mixed green salad and plenty of rolls. It was a simple meal made even better by the massive portions. A splendid way to prepare for excess to come.

Our royalty had provided several kegs of beer and even more bottles of liquor. However, in the distance, the evil 4 Loko stirred and plotted.

Yeah, I heard it killed college kids, but kids today are weak. Right?

Memories fade. Was it witch craft? Was it sleep? Our hero has found himself tossed in the turbulent waters of Poseidon. Okay, it was the 24-hour on site hot tub. But when you are rocking on 4 Loko, I might as well have been dashed against the rocks with mighty Odysseus himself.

Did I make snow angels in my swimsuit? I feel sorry for the snow. Let alone anyone that witnessed me.

The next morning brought much heartache... heart burn... nausea... head aches... I needed coffee and food. Fortunately, I knew there would be plenty of food and the coffee is available 24 hours in the main lodge. Sadly, my stomach was still feeling the God's wrath. And the crepes along with kielbasa fell on deaf stomach.

It would seem that the evil 4 Loko was able to capture the scent of the kielbasa and waft it under my nose every hour or so for the next 6 hours just to remind me who was boss and that he would giveth can sure as f*** take it away.

All bow to the Porcelain God.

Lunch was served buffet style and looked tasty. I have no idea since I couldn't eat a bite of it. But it was a good spread with sandwich fixings and several Swedish dinning options.

I missed cross-country skiing, the Polar Bear plunge and who knows what other joy was to be had in the beautiful northern Minnesota winter's day.

Then the blessed nuptials of the royal couple. It was quite lovely.

That's all you get, this is a food/drinking blog afterall.

Dinner was served once again family style with massive amounts of food/salt needed to replenish that which the Gods and a lack of common sense took away. If I remember, it was rosemary chicken, mixed green salad, red potatoes, more rolls, a delicious serving of wild rice, and finally, cupcakes. Yummy.

The Gods were there as well. Their presence felt on all sides as the good man that would be kind Manicus fought against his oppressors sought to see him suffer further by wafting vodka sodas and Bloody Marys under his nose.

Alas, he is but a man and gave into temptation. The rivers ran green with Scooby Snacks, reddish with Jag Bombs, brown with the vicious Captain Morgan and his minions.

Our good man was lost to the sea. Tossed about in a whirlwind of Chicken Dancing, Electric Slides and Heartbreaker by Mariah Carey.

Just when it would seem that he would never make it out of the turbulent journey that had taken years from him that he would never see again... it was over. He had come through Hades and emerged safe on the other side.

The sun rose as it did every other morning. His eyes opened. His appetite returned.

Rallying his traveling companions, Manicus stepped into the 45 degree heat, the sun shining as if a gift from guilt-stricken Gods.

His stomach full from the what turned out to be a Norwegian Smorgasbord filled with a little bit of everything from brie cheese to egg bake to anchovies and beyond, he filled his might traveling vessel, The Accordius, set his sails to the southeast and departed.

To the Maplelag, the friendly and accommodating staff and all those that had anything to do with a weekend that had started out as a long drive, but ended as a weekend I will never forget (and never fully remember). 

Manicus' heart was heavy. Joy for the royal couple. Sadness for not being able to enjoy the spoils of the Maplelag further, he was sure that he would find his way back this way again. If for no other reason that the fact that he could get a fresh-baked cookie 24 hours a day.

I like cookies.

Oh fine... Congratulations Jackie and Brian!