Sorry about all the snore-outing y'all, but even though I've managed to block most of it out by now, it was a huge takeaway from the trip at that time.
Saturday morning we wake up at the crack of 10:30. Amanda is immediately hungry, and tries not to get to pissed off while I shower. Before our trip I did a tiny bit of casting about on the internets for things to do on the cheap in Vegas and I located what seemed to be a promising breakfast spot. However, that meant getting back on the Deuce and taking a loooooooong ride back downtown so I suggested that we go eat at the Bellagio, which was right across the street, since that would probably be the only thing we could afford to do at the Bellagio. Fortunately, there was a Seattle's Best Coffee in our hotel (the only other thing I researched pre-trip was the proximity of coffee to me, more of a survival instinct really). For chain coffeeshops, I like SBC way better than Starbucks (sorry Noelle). Try the Breakfast Blend, you should be able to find it at the grocery store. If I don't buy local, I buy that. It's delish. And even though I believe the automated espresso machines that grind, pack, tamp, and pour espresso at the touch of a button take all the art, skill, and fun out of pouring the perfect shot of espresso, in certain instances I'm relieved that I don't have to rely on a slacker teenager who's more interested in checking his text messages than making me an excellent cup of coffee. Like this morning, for instance.
[At this point I stop making apologies for the digressions because since I'm me, digression is inevitable, and besides, I don't really make apologies.]
After strolling past the Bellagio promenade (Hermes, Prada, Dior), coffee in hand, without finding a thing to wear, we happened across "the Buffet," be-quotationed because that was actually the name of the four walls that housed the ubiquitous casino phenomenon, only to discover that the line was four miles long and the buffet was $25. WITHOUT champagne.
The next food choice was a snackbar. Am I at a roller rink? Because that's the only way I'm eating at a snack bar.
I'm just sayin'.
Feeling Amanda's quiet desperation growing (I had my coffee, see, so the hunger cranks hadn't set in yet) I found a bartender (because beer in the morning is awesome and increases my comparisons of Las Vegas to New Orleans when you take open containers, add in lots of neon, and subtract some abject poverty, stupid frat boys, and multicolored plastic beads) and asked him if there might happen to be any other place in el Bellagio where one might find a decent breakfast. The nice man pointed us to Cafe Bellagio, which was located in the Conservatory. Insert some obligatory Clue puns here, because you know I did. Professor Plum with a slot machine handle, anyone? (Amanda was curious what a professor would be doing in a casino but I don't really think practicality has any place in punnery, do you?)
As with all hotel/casinos we had to walk like a half-mile in order to reach the Conservatory. Let's take a look at the sights along the way, shall we?
Saturday morning we wake up at the crack of 10:30. Amanda is immediately hungry, and tries not to get to pissed off while I shower. Before our trip I did a tiny bit of casting about on the internets for things to do on the cheap in Vegas and I located what seemed to be a promising breakfast spot. However, that meant getting back on the Deuce and taking a loooooooong ride back downtown so I suggested that we go eat at the Bellagio, which was right across the street, since that would probably be the only thing we could afford to do at the Bellagio. Fortunately, there was a Seattle's Best Coffee in our hotel (the only other thing I researched pre-trip was the proximity of coffee to me, more of a survival instinct really). For chain coffeeshops, I like SBC way better than Starbucks (sorry Noelle). Try the Breakfast Blend, you should be able to find it at the grocery store. If I don't buy local, I buy that. It's delish. And even though I believe the automated espresso machines that grind, pack, tamp, and pour espresso at the touch of a button take all the art, skill, and fun out of pouring the perfect shot of espresso, in certain instances I'm relieved that I don't have to rely on a slacker teenager who's more interested in checking his text messages than making me an excellent cup of coffee. Like this morning, for instance.
[At this point I stop making apologies for the digressions because since I'm me, digression is inevitable, and besides, I don't really make apologies.]
After strolling past the Bellagio promenade (Hermes, Prada, Dior), coffee in hand, without finding a thing to wear, we happened across "the Buffet," be-quotationed because that was actually the name of the four walls that housed the ubiquitous casino phenomenon, only to discover that the line was four miles long and the buffet was $25. WITHOUT champagne.
The next food choice was a snackbar. Am I at a roller rink? Because that's the only way I'm eating at a snack bar.
I'm just sayin'.
Feeling Amanda's quiet desperation growing (I had my coffee, see, so the hunger cranks hadn't set in yet) I found a bartender (because beer in the morning is awesome and increases my comparisons of Las Vegas to New Orleans when you take open containers, add in lots of neon, and subtract some abject poverty, stupid frat boys, and multicolored plastic beads) and asked him if there might happen to be any other place in el Bellagio where one might find a decent breakfast. The nice man pointed us to Cafe Bellagio, which was located in the Conservatory. Insert some obligatory Clue puns here, because you know I did. Professor Plum with a slot machine handle, anyone? (Amanda was curious what a professor would be doing in a casino but I don't really think practicality has any place in punnery, do you?)
As with all hotel/casinos we had to walk like a half-mile in order to reach the Conservatory. Let's take a look at the sights along the way, shall we?
This is the ceiling right by the Bellagio registration desk. You Atlantans may recognize the glass work. For the rest of you, it's Chihuly (which, by the way, took me like three years to figure out that it was some dude's last name. Also in Googling him for the link, I found a picture of him wearing an eyepatch. Which makes it like eight times cooler).
A small fountain inside the Bellagio, past the Chihuly, left around Colonel Mustard with the lead pipe, right outside the Conservatory.
There was a line at the restaurant but what else can you expect at 11:30 on the Saturday morning of a holiday weekend? But while I was looking at the menu, I heard the cashier tell someone else that from the end of the line (which is pretty much where Amanda and I were standing, because, apparently, that is our Vegas line-legacy) the wait was only 20-25 minutes. Thus, together with some tasty-sounding menu items, began my love affair with Cafe Bellagio.
My precious...
Do you like me? Check yes or no. TLA&F. xoxo Mills
While we waited, I explored the Conservatory, which was done up in Japanese-zen garden style.
I feel so calm, so peaceful...
It's the Year of the Rat. It's a good thing, otherwise, the giant topiary rodent would have seemed a little strange.
I have no good caption for this. Especially because I thought it was a lady from the back.
Obelisks are not Japanese. But they are pointy and right outside the Bellagio Conservatory.
Finally we get to the front of the line. There is sitting and ordering and then, there is this:
I want to do my best Madeline Kahn and bust into a version of "Oh sweet mystery of life at last I've found you!" And since I haven't eaten eggs in at least six months you know it was TOTALLY worth it.
Amanda went healthy with the "spa omelette." It was still frickin' tasty though. And pretty. They get, like, extra double bonus points just for the plating (I'll direct your eyes again to the picture of huevos rancheros. I could hang that in my living room.)
After breakfast, we walked past the Bellagio fountains, but I'm only going to post the pictures of the fountains at night, since those are the money shot. As we were walking we spotted Miracle Mile and decided that some shopping would be the perfect addition to a nice, full belly. Fortunately Amanda is of hardy stock because I can wear some folks out with my shopping endurance. I think we were there for a good 3-4 hours, partially because there were many shops at which we felt it necessary to stop (including an awesome convenience-store type deal that also had some wicked cool souvenir choices, including, puzzlingly enough, a large variety of Hawaiian and South Pacific items), and partially because they weren't lying about the "mile" part. Let's just say exits were not plentiful. There were, however, some highlights, or lowlights, depending on your p.o.v.: part of the ceiling was constructed to resemble an outdoor (I want to say faux-Venetian?) skyline, which kind of freaked me out (you're inside, but it looks like you're outside! but really you're inside!) and came complete with periodic simulated thunderstorms, which we missed because we were in the other highlight, the Bettie Page store. I would post the pictures of the freaky faux ceiling but they didn't turn out so good because apparently freaky faux daytime lighting is not super conducive to digital photography. They should really do something about that. Seriously, I took, like, five pictures and they all turned out crap-ay
But maybe it's because it looked like rain.
The other big draw, apparently, of the Mile of Miracles was this laser light phenomenon close to the exit near the French Connection UK store (where I bought this adorably cute sweater that I had my eye on for some months and finally found on ridiculous sale). It actually attracted quite a crowd (the laser light phenomenon, not the sweater, although I will say I get compliments whenever I wear it) which we thought was rather strange because it wasn't like the lasers were particularly showy or intriguing; however, somebody obviously thought so because there was this large octagonal space roped off in the middle of what could have ostensibly (and possibly lucratively) served as a courtyard, right below where the lasers were flashing on the ceiling. Seriously, it was a puzzle. I think the only rationale we could come up with is that the laser light octagonal space was right out front of the slushy-fruity alcoholic beverage stand and THAT was the REAL reason for the possibly-quasi-semi-hallucinogenic laser-trail spectaculaire. Which booze stand, incidentally, we stopped at the next day when we returned to the Miracle Mile mall, in order for me to return the totally cute, but completely impractical despite its 50%-offness dress I bought at the Bettie Page store the day before, but whose alcoholic fruity-slushiness (I had peach) did not serve to make the laser lights any more fascinating.
But maybe it's because it looked like rain.
The other big draw, apparently, of the Mile of Miracles was this laser light phenomenon close to the exit near the French Connection UK store (where I bought this adorably cute sweater that I had my eye on for some months and finally found on ridiculous sale). It actually attracted quite a crowd (the laser light phenomenon, not the sweater, although I will say I get compliments whenever I wear it) which we thought was rather strange because it wasn't like the lasers were particularly showy or intriguing; however, somebody obviously thought so because there was this large octagonal space roped off in the middle of what could have ostensibly (and possibly lucratively) served as a courtyard, right below where the lasers were flashing on the ceiling. Seriously, it was a puzzle. I think the only rationale we could come up with is that the laser light octagonal space was right out front of the slushy-fruity alcoholic beverage stand and THAT was the REAL reason for the possibly-quasi-semi-hallucinogenic laser-trail spectaculaire. Which booze stand, incidentally, we stopped at the next day when we returned to the Miracle Mile mall, in order for me to return the totally cute, but completely impractical despite its 50%-offness dress I bought at the Bettie Page store the day before, but whose alcoholic fruity-slushiness (I had peach) did not serve to make the laser lights any more fascinating.
The mannequin on the right looked a little crazy, like she might spring to life and go full-on Tony Montana in Miracle Mile.
The world's largest Hawaiian shirt: the real reason people come to Vegas. Not quite as exciting as the World's Largest Ball of Twine but that's probably why there are so many call girls.
We finally escape the mall and make it back to our hotel room to regroup and rally the troops for the evening's activities. While we're in the room, I get a call letting me know there's something for me at the front desk which the bellman will be bringing up shortly. I know I'm getting "something" because Rebecca called yesterday to tell me she was having something sent to the hotel. I do not know what this "something" is, but all I can think is "please let it not be a stripper, please let it not be a stripper." (You think this is funny and somewhat improbable but wait until your friends try and buy you a lap dance from one of regulars at the Nursing Home for Strippers on your 30th birthday and see where YOUR mind wanders.)
It wasn't a stripper but I think I was just as appalled.
It wasn't a stripper but I think I was just as appalled.
I tried to slip a dollar in its g-string but it was playing coy.
This thing was ginourmous. And the bellman brought it to me on his way to showing some hotel guests their room, so when I opened the door and he handed me the basket, I had an audience of, like, nine people. They almost applauded even.
It got even bigger when I opened it (dirty!).
This thing was ginourmous. And the bellman brought it to me on his way to showing some hotel guests their room, so when I opened the door and he handed me the basket, I had an audience of, like, nine people. They almost applauded even.
It got even bigger when I opened it (dirty!).
Hungry?
The contents of the basket included:
- 9 (yes, NINE) pieces of fruit (3 bananas, 3 oranges, and 3 apples)
- a bag of Snyder's of Hanovers sourdough pretzel nuggets
- a bag of Babybel cheese
- a wedge of herb brie
- a bag of pistachios
- a Ghirardelli chocolate bar with toffee and almonds
- a bottle of champagne
- a Hebrew National salami (at least it was kosher. And, omigod, in getting the link for the post, I just discovered that they now make a kosher breakfast sausage. I will make a note of that for the next time I go to the store. I'm such a good consumer).
We ate as much of it as we could Becky, I swear. The pretzels, pistachios, and chocolate bar made excellent plane snacks on my return trip to Atlanta.
Stay tuned! The next installment of the Las Vegas Chronicles includes some punk rock bowling, punk rock bar shenanigans, and pictures of more food!
1 comment:
It keeps getting better and better and better and better and better and better and better and better and better and better and better and better and better and better...
ok, it's not that great.
But it's pretty good.
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