What Happens in Vegas, Goes to Straight to My @$$

Before I moved to New Orleans, I promised to say good-bye to the Western United States the proper way. Thus, I stayed for a week in the Wynn Hotel and Casino. Unfortunately, I paid for it dearly. Both out-of-pocket and straight-onto-my-behind.

My entire experience can be summed up into thirteen eloquent words: "I friggin' ate Kobe beef and foie gras in one day! Whoa mama!" Despite these articulate words, PETA would have had a field-day on my face if they knew what I consumed at Vegas.

When a friend and I first arrived at the Wynn, my friend and I began our day with a few simple breakfast items. A spot of tea. Some fresh fruit. And a breakfast bagel. Quite good, but nothing blogworthy.

We followed up on our uneventful breakfast with a late lunch at Okada, a nice (but not entirely "upscale") restaurant in the Wynn. There, we temporarily appeased our voracious appetites with a warm bowl heaping with salted edamame beans. We pulled the edamame pods between the rows of our clenched teeth and munched heartily on the firm and verdant legumes, in eager anticipation of our next course.

For me, I stuck to the not-so-basic, and daringly ordered seared foie gras with barbequed eel, braised daikon, and leek-miso mustard.

Now I am not an avid fan of foie gras, but I actually was hypnotized by the contrasting textures of the duck liver. The foie gras was creamy and supple in the interior, yet caramelized and hardened at the edges. It was not grainy, tough, or overcooked, but possessed a subtle, milky, and custard-like texture. Unfortunately, the foie gras was a tad overpowered by a sodium-enriched liquid, which seemed as if it mainly consisted of soy sauce, soy sauce, and concentrated soy sauce. The alleged "mustard" was undetectable to my naked taste buds. However, the softened cubes of braised daikon and the intricate rectangles of crisp noodle skins were delicious accompaniments.

My friend and I shared the Chilean sea bass in a yuzu-soy sauce with braised taro and wild mushrooms. The sea bass came wrapped in parchment paper that had been twisted at the ends into a savory package reminiscent of a hard peppermint candy. As I opened the paper package, I was greeted with soft and gentle billows of steam. The fish meat was delicate and tender and it trembled slightly with the smallest disturbance. As excellent fish does, it melted in my mouth like a snowflake melts on one's tongue.

However, our day of sinful indulgence and decadence was not over yet. For dinner, my friend and I ambled on over to The Country Club: A New American Steakhouse, in the Wynn. There, I started with an appetizer of sea scallops and roasted artichokes bathing gently in a sweet pea ver jus. The scallops looked like amusingly stumpy marshmallows, and were tender and fresh with the essence of the sea. Similarly, the texture of the artichoke hearts was akin to that of a warm and fluffy baked potato.

But the most memorable item of the entire Vegas trip was my main dish that evening: I ordered a five-ounce serving of kobe beef (off the menu).

That evening, my Kobe beef cherry was popped.

I remember letting the first bite-sized portion of Kobe beef sit in my mouth without chewing. As greasy, yet immaculately tender portion of meat sat motionless in my mouth. Like a child with a tablespoon of goopy Robitussin in her mouth, I didn't know whether to swallow or let it sit there. I didn't want to do either.

Thankfully, I can't adequately describe what eating Kobe beef is like. But it actually wasn't a pleasant experience for me. Imagine scooping up a spoonful of butter that has been sitting on the counter that day and smearing it all over the walls of your mouth. Or squeezing a piece of spongy, oil-saturated bread into a fist-sized ball and swallowing it one whole gulp. Weird? Definitely. But I promise you my friends, that is what Kobe beef tastes like. And for even for a Passionate Eater, 5 ounces was too much.