By Laine Doss
By Ily Goyanes
By Camille Lamb
By Laine Doss
By David Minsky
By Emily Codik
By Zachary Fagenson
By Laine Doss
We left for Vegas in the early morning light, a cooler stocked with drinks in the back. It's barely a five-hour drive from LA, but once through the San Bernardino Mountains, most of it's desert travel. In my '84 Civic that, among other charms, did not feature air-conditioning, we hoped to avoid the breath-stealing daylight heat.
We couldn't avoid dawn, however. And a sunrise that shocked us -- traveling east at a constant 90 mph, we experienced it over and over. For hours it seemed the sun never completely breasted the horizon, maintaining a steady relationship with our windshield, and our vision. In the lower Mojave, without trees and buildings to block its daily commute, the sun has astonishing glare potential. We sat in the Civic like food in a microwave -- cooking from the inside out.
Fortunately, Las Vegas soon loomed in front of us, shimmering like an hallucination. Icy-cold casinos beckoned with complimentary cocktails. After distressing our palates at a powdered-egg breakfast bar (all-you-can-eat for $2.99), we hit Caesar's Palace like a rainstorm in the desert, showering cash.
401 Biscayne Blvd., S125
Miami, FL 33132
In a moon- and sun-less casino, all time passes the same. Lighting, deliberately dim, prevents the gamblers' awareness of anything but their own migrations from craps to blackjack to roulette tables.
But a stomach doesn't recognize these orbits. It punctuates the hour with growls and snarls, a warped cuckoo clock. And a body runs through powdered eggs the way it would prunes, leaving you running on empty.
All this to say that eventually dinner hour arrived. In other casinos, a search for meals often leads into the labyrinth of the hotel, or into the overheated streets. Not so in Caesar's. A brilliant marketing and design team recently added an upscale shopping and dining plaza to the casino itself, thereby eliminating the need to leave the establishment at all.
The Forum Shops is no ordinary mall. We were awed by its design -- stone fountains, Roman sculptures, and a high-domed ceiling painted the blue and white of a real sky, complete with cumuli. It's amazing how much the corridors resemble the daily streets of Italy, even down to the quality of light and the choice of designer leather-ware shops.
Some of the restaurants are as exclusive as the boutiques. (Los Angeles's Spago's promises a sister location). Others are aggressively modern, but with a more reasonable price tag. We ate in a trattoria called Lombardi's, so dedicated to the Italian architecture theme that a "sidewalk" terrace had been constructed. At Lombardi's, gamblers on break can enjoy the vino -- and vitality -- of a Mediterranean town square; spouses, bored with slots, can twirl pasta and watch the square's bizarre mechanical statues dance; children can spoon up authentic gelato sundaes.
I remember a long line, a pushy waitress, and a high-backed booth. I remember risotto gorgonzola, a rich (if small) concoction spiked with wild mushrooms, and outstanding gnocchi, large and airy as a cloud, a rosy marinara backlighting them like a sunset. But most of all, I remember the sign we glimpsed on the way out: Lombardi's, soon to open in Miami.
Dining out is always a gamble (though in some homes, it's dining in that's the risk!). So many unseen factors, even in oft-frequented restaurants, can affect the outcome of a meal: the freshness of ingredients, the mood of your server, whether or not it's the chef's day off. But as Alberto Lombardi, owner of Lombardi's, Inc. knew intuitively, there's a way for diners to minimize the odds.
It's a concept familiar to every restaurateur involved in bastardizing his original brainchild. Show a diner a well-rounded meal -- fine cuisine, pleasant decor and service, and a bill that won't break him -- and that diner is bound to return. Especially if he's on vacation in a city foreign to him, and discovers, like a bank, a branch of the same restaurant.
Alberto Lombardi began his empire with a trendy spot in the West End of Dallas, the city into which he immigrated in 1973 from his native Forli, Italy. Lombardi's, opened since mid-November in Bayside, joins similar protectorates in Phoenix, Atlanta, and Orlando, bringing his total number of possessions (including the one in Las Vegas) to six.
Lombardi's typically opens new doors in tourist-attractive areas (Bayside is the perfect example). The idea is to draw foot-traffic, enticing visitors with an outdoor cafe, open kitchen, and gelateria. It's a philosophy that has worked well. So well, in fact, that Alberto Lombardi plans a new eatery for each coast in the upcoming year. For the past week, I've been amusing myself by guessing possible locations. Boston's Faneuil Hall, Newport Beach, California's Fashion Island, New York City's South Street Seaport, and Washington, D.C.'s Georgetown are my top four predictions.
Ultimately, Lombardi hopes for two new restaurants annually. This plan could place him, eventually, in every upscale mall in America. What an enticement for hungry shoppers, who clearly, because of their tourist status, never had Italian food this good! What competition for The Olive Garden! What an ego!
If it's true that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, then Lombardi may want to call in a jeweler. Perhaps the desert air had stimulated our appetites. Or the zest for winning money transferred itself into a zest for winning weight. In any case, our meal in Las Vegas was as commendable as our meal in Miami was tasteless and poorly serviced.