WPBT 2011: The Attack of the Re-served Fish

24.

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The next day was spent with an itinerary, a mission, and on objective. No, pale, taller Jack Bauer was not going to stop a terrorist plot unless Al-Qaeda was going to hit a golf course, casino, or a wonderfully delicious Japanese restaurant tucked into a strip mall inside Vegas’ adjacent Chinatown.

The only explosions would be coming from a borrowed driver as F-Train was kind enough to pick up three people of Nordic stock in myself, Pebbles, and Bam-Bam along with my now awake and caffeinated roommate Joe Speaker were ready to destroy the course and clubhouse bar (in some cases one more than the other). Not everyone plays slots at 3am half-drunk in their pajamas before golf?

Wimps.

Meeting up with Dr. Chako and friend we split up into a foursome (Doc, Pebbles, Bam-Bam, and Doc’s friend) while I taught F-Train and Joe Speaker on the finer points of the Lebron James outline to perfect golf.

a) Win lots of money performing well in the regular season

b) Shut down like a five year old who didn’t get their naps and refuses to eat the asparagus

Long Drive? Check. Closest to Pin? Check. Skins? Check. Raving Speaker on giving me strokes and shooting near par for the first time in my life? Youbetcha.

However when the second half came and like Mr. James' ability to flop in the playoffs, so did my swing, my shoulder, and my chances of winning as Speaker’s brand of golf billiards using poor, defenseless winged animals as rails would prove to be victorious this day as dusk rapidly approached and many beers and stories needed to be consumes within the spacious bar/clubhouse.

Back to the strip after nearly paying for my round thanks to Speaker’s Taylor Made Burner driver and a lofty 6 iron that sailed with the majestic flow of a seagull about to land on a sea-hardened wooden pier. Quick change and we were off again, this time for what has become a tradition for myself and many WPBT’ers. A nice sit down meal that does not involve 70s rockers, salad troughs, or former Penthouse Pets dancing behind frosted screens (lets make this one a reality, but they better serve excellent hot wings).

A green rectangular sign stating “Chinatown” similar to “Maple Grove” when I drive home was past as this was my first adventure or even knowledge that such a town existed next to the monuments of gambling. Raku meaning “Charcoal Grill House Enjoyment” according to the website has an alternate meaning that would be shared by those who sat down at the very table pictured on the front page of the website.

“Stuffed”

A wave with an undercurrent of food soon graced our table as many pleaded for a second or third stomach as giant pitchers of Sapporo were the only constant along with the banter consistent with just intelligent minds pouring over fish made six different ways and in some cases remade. Personally, there it was only my second time being forced to use chopsticks, the first being a family meal with a Korean friend but his mother was kind enough to take two tongue depressors with a spacer and tape them together as his soon-to-be restaurateur younger sister giggle at the American trying to pick up squid with them.

I will leave the culinary critique to those that actually have eaten or cooked with half the ingredients used on Chopped, and are used to fine dining as my experience with dinners that cost as much as my family’s weekly grocery bill is limited to these yearly splurges. Make no mistake, I soaked in every ounce that I could in conversation, atmosphere, and beer. And despite the lack of a fortune cookie at the end of the meal, Raku is for you. Then again the people surrounding this table could make the buffet at Excalibur seem like a Michelin award winning spread.

My memory is a little fuzzy by this point as the next memory is waking up SOBER (getting old?) for the WPBT tournament at Aria. And that will need to wait for another day.



A Taste of the High Life

Walking down the hallways of the void after spending 20 hours of a 24 hour day in the mist of carnival lights, exposed flesh, and the money vacuum of the roulette tables it dawns on a person “why did I come again?”.

Vegas separates a person from life for a few minutes, a hour, a day, a week, depending on the degeneracy level of the person buying the rights to a bed for the weekend. Most are better off not over thinking with thoughts of what happened in this room with the Geisha Bar regulars last weekend and just think of it as a temporary domicile to rest their rum-soaked heads.

Why does Vegas entice a suburban father of two to make a trip out west, knowing full well illness, hangover, and a lighter wallet are a near certainty? If you offered someone a baseball bat to the head while injecting their right arm with a nasty flu strain and pocket that money clip found in his right pocket, most people would lean to pass on such things.

Me? I welcome it.

Because for three/four days a year there’s no wake up call, no schedule, no limits. All my vices are allowed to run rampant up and down Las Vegas Boulevard and come back to a loving family refreshed mentally. That’s half of the trip, the half that makes the journey worth it was found at Bouchon’s, the Geisha Bar, the EBay slots, a quick conversation in the MGM Sportsbook bar, hoisting mini-boots of SoCo, and can’t-barely-bet-and-desperately-need-water early morning Pai Gow games.

The WPBT group, or whatever the associated group-think name is currently, they push away Vegas’ curtain of fake DDs and fake sincerity enough to make the trip a sure bet. My weekend was filled once again with laughter, a lighter wallet, and even more memories of the people I’m honored to call friends.

With each trip I take away something new, this time it was fine dining. There were eight seated at the “causal” French bistro of Bouchon’s at the Venetian. To the middle-lower working class guy with the speech problems, I didn’t have to try to “fit-in” thanks to the other seven. There was no stigma of high schoolish cliché where something brilliant and worthy of a successful stand-up comedian needed to exit my Minnesotan accented mouth to feel accepted.

The dinner started with a wonderful Sam Smith Nut Brown which was actually under priced at $8 as our group took up the bar area to check out the menu of wines that included an entire page of fermented grapes that could be purchased at $1,000+ a bottle. The table was then set out for Speaker and his girlfriend Angelique, Bobby Bracelet and Elizabeth, BG, and the G+G Makeout Factory minus Garth’s googles.

Hotties all around, and even the ladies were attractive.

Menus? Wrapped around the napkin. I already knew the Steak Frites were my target for the evening but was secretly hoping to expand a bit on my corn dog/pizza/chicken strips palate and try something new. There were a lot of new. Starting with a leafy salad with vinaigrette and a white crown shaped deal on the side. Goat cheese. Being a solid Midwestern hick, goat cheese isn’t something that I’ve thrown on a triple bacon cheeseburger with BBQ sauce. That may change: rich, smooth, and made the salad into a meal. Meanwhile Speaker picked the Rillette aux Deux Saumons which is French for Fuckin Good Salmon spread. Hopefully Speaker will have the full description on how it was made but there was butter, and more butter, with a side of butter that knocked it out of the park.

Next was the wine selection by the brothers, and they came through with a flourish. Three bottles were consumed by the table, and despite putting a stop of alcoholic binging several hours earlier, my head was lump of red-tinted bread dough just off a few glasses by the end of the evening.

Frites, lots of frites soon showered the table as the main courses made their way to our table. The steak did not disappoint, carmelized shallots (again first taste for me) braised the top of my meat and made each bite better then the last. The ladies found their way into Mussels which to me were something I’ve only seen on a boat after getting out of the lake while catching a few bottle bass and too much sun. Next time we might have to steam those puppies up, yum. On my right the better half of the G+G Makeout Factory had this dish that looked like a rounded mini-muffin pan while smells that tickled the only one my five senses that actually works to its fullest.

These little escarole were soaked in butter and garlic with a flaky crust on top. Again, a first, again amazed. Dessert was politely refused, but the conversation was not, my only regret was not speaking up for the Nardi brothers to suggest another bottle of vino and continue time with old friends while making some ones.

The rest of the weekend will be touched in tomorrow’s post as this dinner was my new experience to a place I’ve visited many times but never seen this side of it, including the smoking hot women in outfits that six month of mortgage payments would make a down payment on their belts.

Freddy Mercury lives! Jared Allen sack dances! Drizz loses playing those goddamn slots again! Asshole at the IP Mixed Game!

See you tomorrow, right now I’m wagering a gallon of OJ against all the flu/cold crap my family and co-workers are desperate to pass on to me. The pathogens are winning damnit.

One Place I Never Want To See Corn

Watched "Iron Chef" for the first time.

While most the tasty morsels looked fresh-Wisconsin-cheese-curds-first-day-of-the-fair delicious...

... why the hell would Bobby Flay put corn on waffles?!?!

Dude.

Please explain to the man that is only allowed to rip open packages labeled "Hot Pockets" for meals at home.

Beef: Its What I Want

First off, congrats to a pair of fine ladies for their cashes in the WPBT Limit Hold Em' tourney last night. Limit still has the undisputed reign of red ink drizzled across a spreadsheet that is firmly in the black for the year (I've been dabbling in the $1/$2 game now, just single tabling).

Bayne, sorry about the late response, but I added a little note in the comments area about the EV in that O8 hand.



Ok, the shock of having to move positions is over, but the lame duck work sessions for the next month will provide the need to channel my inner cash game patience as working on clean-up detail doesn't leave one thirsty for the quest of workplace knowledge and all that six sigma stuff they drill into your head. Its hard looking at all of assorted emails from people I've taken time to get to know and build a rapport with to allow the job to flow easier and having those bridges crumble at a moments notice.

Life. Its not going to get any easier, so why the fuck aren't you drinking?

Actually, I'm surprised at how serene the wading pool is in my head. No ripples from Wyatt diving in after his multi-colored water football, or vendors asking me questions that in a couple of weeks will become someone else's responsiblity residing several mountaintops beyond this country's borders. Just happy to be here coach, but it could have been worse and that's the route of my Soo Line thought. Staying on the course of providing for the family, instead of putting much stock into issues I cannot control.

Ugh. Did I use a G-Dubya-ism? Its Monday, forgive me for any lack of coherency as my friends got together to enjoy the great outdoors of my backyard, drunken conversation (Twins losing two of three to the Royals?!?!?!), and charred animal in various presentations. Purging of a bad day, week, month, or even your year as I'll be there for yooooooooooou...

(excuse me while I grab a shotgun for my head to remove the "Friends" theme song)

Ok, its always a mental loofah to party with like-minded adults while the kids are locked away in an undisclosed nuclear bunker or my parent's house where they got to the freshly baked M and M cookies before my little paws got one. There's still no better therapy then sitting on a porch with light breeze floating thru the grill or by a bonfire with a smooth Gurkha resting between my fingers just rambling off good reasons why the Vikes should go after Adrian Peterson versus Brady Quinn at the NFL draft this week. Still hoping T-Jax (because shortened names are da shit yo!) will turn out more like Randal Cunningham vs. Tony Randall, and an exciting back would be snug for the Vikes insistance on winning games 9 to 7 last year. I predict several 12 to 7 victories this coming season.

And maybe with a little luck, I'll be able to see my invisible internet friends as well this summer. Of course that would mean I actually have to PLAY in a WSOP qualifer first because without a bracelet race win, my wife's response would be somewhere between "hell no" and "honey, the swelling from the frying pan should go down soon".

Thanks for dropping by, now Hoy, tonight, Full Tilt, BloggerChallenge, screenshots and name-calling to ensue, news at 11.