| rev:text
| - It's a Monday. It's 7:30pm. It's off-Strip, on West Sahara. And it's absolutely slammed. The parking lot and the back alley parking, all full. And so are all the tables inside. Pretty durn telling! Alas, once again, I'm going to have to take dinner at the bar.
The last time I dined this space was fifteen years ago, when it was still "The Venetian." Yes there was once another Venetian. It was an old-school Italian-steakhouse joint and it had a lot of history. Many future chefs and restaurant owners started their Vegas ascent by serving time at The Venetian. And of course the famous and the infamous had dined it. Most of the classic MidCentury décor here now - engulfing curved black leather banquettes, red velvet wallpaper, bricked walls, et. al. - all inherited wholesale from The Venetian. And what a joint it was. My last order there was Linguine Ai Frutti Di Mare, and the bowl was just insanely massive. I spotted my tie - and three staff in formal attire rushed to my side with club soda as if I had had a heart attack. Ah, old Vegas. My next trip to Vegas, it was dark.
As the name portends, this venue is, first, a drop-dead-serious craft cocktail lounge. I know because I saw top-level buttons on the POS terminal for French 75, Corpse Reviver #2 and Boulevardier. I know because I saw 12" of glass shelving holding about 50 bottles of bitters. I know because the featured cocktail menu is arranged chronologically. And I know because that menu didn't offer any pricing.
I also know because I watched the bartender prepare (and I was going to ask if they could) my ATF (on the rare occasion I do imbibe): a Ramos Gin Fizz. It's a classic cocktail from the 1920s that has gone almost entirely off-the-radar, even at the most crafty-ish of craft cocktail bars. In fact, I once asked for it at the Wynn (a five-star resort with a full-time mixologist on staff managing the cocktail menu seasonally) and what I heard was "a-wha?" After shuffling and calling about, they admitted they did not have one of the key ingredients on the property. And this drink is a ton of labor; the bartender said they had worked to whittle down the prep time to about 7 minutes, versus the original New Orleans recipe's 20-minute preparation (that including a 12-minute shake, that being why so many bars have nixed it). Yet I've never seen it made so well as I did here, with its egg-white-induced head slowly rising almost an inch above the lip of the glass, while it sat right in front of the attractive young woman who was informed enough to have ordered it.
If you want to learn & taste the history of classic cocktails, grab your plastic and saddle up here.
The crowd here, most interesting, mostly trendy, monied, sharply-attired, 25ish to 40ish. This bar is made for mingling-up movers, shakers and wanna-bes. Bring friends ... or, as I observed, readily make some new ones at the bar.
But I am at the bar to dine, to determine the true value of their steak deal: 5pm to 8pm, midnight to close, half-price. I say show up for the deal if you don't want to nuke your plastic. My 18oz (bone-out) rib-eye plus side, regular price, $60. And there were other cuts, much higher. Of course, even all the affluent that were in there, they were there for half-off, so there's no shame in claiming it for your own. I fronted a Caesar salad for $12.
My service at the bar was on-point and efficient, but not too fawning. Entirely understandable since these bartenders were often - literally - working a pair of Boston shakers at the same time.
The quality of the steak was nothing short of amazing. Since landing in Vegas, only my Golden Steer beef could venture to lay claim to besting this hunk of rib-eye. Perfectly charcoaled, perfectly juicy, wonderful marbling. Yet tender. Nirvana. And priced well, to boot. If I had skipped the salad, this quality/quantity of rib-eye, at thirty smackers, I would have almost been stealing it.
The background music never strayed once from its well-curated & upbeat intent: the very best of 1960s Carolina Shag, 1960s soul and 1960s Motown. And not at subtle decibel either. Its volume certainly evoked an up-tempo mindset at the bar, but it also surely inhibited convo in the banquettes. But the space was plenty noisy anyway, everyone reveling in their imbibing and dining experiences.
Yes, Herbs & Rye, you haven't seen the last of me, by any means. But I expect I am going to like you more somewhere after midnight, when I suspect things are a bit more sedated ... and the half-price-beef deal has kicked back in.
And when the lower volume and the black banquettes are all mine. And when I can watch your bartender's every nuance, as he crafts the pefect Ramos Gin Fizz ... just for me.
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