A small part of us remembers swimming the noxious heat around the Luxor in the ’90s – "Mom. Dad. It’s so hot it’s unhealthy. Let’s get out of here." Grade school impression noted, not much has changed in Las Vegas. Except almost everything. Where once there was only gambling, there are now hotels brave (or snobbish) enough to be greenlit without casinos. There are more designers in two blocks than in all of Beverly Hills. The hotel spa scene is as competitive as Miami. There’s reason to ask, what am I doing here in the casino when I could be shopping, spa-ing, or sipping a glass of bubbly by the pool?
We checked into the Bellagio amidst the hysteria of a Saturday afternoon. Greeted by a loud, persistent Chihuly installation that stretched the length of the lobby, we grabbed our room key and ran as fast to the elevator as the casino floor plan would allow. Something was definitely off – something that remained off through the parking lot of lounge chairs by the pool and the thunderous fountains that crushed the mental concentration of our inner tightrope walker. Something that was so off that the lovely Bellagio terrace bar is now being renovated into a chain outpost of Hyde.
The one standout we’ll allow the Bellagio is the excellent steakhouse, Prime. Our dinner was perfect, from the savory shortribs to the macaroni and cheese, creamed spinach, asparagus, and blueberry crumble cake. We can’t be sure of a trip back to Las Vegas anytime soon (we would rather go to Santa Barbara…or Pasadena) but we’ll remember Prime for the next moment in desperation of taste.
The floor lobby and suite dining room:
The bar and living room:
One of the bedrooms and one of the bathrooms (there were 5!):
