Three words: Chocolate Bacon Waffle.
That's all it took for me to decide that Jay and I needed a breakfast visit to this self-styled "classic French bistro" in the heart of the Las Vegas Strip. It receives decent reviews, is frequented by locals as well as tourists, and it's breakfast for Jeebus' sake ... how hard does the kitchen staff have to work to muck up the first meal of the day?
Don't answer that just yet; let me answer it for you a bit later, OK?
Our last day (or so we thought) in Vegas dawned cool and clear and windy; we walked to Paris from our hotel in about fifteen minutes to find a long line of patrons checking in at Mon Ami Gabi. Luckily I had made a reservation - Disney has trained me well - and we did not have to wait for a table. We were given the option of terrace seating or atrium seating, and opted for the atrium because it was so breezy that morning.
The Atrium ... or Conservatory
A waiter showed up fairly promptly and asked if we wanted coffee, to which we both said, "Yes, please," in unison. However, our request for milk to add to said coffee seemed to baffle him and he disappeared for a long time ... I assume in search of a cow to milk on our behalf. No one stopped at our table in his absence, so when he reappeared with a pitcher of milk I asked if we could place our order and he replied, "I'm not your server." He then looked around the dining area until he spotted a young lady and pointed at her. "That's your server; she'll be with you shortly."
And then he wandered off.
Jay and I just stared at each other. We'd already been waiting ten minutes to place an order while the waitress he pointed out had stopped at every table in the area but ours. We had even listened in while she explained the breakfast specials of the day to a group seated behind us.
"We don't stink, do we?" I asked Jay.
"I don't smell anything."
"Well, I wonder what the problem is. Maybe I look surlier than usual this morning."
"That's unpossible."
The server finally made an appearance just as I was ready to get up and walk out. She took our drink orders, which we really needed by then although she seemed put out by our request for water. And then, even though I didn't want any of the breakfast specials, I asked her about them ... just to be a snot because it was clear she wasn't going to tell us the restaurant was offering any that morning.
Jay went with their signature bloody mary and the chocolate-bacon waffles that everyone raves about. I apparently swallowed a stupid pill before leaving the hotel and ordered a ham and cheese crepe and a side of bacon with a champagne cocktail. Why I didn't order a waffle or some kind of decadent french toast is as beyond me now as it was then.
I do have to say that once our morning alcohol made an appearance I thought that we were back on track. Jay's bloody mary was really tasty - smooth and flavorful with a kick and a hint of citrus to shake things up a bit; and my champagne cocktail was just the right blend of bubbles and sweet-tart.
Bloody Mary & Champagne Cocktail
The food, on the other hand, left something to be desired as far as I was concerned. Let's start with my crepe, shall we? In February we had breakfast at a local Stinktown place called Rooster, which is known for the yumminess of its crepes. Mistakenly, I assumed that if Stinktown could do such an awesome job with breakfast crepes then fake-Paris in America would blow my socks off.
Turns out not so much.
Mon Ami Gabi used deli ham in their crepe, rather than thick, sliced farmstead ham; and then they paired it with the single-most bland and gritty white cheese they had on hand in the kitchen as opposed to something sharp like a cheddar or a colby. And then they drowned it in more bland white cheese sauce, slapped some greens and a dollop of dijon mustard over the top of it all and set it in front of me as if it were a culinary work of art.
It was not good - it was actually quite gross, but our server disappeared for the entire length of our meal once she delivered it and Jay ended up eating enough of the crepe despite its general gackiness that I didn't feel like I could really complain and send it back to the kitchen for something else. Besides, I still had some bacon to chew on, and I knew that the hubba would share some of his waffle with me.
Ham & Cheese Crepe with ...???
But wait! They managed to screw up the bacon, too, which in my world is a crime that should never go unpunished. I can live with crispy bacon but what we received was actually pretty charred and tasted less like succulent pork and more like burnt, blackened, soot.
Crispy Bacon? More like charred.
Thank goodness the chocolate-bacon waffle was all that we thought it could be and more; and thank goodness I have a hubba who's willing to share his breakfast bounty with me! The waffle was light and airy and had bits of bacon and chocolate baked into it - add some butter and maple syrup and it was a thing of beauty. This one dish made the visit mostly worth the effort, but I'm not sure we would go out of our way to dine there again. For one thing we make waffles at home that are just as good as these and for another there are far better places in Vegas for breakfast: Hash House, Society Cafe, and House of Blues come immediately to mind.
Chocolate Bacon Waffle
2 comments:
Breakfast=FAIL. I mean really who screws up bacon? By the way, I now cook bacon in the oven-it works sooo well, and while it does grease up the oven a bit it doesn't grease up the stovetop and who really cares if you have a greasy oven anyways?
we also have taken to cooking bacon in the oven ... with a nice glaze of maple syrup and bourbon!
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