What Happens in Vegas…

We slept in like proper vacationers, the automatically closing blackout curtains doing their heroic work against the brightness of morning.    Breakfast came with an aerial view over the Strip. There is something deeply indulgent about sipping Irish-creamed-coffee while looking down at the chaos you plan to wander through later. Joni (who has officially decided that hotel life suits her) was all smiles as we packed her into the stroller for a long, meandering tour through the casinos. The lights, noises and overall busyness overwhelmed the senses but she took it all in wide-eyed. 

One of the highlights of our wander was stopping at the Fountains of Bellagio. Joni was absolutely mesmerized. She leaned forward on the fountain ledge, eyes locked in, tiny hands gripping her mamas’s as if she didn’t want to miss a second.  The choreography of light and water seemed almost magical through her gaze. It was one of those simple travel moments that feels unexpectedly sweet.

Lunch was a steaming, soul-hugging bowl of ramen, exactly the right balance of indulgent and restorative, before we retreated for a long, glorious siesta. There is something poetic about resting in climate-controlled luxury while knowing we are soon returning to the frigid, honest cold of Alaska. Joni capped the afternoon with some pool time, splashing happily, before being tucked in with our now-trusted babysitter.  And just like that, Emily and I were off for the pinnacle of the day: our final date night of the trip.

Enter Superfrico; part restaurant, part fever dream, part circus, part comedy club, fully unforgettable. From the moment we sat down, center stage, best seats in the house, practically in the splash zone, we knew this was going to be special.  Acrobats flew overhead. Contortionists folded into shapes that defy both anatomy and physics. Comedians roamed the room with razor timing. And a bubble artist (I’ll link a YouTube clip here because words simply fail: https://youtu.be/Bvl4m0PdL60?si=G5ee0Lw2e56bDcUX). 

And then, the moment…. The male cow stripper. Yes. A sentence I never imagined typing. At one climactic point, he aimed his “udders” directly at me and shot a stream straight into my face. Emily laughed harder than I have seen her laugh in years, the kind of laughter where she fully loses composure. I was soaked. The crowd erupted. I bowed. Marriage is built on these moments. It was absurd and theatrical and completely Vegas. I have not laughed that hard in a very long time. We interacted with nearly every act, high fives, playful banter, direct eye contact that said, “Yes, we are fully committed to this chaos.” It felt intimate and electric all at once. The food was amazing, the acts were unforgettable, and the whole vibe could only be described as nirvana. 

And then we ended the night in my favorite Las Vegas ritual: sitting at a bar for two uninterrupted hours, doing nothing but people watching. No phones. No agenda. Just observing the parade. Sequins and bachelor parties. Very old men with very young women…. High rollers and first-timers. The overly confident and the utterly confused. Vegas never disappoints when you simply sit still and let it walk by. As we head back north, I’ll carry the warmth of desert nights, the echo of hysterical laughter, Joni’s wide-eyed wonder at dancing fountains, and the faint memory of being publicly baptized by a dairy-themed performer. Truly, what more could one ask for? What. A. Life. 

3 Star Date Night in Las Vegas

 

We had the absolute joy of dining at Joël Robuchon for date night with Joni being babysat in our hotel.  The only way I can describe the evening is this: it felt like stepping into a deliciously choreographed dream.

From the moment we entered the French cafe themed dining room, everything shimmered, not in a flashy Vegas way, but in a quiet, elegant, “you’re-about-to-experience-something-special” way. 

The evening unfolded like a storybook. We were greeted by a thoughtful babymoon gift. Our first course began with delicate caviar and crab, light and briny and luxurious, paired with Cristal Champagne that felt celebratory from the first sip.  It was so elegantly prepared by hand (see photo!). Then came potatoes and foie gras layered with truffle; rich and velvety, but somehow never heavy. The Maine lobster was sweet and refined, the avocado and salmon bright and refreshing. 

The scallops were tender and beautifully seared, gently floating in an apple cider foam and walnuts that added just enough crunch and warmth.  The sunchoke and parmesan course felt cozy and earthy, like winter wrapped in silk. Even the vegetable millefeuille felt magical, proof that vegetables, in the right hands, can feel like royalty (Emily’s quote).

And then… the black cod. The star of the evening. The best fish I’ve had in years. Perfectly caramelized on the outside, buttery and silky within, with a malabar pepper sauce that added depth without stealing the spotlight. It was one of those dishes where you pause mid-bite, look across the table, and silently acknowledge: this is extraordinary. We even complimented the chef as Alaskans with deep black cod experience. 

The venison and lamb courses were rich and beautifully composed, each bite balanced and thoughtful. And just when we thought we couldn’t possibly be more impressed, dessert arrived; saffron panna cotta, exotic chocolate creations, followed by an entire dessert CART filled with a whimsical parade of mignardises that felt like edible jewels.   

We opted for the highest class wine pairing, and it turned dinner into something truly transcendent. These weren’t just nice wines, they were some of the finest wines in the world, poured generously and explained with passion by our personal sommelier. Each glass was best in its class. The pairings didn’t just accompany the food; they exponentially lifted each dish. 

What truly elevated the entire evening, though, were our incredible waiters, Driss (Frenchman)and Andrew (midwesterner). They were warm, intuitive, and effortlessly knowledgeable, guiding us through each course with enthusiasm and grace. They made a world-class experience feel personal and comfortable. 

By the end of the night, we were floating. Smiling. Grateful. And stuffed after 14 courses. 

And because this is Las Vegas, the night didn’t end there. We made our way to Absinthe at Caesars Palace, which felt like stepping from refined culinary opera into delightfully unhinged rancorous and raunchy circus cabaret. The bohemian styled tent buzzed with energy, and from the first outrageous monologue by The Gazillionaire, we knew we were in for something wildly entertaining. 

The acrobatics were jaw-dropping, the humor irreverent and laced with sexual innuendos, and the entire production had us in stitches with laughter.  After a night of impeccable precision and polished elegance, Absinthe was the perfect exclamation point; bold, daring, hilarious, and just a little bit mischievous. We left laughing, slightly stunned, and feeling like we had experienced the full spectrum of what makes Vegas unforgettable.