You know the golden rules of the Vegas pool.
Never Speedo, except on European holidays.
Travel with a pit crew of suntan lotion applicators whenever possible.
If your spiked ice cream melts in a martini glass, that counts as a martini.
Introducing The Neapolitan of Las Vegas, Sin City’s first (but likely not last) watering hole devoted exclusively to the craft of boozifying your ice cream, now open at the Cosmopolitan.
This is the sort of whimsical, pool-attached lounge where Willy Wonka would host a bachelor party—huge, sunny room overlooking the Strip, filled with pink foam couches, tropical camouflage wallpaper and a frosty chemical mist chilling the air. Trace it to the bar.
The brewers behind it: bikini-and-lab-apron-clad ladies stirring experimental combinations of fresh-squeezed fruit, booze and liquid nitrogen into sorbet cocktails. Creamy Black and Tans sprinkled with pretzel bits. Frozen Moët mimosas topped with candied tangerines. Fast-melting Belvedere martinis crackling with Pop Rocks.
When you’re sufficiently cooled and ready to resume regularly scheduled pool duties (i.e., drip-feeding tequila popsicles to synchronized swimmers gone wild), slip back outside through the south patio door. For the next round, you’ll flag an ice cream man pedaling his bicycle cart around the pool deck. Inside his cart: ingredients to build a Maker’s Mark chocolate shake covered in bacon.
You can always depend on the kindness of ice cream men.
Never Speedo, except on European holidays.
Travel with a pit crew of suntan lotion applicators whenever possible.
If your spiked ice cream melts in a martini glass, that counts as a martini.
Introducing The Neapolitan of Las Vegas, Sin City’s first (but likely not last) watering hole devoted exclusively to the craft of boozifying your ice cream, now open at the Cosmopolitan.
This is the sort of whimsical, pool-attached lounge where Willy Wonka would host a bachelor party—huge, sunny room overlooking the Strip, filled with pink foam couches, tropical camouflage wallpaper and a frosty chemical mist chilling the air. Trace it to the bar.
The brewers behind it: bikini-and-lab-apron-clad ladies stirring experimental combinations of fresh-squeezed fruit, booze and liquid nitrogen into sorbet cocktails. Creamy Black and Tans sprinkled with pretzel bits. Frozen Moët mimosas topped with candied tangerines. Fast-melting Belvedere martinis crackling with Pop Rocks.
When you’re sufficiently cooled and ready to resume regularly scheduled pool duties (i.e., drip-feeding tequila popsicles to synchronized swimmers gone wild), slip back outside through the south patio door. For the next round, you’ll flag an ice cream man pedaling his bicycle cart around the pool deck. Inside his cart: ingredients to build a Maker’s Mark chocolate shake covered in bacon.
You can always depend on the kindness of ice cream men.
