You still refuse to take off your bicorn hat a week after Bastille Day. Good. That’s about to pay off—to the tune of French BBQ (skirt steak au poivre, champagne... beer-can chicken) served up on Comme Ça’s Strip-overhanging patio. Try not to spill any chicken.
The midsummer classic: fine time to dust off the old leather and mask. Especially because the Palms’ masquerade party is back, bringing with it another distinguished evening of masked cage-gyrating and poolside lounging. And once again, Vegas out-Vegases itself.
A mechanical bull. Jar-based cocktails. Tire swings hanging from the ceiling. It’s the sort of saloon-ish place where cowboys come to stir a ruckus. Except now that half the dining room is becoming a nightclub, it’s your mission to turn this hootenanny into a hoedown. Or something like that.
You come here for the carnivorous engineering. (The soy-infused kimchi burger is a feat still unmatched.) Take it a step further, and you’ve got a new summer menu consisting of shrimp corn dogs and surf and turf quesadillas. (And no, those aren’t two separate quesadillas.)
It’s going to be rough—brunch at a wine bar. But at least at La Cave’s new version, you won’t have to worry about spilling your Bloody Mary while waltzing across the patio for more french toast on a stick (both are bottomless). It’s more a race against time than anything else.
