Sometimes in Vegas you're tempted to venture outside the familiar large-nightclub, large-hotel cocoon.
Sometimes you want a Vegas where the Strip was a tad less crowded, HST was still terrorizing the tourists and tiki was a new cocktail fad.
Here for you during these times—and here to provide a welcome post-pool-deck, pre-craziness cocktail spot—is Frankie's Tiki Room, an inspired time-warp combination of pedigree and style (and a cocktail menu for the tiki ages), just opened yesterday.
Slide into the tiny, dimly glowing space and you'll realize you're not at the Hard Rock anymore. Faux-lava mounds, eight-foot tikis with red dice for eyes and fish-netting signal that you've found your slice of yesterday's mellower kitsch-cool. Head for the carved wooden tables, grab a gonzo cocktail like the Navy Grog, the Bearded Clam (light rum, mint and a "whisper" of passion fruit) or the Bender Ender (made with 160-proof rum, making it its own kind of time-travel device) and let the surf rock, Sinatra and tiki music wash over you.
Before you leave for shinier pastures, you may notice among the mellow, eclectic crowd, a cigar-chomping nightlife legend—owner P. Moss—a sort of pineapple-flavored retro warrior-poet.
They don't make 'em like that anymore.
Sometimes you want a Vegas where the Strip was a tad less crowded, HST was still terrorizing the tourists and tiki was a new cocktail fad.
Here for you during these times—and here to provide a welcome post-pool-deck, pre-craziness cocktail spot—is Frankie's Tiki Room, an inspired time-warp combination of pedigree and style (and a cocktail menu for the tiki ages), just opened yesterday.
Slide into the tiny, dimly glowing space and you'll realize you're not at the Hard Rock anymore. Faux-lava mounds, eight-foot tikis with red dice for eyes and fish-netting signal that you've found your slice of yesterday's mellower kitsch-cool. Head for the carved wooden tables, grab a gonzo cocktail like the Navy Grog, the Bearded Clam (light rum, mint and a "whisper" of passion fruit) or the Bender Ender (made with 160-proof rum, making it its own kind of time-travel device) and let the surf rock, Sinatra and tiki music wash over you.
Before you leave for shinier pastures, you may notice among the mellow, eclectic crowd, a cigar-chomping nightlife legend—owner P. Moss—a sort of pineapple-flavored retro warrior-poet.
They don't make 'em like that anymore.
