After locking my keys in my car at 3:30 a.m. in North Las Vegas, setting off a 16-hour journey via bus, foot and the astonishing kindness of friends, I wanted to relax. Usually, I'd just head for my local dive, down many shots of brown liquor and wind up boxing some stranger in a back yard for $10. But I needed not just succor, but soothing: a carefully mixed cocktail, a comfortable chair, subtle lighting, the gentle tinkle of a piano.
My first stop was Napoleon's at the Paris, a bar that seems too elegant for a casino, no matter how pretentious that casino may be. It's a spacious, high-ceilinged room, decked out in scarlet and gilt with gloriously overstuffed Regency furniture. The clientele is largely conventioneer: a quintet of men puff cigars, drink Maker's Mark and interject talk of the afternoon's presentations with announcements like "I can't go to Hooters for lunch!" While the jazz is a bit fusion for my taste (I'm wary of any outfit with "Project" in the name), there's always a middle-aged couple taking a turn around the dance floor.
The specialties are cigars and champagne, from the $23 bottle of Frexinet to the $600 Dom Perignon. Try the 20-glass Jeroboam, a bottle only slightly smaller than the bar's namesake himself, or try the array of champagne cocktails, from the classic black velvet to renditions involving mango and lychee. Beyond the bubbly, they make a tasty Manhattan—granted, you could get four at Champagne's Café for the same price, but they wouldn't come with three delicately speared maraschino cherries and the satisfying sound of crystal clinking against a marble tabletop.
The most exquisite cocktails in town may be at Bellagio's Baccarat Bar—sip, savor and sigh with appreciation. Their ever-changing drink menu gives artisan-style credit: Many libations are proudly labeled as "created by Bellagio Barman X" (even if said barman's name is Dorothy) and magically appear from behind a mirrored screen. All are made with top-shelf liquor and fresh-squeezed juices—well, except the cranberry, but if it were at all feasible to have a little man individually squeezing each berry, this is the place they'd do it. Creations run from the Tennessee highball, made with "hand-selected" Jack Daniels, to the orange and Ohranj sunsplash and Calvados sidecar. You also could try one of the 24 beers or splurge on a $175 glass of Remy Martin Louis XIII.
With such extraordinary beverages, the setting—French country comfy—is secondary. Besides, the best scenery is the people: Count how many brides go by or how many call girls (a little harder, given that now every member of the Iowa girls volleyball team dresses like a Hilton) or enjoy a fine vantage of the roulette table favored by cute young boys. Those in the bar proper tend to be a little older—50-ish women in double layers of Pashima and high-heeled earth shoes with their sports-jacketed escorts—sunk deep in chairs and conversation. Baccarat Bar jazz is of the stand-up bass-and-piano improvisational variety, working the riff from "Sunshine of my Life," punctuated by polite applause.
If you favor music over décor and drinks, head for Caesars' Terrazza Bar. Five nights a week, it features Vegas veteran Ghalib Ghallab, a pianist and vocalist whose oeuvre ranges from lounge-friendly birthday numbers to heartfelt Ray Charles tributes and virtuoso instrumentals that wouldn't be out of place at jazz meccas like New York's Village Vanguard. The crowd is just as mixed: an elegant black couple in their 60s, he in natty plaid suit, she in furs; women in pantsuits asking for Equal at the bar. The sounds lure twentysomethings in plaid flannel sharing a Bud, Midwestern marrieds breaking into dance numbers. They cheer, buy CDs and cry for "Just one more!" as Ghallab goes on break.
Terrazza serves a collection of specialty drinks, mixed by experts who actually know what's in a Nutty Irishman and served by charming waitresses (a sassy lass with Betty Page bangs and Marilyn Monroe beauty mark). I've always been against the apple martini on principle but Terrazza makes them in green, red-delicious and caramel so I figured I'd break my embargo for the latter. It was a decision well justified. There's also the amusingly titled Caesars golden chariot and the inebrius; sure, these aren't cheap cocktails but, well, neither man nor woman can live by PBR alone. After all, you're not just paying for a drink, you're buying peace of mind—and the absence of video poker.
Lissa Townsend Rodgers learned to make a martini at age 6. E-mail her at
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