To Boulder City, for dinner! Through the munchless wastes of suburban Henderson and past the beckoning buffet of Railroad Pass! Past the Two Gals restaurant (ah, sweet omelets of youth)! Past a supersize row of new-carb lots: KFC, Taco Bell, A&W, McDonalds, Dairy Queen, Pizza Hut and Jack In The Box! Past Mexican and Chinese! Past even Boulder City's true destination restaurant, the Pit Stop (ah, sweet burgers of two months ago)! Until, finally—you shall know it by the outdoor tables—our destination: Milo's Best Cellars.
This is a wine shop that serves sandwiches, salads and soups, and here our first question arises: They sell wine in Boulder City? Wait, this isn't a dry town? Small city, no gambling, we just naturally assumed ... Well, hmmm. The things you think these days.
It was a pleasant million degrees on this evening, so the four of us—me, my wife, a backwards-hat-wearing teenager and a preteen boy whose idea of gourmet food is fries cooked in fresh grease—angled for a patio table. No luck. All the tables were reserved for a wine-tasting. In the smallish interior, we huddled around a hubcap-size table built for two.
About the wines: There sure were a lot of them. Bottles everywhere! Many had interesting labels. I'm convinced the contents were busy but never precocious, or whatever adjectival combinations one uses to flatter wine. I wouldn't know. I've never been able to fathom the mysteries of the grape, so I ordered a glass of Reisling and tried to look like I knew what I was doing. But the walls and racks of bottles, along with the continental stonework and small confines, lent the place a comfortably sophisticated atmosphere. "Take your hat off," my wife said to our oldest son.
Milo's menu isn't vast, but it's varied enough: sandwiches, salads and cheese platters.
It's hard to muck up a chicken Caesar, and Milo's doesn't. The one my oldest son ordered had plenty of meat, a punchy dressing, and the apparent ability to replenish itself. "Doesn't this salad ever end?" he asked, gamely forking in every bite.
The sandwiches look small but eat big; we ordered three and took two halves home. The younger son ordered an Italian dip, though I'm sure he had no idea what it was. To him, au jus is what comes before "gesundheit." Thinly sliced beef, portabella mushroom and Swiss cheese on ciabatta, it was all meaty essence, with the grilled mushrooms adding an unexpected grace note ... did I just write "an unexpected grace note"? I was afraid this would happen—you drive all the way to Boulder City to describe a sandwich, it's hard to settle for saying, "It was good." But it was.
So was my Tuscany, artfully arranged salami, pepperoni and provolone, given additional dimensions of robustness—I can't stop myself!—by a delicious basil-pesto mayo. My wife's Polla Bella, grilled chicken with portabella, Swiss, red peppers and garlic mayo, would have an actual food critic reaching for synonyms for "toothsome." The night's only disappointment was the bland Terra chips accompanying the sandwiches.
We finished with a fine crème brûlée that nearly prompted spoon-fighting between father and son.
So, what have we learned from this trip? Many useful things.
Yes, people can drink alcohol in Boulder City!
No, a wine shop isn't necessarily a snob haven! (But you should still remove your hat.)
Yes, it's possible to drive past a Calorie Row of fast-food joints to find cuisine prepared by human hands, and who'd have ever believed that?
No, portabella mushrooms won't kill you, despite being mushrooms. Nor will au jus, despite sounding French.
Yes, we now have a reason to dine in Boulder City other than the Pit Stop (ah, sweet hamburgers!).