It seems like lately when friends come to visit I find myself with a dilemma. On the one hand, I'm totally excited that friends are visiting, and I can't wait to show them around the city and do the "Vegas" thing on the Strip. On the other, when it comes down to it, I hate doing the "Vegas" thing. It's not that I don't like the Strip—I think there's a lot of great things to do (Lon Bronson's late-night lounge act at the Riviera, the Rio's Wine Cellar, and swanky cocktails at the Peppermill's Fireside Lounge are just a few that come immediately to mind), but after a couple of hours of walking through casinos with yard-long drinks and dodging creepy stares and come-ons, I start to feel like the life has been sucked out of me.
That's why I felt a little bit of dread a couple of weeks ago when my friends Josh and Trevor came from Colorado to visit. Usually when we hang out, it involves long conversations about absolutely nothing at dingy, small-town coffee houses and bars, which always end up being a lot of fun. I couldn't help but worry that those goofy talks would be lost in the neon jungle, and Josh and Trevor's trip would seem disappointing.
The guys got a room at the Boardwalk Hotel and Casino. After a 10-minute stint at the tables, we headed to the lounge for a couple of drinks while we decided what to do next. We missed out on the Motown and R&B tribute group, Spectrum, which looked like it could have been either really depressing or really fun, and the room was nearly empty, with the exception of a few older guys, whose polyester clothes and heavy jewelry screamed "lounge lizard."
But the Boardwalk's lounge was sort of charming anyway, with its slightly '70s décor and reasonably priced, minimally watered-down drinks. And getting to hear the Polyester Guys use their smooth lines on the cocktail waitresses ("tall and terrific" and "long and lovely" came up a couple of times) was a nice bonus.
After a couple of drinks, Josh wanted to try his luck with the slots at New York-New York. Once he was a few dollars lighter, we wound up at my favorite bar there, Nine Fine Irishmen. The gorgeous, 9,000-square-foot interior was imported from the Emerald Isle, as was the menu, created by Irish celebrity chef Kevin Dundon, who even brought a butcher over to teach the proper Celtic way of preparing cuts of meat. The pub, spread out over two stories, has an outdoor patio and balcony overlooking the hotel-casino's Brooklyn Bridge. While it was too cold to sit outside when we were there, the areas are great during spring and fall.
After ordering my usual Irish pub drink, the snakebite (a light and slightly sweet combination of Harp and cider) and black and tans (Guinness and Harp) for the guys, we found a cool, little booth in a corner nook. The atmosphere was mellow and the bar was only about half full, but the band (which I think was the house group Ri Ra) sounded really good, and they had a great set list that mixed covers from both modern Irish rock groups (The Cranberries, U2) and traditional Irish drinking songs.
By the time we ordered a second round, Josh, Trevor and I were engrossed in a long conversation about absolutely nothing, and Josh started to play around with the idea of permanently moving to Las Vegas. We weren't the only ones feeling the good effects of the pub's nine fine beers. People around us started talking to us and including us in their toasts, though it was hard to tell exactly what they were saying or why we were toasting since they seemed to be speaking German, but it didn't really matter. They, like the three of us, were enjoying a beer at a fun Irish pub on the Strip, and no one (including myself) seemed to feel like the life was being sucked out of them. I'll raise a glass to that anytime.
Maria Phelan sets a new bar for drinking. E-mail her your favorite watering hole at [email protected].