As we drive East down Spring Mountain Road, I can’t help but note to myself with amusement that Las Vegas’ idea of Chinatown is little more than a strip mall with Asian-style rooftops. But to a white boy like myself, the commercial center is filled with little mysteries tucked into every corner—shops, restaurants and bars with names both exotic and indecipherable. That, and a freakin’ lot of Asian massage parlors.
“I used to get massages at one of these places,” my friend comments. “After a while I realized I was the only person going there who wasn’t a man. But they always just gave me a regular massage.”
“Hmm. Well, I hope they washed their hands first,” I say.
“Me too,” she replies warily, before parking and asking just as warily, “This is it?”
From the outside, Little Macau doesn’t look like much—just another quaint doorway in the long shopping complex. But the deceptively low-key exterior hides an elegant ultra-tavern with sleek colonial Portuguese and Chinese architecture. Over the bar, tiny pendant lights hang from the ceiling, creating the perfect ambient mood lighting. And in the back, there’s a cozy lounge where customers can enjoy a meal or watch the game on one of several large plasma TVs. There’s even bottle service.
Yet the place is deserted but for a few patrons gathered at the bar playing video poker. It’s as though the place is a well-kept secret, known only to the Chinatown regulars, which suits me just fine. There’s always a seat and I don’t have to wait for a drink.
My friend and I sit at the bar and peruse the cocktail menu. The list of signature drinks reads like a collection of James Bond’s least subtle double entendres. I order The Missionary, which comes with the description, “Almond lovers—lay back and let us do all the work. Sake and almond leaves a satisfying finish.” She orders something called Stanley’s Ho. Halfway through reading the description for the Macau 3-way Iced Tea, I start to sense a theme.
The realm of the risqué doesn’t end with the drinks. On Thursdays from 9 p.m. to midnight, gamers receive complimentary massages while they play. I’d make a joke about happy endings, but Little Macau’s own ads already beat me to it.
We order food, but things are plenty hot and spicy even before it arrives. Above the bartender’s head, a flat-screen TV displays lingerie models posing provocatively for photographers.
“The hell? What channel is this?” I ask. There’s a letter “F” in the corner of the screen, and after exhausting all of the dirtier possibilities, we agree that it probably stands for the Fashion Channel. Whatever the show is, it’s somewhere between hardcore fashion and softcore porn.
Between the mood lighting, the sexy atmosphere, the dirty drink descriptions, the complimentary massages and “FTV,” there’s plenty at Little Macau to get a guy hot and bothered. Since the food served in the bar is actually made in the neighboring establishment, Little Macau can get away with allowing smoking, and it’s a good thing too. Suddenly, I could use a cigarette. After that, my friend and I decide to call it a night.
“Well, that was interesting,” I say as we walk outside. “Sooo ...I don’t suppose that massage place you mentioned earlier is someplace nearby ... ”
Little Macau
3939 Spring Mountain Road
702-222-3196