Vegas Eats: DB Brasserie at Venetian (Scene 2)
For those who love Vegas restaurants, French cuisine and 1950's Japanese cinema, VT is proud to present our VegasEats review of DB Brasserie at Venetian, in four scenes. - Ed
Sunday night of VT10 weekend, Misnomer and I were looking forward to Rose. Rabbit. Lie. before a shift in Vegas Nocturne's schedule threw a wrench into our plans. With my last night in town completely open, VT superfriend Mr. Giggles came to the rescue and asked if we'd like to try the new DB Brasserie at The Venetian instead. I reluctantly accepted because a) The restaurant was brand new and probably still working out some kinks b) This was a downtown trip which encourages a downtown budget and c) I fucking hate The Venetian.
But I did miss the old Boulud at Wynn. Before its closing, I felt like it was the only consistent restaurant at the resort below the strata (Stratta?) of Alex prices. That, and the company of my fellow writers can make even a dinner at Carlos'n Charlie's bearable. DB was a go.
Now if you're looking for a proper review from a foodie who considers every nuance of flavor and texture, you're probably reading the wrong account. Allow me to explain...
I woke up Sunday morning itching to exact revenge on the brutal beating the tables had given me the night before. I ponied up to a blackjack table at The D anticipating a slow battle in which, after several hours, I'd come up victorious. I won all right, but it wasn't a slow battle at all. I was on a hot streak in a matter of minutes with the pit boss sweating bullets as I pressed every hand. I finished the shoe off with a three way split, one of which had turned into a double down, and the house busted making for a bulge-in-your-pocket profit before I ever heard the dealer call "shuffle."
My disciplined money management guidelines had me walking and left me with far more free time than I anticipated. So I moseyed on over to the Container Park, grabbed a beer, and continued making my way down Fremont on a tour-de-booze until I reached the Gate. Now sloshed, stumbling, and still having a few hours to kill before dinner, I made my way back to The D and noticed VT superfriend rsauve playing pai gow poker. I ponied up, bought in for a Franklin, and together we outdrank the house advantage.
Finally, dinner time. Oh boy.
I was so drunk, the VT crew could have taken me to Gilley's and told me Boulud's special for the evening was mechanical bull. My only confirmation that I was in the right place: the sea of pleated pants and convention badges confirming that I was in Adelson's house.
Anyway, we're seated in a Bouchon/Old Wynn Boulud hybrid of a room. Blackjacker1979 was scheduled to hit the road back home after dinner, but Giggles, Misnomer, and I had a gentlemen's bet as to when he'd start comparison shopping properties to spend the night. I chuckled as he whipped the phone out, asked to be transferred to MLife, and can only assume he stayed in town for another week. Also of hilarity, a couple sitting behind me that got each other hot and horny by inflicting pain on one another.
Oh yeah, food. Anyway, I think I had a caesar salad to start. It was probably delicious. And then I had a chicken entree with the word "cock" in its name. It was packed with flavor and I actually remember loving it. The meal ended with a chocolate sunday thingy that was worth all the mild allergies I had to the ingredients in it. Coupled with a glass of bordeaux and maybe a coffee, the whole thing set me back a crisp $100 bill out of the gambling winnings - not bad at all. Certainly far more deserving than this account of it, anyway.
DB Brasserie is a solid restaurant that I would absolutely return to again and again if I was ragingly drunk or if it wasn't at The Venetian.
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