“Averaging around $30 a bite, the signature caviar parfait at Michael Mina at Bellagio might be the most expensive appetizer you’ll ever love. A 28-gram tin of French Estate Osetra ($125), Iranian Golden Osetra ($265) or Caspian Beluga Malossol ($345) caviar is spread with a mother-of-pearl spoon over a layered tower of smoked salmon, chopped hard-boiled eggs and créme fraiche, perched on a golden-fried shallot-potato cake garnished with dill oil.”
— New York Post, April 17, 2007
“Red Square: CaviHour: Everyday from 4 p.m. – 6 p.m. guests receive one free ounce of caviar for every two Imperia vodka drinks ordered (per person.)”
— e-mail from MGM Mirage, January 2009
WHEN Steve Wynn opened his namesake resort in late April of 2005, he shattered the ceiling on luxury in Las Vegas. This wasn’t another Mirage or even a new Bellagio. This was something else altogether.
Critics questioned his building’s subtle exterior. Where was the new volcano, the pirate ship, the Lake Como? But Wynn’s message to Vegas visitors was clear: If you want to see what splendors I have for you this time, you’re going to have to come inside.
And they did.
They flocked to his comfortable gaming floor, his Ferrari dealership, his most expensive mall ever and his stunning restaurants like Bartolotta, an Italian seafood palace that is still the city’s most transporting eatery. But perhaps most of all, they kept returning to his plush rooms, regularly paying $300 and $400 and more for his standard offerings.
But now, Wynn has unveiled Encore, a $2.3 billion sister property just down the corridor from his five-star baby. And knowing how hard Vegas and his worldwide customer base have been hit in the last year, he’s embarking on a new venture.
Ceiling shattered, Wynn is taking a jackhammer to the floor.
It’s not as if he wanted to lower prices at both Encore and Wynn Las Vegas (think, midweek rooms for $199 or less at both hotels). He probably would prefer not to tack on a $100 dining credit to two-night stays. But rather than see empty resorts, Wynn has chosen to re-price his properties. And in doing so, he’s re-priced all of Las Vegas.
It’s a move Wynn knew he had to make. He’s got 2,034 hotel rooms, five restaurants and a 61,000-foot-spa to fill at Encore. And as usual, he hasn’t skimped on anything in his new resort.
While there’s nothing revolutionary here (opening Wynn Las Vegas was the real maverick move), the butterfly-themed Encore also feels five-star all the way. The intimate gaming floor has a private salon-like vibe. The staff is much friendlier and savvier than what you’ll find at non-Wynn properties. All the restaurants are least good, and Theo Schoenegger’s Sinatra eatery can be transcendent. Sinatra offers both serious haute cuisine on its tasting menu (a single delicate raviolo with a runny egg yolk, ricotta cheese and brown butter; stuffed quail with celery puree on the side; truffles galore) and classic crowd-pleasers (meatballs, red-sauce pastas, osso buco).
XS, the nightclub at Encore, cost around $100 million — a number that Manhattan bottle-service pioneers have told me they can’t even comprehend. It’s an over-top-reminder of the gilded age. As in, last year. But you know what? The ratio of bombshell blonde and Asian party girls to skanky bridge-and-tunnel and Eurotrash types is favorable, and the ratio of random hot women to regular dudes is even better. This looks like it could be the city’s “It” spot for quite a while.
And while any nightclub that cost even $10 million is praying that a Cristal-swilling economy returns, Steve Wynn is no fool. He’s not waiting for a financial recovery. The world has crashed, and the deals are flowing.
This is how I got to be the good son who found my parents a pretty unbelievable holiday deal at one of the best luxury hotels in the United States: $159 on Christmas Eve and $169 on Christmas at Wynn Las Vegas, with a $200 dining credit to the resort’s Daniel Boulud Brasserie. My parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary there by gorging on a huge shellfish platter, foie gras and a 32-ounce ribeye. Because it was a special occasion, they were comped dessert.
They called me, before the meal was even over, to say that it was one of the most memorable dining experiences they ever had, and not just because they weren’t really paying. Nobody had announced their arrival — they were just random hotel guests. Random hotel guests eating their dinner with a coupon. They were treated like total VIPs. Wynn is good like that.
YOU GET WHAT YOU (BARELY) PAY FOR
With deals like these, it makes little sense to stay anywhere else, unless you really don’t want to pay anything at all. Downtown hotels are back to selling rooms for less than $10. The new Trump resort, not far from Wynn, is offering $89 studio suites with $50 spa credits. It’s looking to be a rough year for the Harrah’s-owned properties all over Vegas. (One current offer: $33 a night at Imperial Place, with free tickets to its classic car showroom and 2-for-1 burger coupons.) Those mostly down-market hotels (which also include Ballys, Paris and Rio) are so desperate to fill their rooms that they’ve been mailing out crazy comp offers to people who have barely gambled in Vegas in the last year. Harrah’s, like a troubled Detroit automaker, even offered employee pricing to the public during the holidays.
But such offers don’t come without a hidden cost. Like every other casino company except for Wynn, Harrah’s has had to halt projects, lay off people and lower expectations. Its staff, who were never the best in town to begin with, have gotten even more openly disgruntled. They’re rude to customers and — in some cases, such as when I was recently trying to valet my car at Paris — are publicly disdainful of the parent company and happy to explain how Harrah’s really doesn’t care about its customers. It’s like this at Harrah’s properties up and down and off the Strip. Don’t be surprised if you witness employees cursing under their breath or even shouting at guests.
It’s difficult to blame people for being surly, though. Property values in the city have collapsed. And with the casinos laying people off and cutting back hours, living and working in Las Vegas has suddenly become a lot less appealing. Major projects including Echelon and the Plaza have been shelved, and MGM Mirage’s massive CityCenter, still taking shape just north of the Monte Carlo, has been scaled back. At least there’s still the promise of more than 12,000 new jobs there. We’ll see.
On a recent evening, I met up at Sinatra with a friend from New York who’d recently moved to Vegas. He’s been buying foreclosed houses for $80 per square foot, a lot less than it would cost to build the homes. He’s pursuing happiness and good fortune in Vegas while other dreams and hopes crumble. I guess that’s always been a theme in Vegas, but not quite like this. My friend and I talk about the sad state of the world for a while, but then Schoenegger’s comforting tasting menu makes me forget my troubles and dwindling stock portfolio. I’m grateful for the escape.
A few hours later, after a stop at XS, I meet up with Wynn chef Paul Bartolotta (perhaps not so coincidentally, both Bartolotta and Schoenegger once ran the kitchen at San Domenico in New York). It’s my last night of a largely sleepless four-day bender, so we decide a 1 a.m. second dinner for me is in order. We head over to off-strip chef hangout Raku (run by another New York refugee, former Megu chef Mitsuo Endo). Bartolotta, one of his employees and I feast on grilled pork cheeks, delicate homemade tofu and eringe mushrooms, and the delightful Japanese staff, who know Bartolotta well, titter every time they bring us another dish.
After eating, we walk into the parking lot, and in the horizon, Bartolotta sees Wynn and Encore. He makes a joke about how he can’t escape them, how they’re always there taunting him, haunting him. I tell him it must be like the face of Jesus pictures in Catholic school, where no matter where you are in the room, you feel like He’s staring at you. Bartolotta chuckles, gets in his car, drives me back to Encore and tells me he’s looking forward to a ski trip with his family tomorrow. This is his escape. Just for a little while, he says, it will be nice to get the hell out of town.
THE MORE THINGS CHANGE…
The next morning I head over to Simon at Palms Place for chef Kerry Simon’s new Sunday brunch. For me, brunch is usually more McDonald’s than Miraval, but after four days in Vegas, I’m ready for a cleansing ritual. I try the Kerry Cocktail with raw beet and celery juice. It’s surprisingly delicious. I move on to a Green Machine with spinach, cucumber, parsley and apple juice. Also good. You can’t get this stuff at IHOP.
But midway through a glass of pomegranate juice, I feel revived enough to revert to my typical Vegas habits. After all, the restaurant is offering a $38 all-you-can eat meal and I’m no sucker. I start slowly — peel-and-eat shrimp and spicy tuna sushi on crispy sesame rice — and then notice that the menu has a section simply entitled “white trash.” I order pigs in blankets and chicken and waffles and biscuits and gravy. Tremendous. Try getting that at Canyon Ranch.
A signature of the restaurant is something called the Junk Food Platter, so I of course order this as well. Sample items: gourmet versions of cotton candy, Cracker Jack, pink Sno-balls, Froot Loop treats. My two companions are locals who’ve never visited Simon, and they’re fascinated by this edible adult version of Candyland.
For me, though, it’s just a reminder of why I love Vegas. This is a city where you can live like a king and act like a child and behave any way you want.
And while Vegas can be different things to different people, what makes it so great is how it can be different things for the same people.
You can go on a two-week poker binge (as I have) or you can experience the most memorable and romantic nights out with your wife (I have also done this). You can visit truly world-class restaurants and nightclubs then retire to downtown hipster dives or grungy Japanese after-hours joints in strip malls.
You can make huge bets with little regard to money (as I have) then spend the next day marveling at how much you saved on those Calvin Klein shirts at the fabulous outlet mall (yes, I have done this too). Vegas, at least for me, has been luxurious and dangerous and ridiculous and restorative — often all in the same trip. Sometimes, like when I was at Simon, it can be all these things before you get up from your chair.
Boom or bust, I’m betting on Steve Wynn’s city.