When the chips are down... head to The Mayfair Supper Club in Las Vegas
Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.
Of the list of places to go when this is all over, there’s a lot to be said for Las Vegas. For the chance to get as far away from reality as possible, Vegas is hard to beat.
Just before America shut down flights from Europe in March, I managed to squeak in to one of the city’s most exciting new offerings – a “supper club” at the gargantuan Bellagio hotel, inspired by the glory days of Vegas in the 1950s and ’60s. As a place to grab dinner and a show, The Mayfair Supper Club is quite something, thanks largely to its interiors by London-based designer Martin Brudnizki (of The Ivy, Scott’s and Annabel’s) and views onto the hotel’s world-famous dancing fountains.
Stepping off the casino floor, I found myself in a marine-inspired bar lounge, with coral-shaped lights and a Murano-glass bar glowing pink under a turquoise canopy. The effect was dreamy, made even dreamier by the generous Bombay Sapphire martini I ordered. Through to the dining room, every surface was a wonder of seduction, from the sea-green faux-croc velvet ceilings to the églomisé panelling with underwater scenes by London-based glass studio Paul Clifford. This being modern-day Vegas, the patrons weren’t in tuxedos or diamonds (the dress code is smart-casual), but something about the watery pink light made everyone look cinematically rosy-cheeked.
The live show – one of the few currently playing in Vegas as most performance-only spaces remain shut – took place on a raised stage in the middle of the dining room and mixed Kander and Ebb-style cabaret with modern-day standards (“Back to Black” and “Big Spender” both got an airing).
I most enjoyed the sea bream in a parsley, caper, lemon and olive-oil sauce. The skin was silvery black, the flesh light and tasty, and the sauce sharp but simple. Sometimes less is more, even in Vegas. My pudding, though, was just plain moreish. “The Cigar” came under a bell jar whose removal released a hickory-scented waft of smoke. What remained looked like two cigars in a heap of ash but was actually chocolate-hazelnut praline fingers in chocolate crumble, with pear and chocolate panna cotta beneath. I did what the occasion demanded, picked up each cigar and “smoked” them down to the stub.
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