Truite aux Amandes at Bouchon: Vegas, Baby

It's our first night in Vegas. We're hungry but not the kind of hungry where a Vegas buffet seems like a good idea. A small sound scratches at the back of my brain--"Katherine, you just read something about a great meal in Vegas. Think!" And then it came to me: Sam's glowing, boozy review of Thomas Keller's Bouchon Las Vegas. A quick call, and a mad dash around the Venetian in a desperate attempt to find the restaurant while avoiding faux gondolas and faux bosoms--and voila!

I started with a glass of Pastis diluted with icy spring water. I've been chasing this particular cocktail for years, ever since I saw a particularly lovely bohemian French woman drink one at a bar in Paris in the wee hours of a scorching summer night. I could have just asked for help tracking it down, of course, but the logic went like this: The appeal of the drink is how fabulously in-the-know and breezy one appears while consuming it. That is negated by not knowing the name of the drink or how to order it. But everyone in Vegas is vulgar, right? So where better to be a stupid American asking for a peculiarly French drink than in a parodically Venetian hotel on The Strip, right? The drink was all I dreamed it would be, headily anise-scented and golden color when served. It turns opaque when mixed with the cold water, which I did liberally since (a) the liquor was very strong and (b) it was 110 degrees outside.

But even these glories were forgotten after the first bite of my main course: Truite aux Amandes, with green beans and brown butter. The almonds were toasted. Really toasted. They were a uniform just-this-side-of-scorched brown. The trout was meltingly delicious. The beans had the perfect bite. The butter was...buttery.

Other than the bread--the remains for which are visible at the top of the photo above--the rest of the meal was forgettable. As was nearly everything else we ate in Vegas. But the trout and the Pastis alone were the cross-country trip.

Thanks, Sam.