As I noted in one of the previous entries, outside of wagering on football and basketball games, I'm not much of a gambling man. I am, however, an eating man. As an obese individual, I was most excited about trying all of the food in Vegas.
I was recommended two restaurants in particular. My girlfriend's dad and uncle both told us that the buffet at Mandalay Bay was amazing. Meanwhile, her boss told her that we absolutely had to go to some place called the Heart Attack Grill. I checked out their Web site, and they seem pretty legit. The waitresses dress up like slutty nurses, and there's something on the menu called an Octuple Bypass Burger. It costs $30, but it includes eight meat patties and 40 - FORTY!!! - slices of bacon. Oh, and if you weigh more than 350 pounds, you eat there for free.
In other words, this was heaven on Earth for someone like myself.
I was eager to go to the Heart Attack Grill, but by the time our flight landed, and we settled into the hotel - and waited for the a**hole to come with the $35-per-night refrigerator - it was already too late at night to make the trip there. The buffet was also closed at this time, which we found preposterous. Their sign said that they stop serving at 9:45. This would be normal in any other city, but Vegas? It's the city that never sleeps, for crying out loud. I know that's the slogan for New York, but it should be Vegas'. In addition to slots that are always on - they even have slot machines in gas stations and the car-rental place! - they have music and TVs blaring everywhere. Our hotel parking lot had booming music playing in the background. There were loud TVs in both the elevators and cabs. I'm shocked our hotel room bathroom didn't have a TV, but there wasn't even a fart fan in there.
But yeah, closing a buffet in Vegas at 9:45 is just plain idiotic. Fortunately, there were plenty of other restaurants in the Mandalay Bay hotel, so we tried this one place called Citizens: Kitchen and Bar.
The menu looked great. They had all sorts of tasty entrees, including meatball parm sandwiches, buffalo chicken sandwiches, cheeseburgers, quesadillas, and much more. I considered ordering two of each, but I didn't want to embarrass my girlfriend.
The waiter, a normal-looking dude in his 30s, eventually came around and took our order. Here's how it went down...
Waiter: What would you like, ma'am?
Girlfriend: I'll have the fish tacos, please.
Waiter: Ah, excellent choice! One of personal favorites.
Waiter: Yes, you'll love them. And you, sir?
Me: I'll have the buffalo chicken sandwich.
Waiter: Oh... OK.
"Oh... OK?" That didn't warrant an "excellent choice" from this guy? I was confused. How could he think that my buffalo chicken sandwich was not an excellent choice? Buffalo chicken sandwiches, I'll have you know, you pompous waiter, are delicious. If you don't like buffalo chicken sandwiches, you are a communist a**hole who should be deported.
That's how I felt, anyway... at least until the food was served. I took a bite of the buffalo chicken sandwich, and, well, it wasn't very good. In fact, it was awful. I don't know what it was, but there was a hint of some sort of mysterious sauce in there. I began freaking out.
Me: UGH, I THINK THERE'S MAYO OR MUSTARD IN HERE!!!
Girlfriend: Let me try ... nah, I'm not tasting anything like that.
Me: THERE'S GOTTA BE SOMETHING IN THERE THAT I DON'T LIKE!!!
Girlfriend: Ask the waiter for a menu.
I did just that, and I read the description for the buffalo chicken sandwich. I then saw the word I hate most in the English language as one of the ingredients of this buffalo chicken sandwich: "signature" buffalo sauce. Signature. The bane of my existence.
You have no idea how much I had signatures. I hate penning them because my handwriting is sloppy, and I hate eating food stuffs with signature sauces in them. Seriously, when I go to Panera Bread and order their delicious Bacon Turkey Bravo, I make sure to tell the cashier to exclude the signature sauce. And then I repeat myself to make sure they don't put any in there.
It seems like every restaurant has their own signature sauce now, and it sucks. Why does everyone feel the need to have their own signature sauce? If you're a restaurant owner, and you're guilty of this, f*** you and f*** your signature sauce!
As a fat man, I'm super against not finishing meals at restaurants. I cringe when someone asks for a box. I muscle through my meal and make sure my plate is completely cleaned off. Even if I'm stuffed, I'll act like a fish and continue to cram food into my mouth until I've eaten everything. After all, there are starving, poor kids in third-world countries like Zimbabwe, South America and Camden who would kill for any sort of food, so it seems selfish for us not to consume everything on our plates.
But my first night in Vegas was the exception. I ate the first half of my disgusting buffalo chicken sandwich, but I stared at the other half in agony. I didn't want to leave it on the plate because of my rule, but I couldn't take another bite because of the horrible signature sauce.
"Get a box for it," my girlfriend said. "I'll eat it tomorrow for lunch."
"GET A BOX!?" I shouted. "I HATE GETTING BOXES! AND I HATE SIGNATURE SAUCES EVEN MORE! WHY DOES EVERY DAMN RESTAURANT NEED A SIGNATURE SAUCE!? THE WORLD WOULD BE A BETTER PLACE IF SOMEONE GATHERED UP ALL THE SIGNATURE SAUCES AND FLUSHED THEM DOWN THE TOILET!!!"
My girlfriend covered her face because I was shouting incoherently. So much for not embarrassing her.
The following evening, we knew we had just two nights remaining in Vegas, so we decided to save the best (Heart Attack Grill) for last. We came downstairs around 8, so with the buffet closing at 9:45 - still can't believe how ridiculously early that is - we had an hour-and-a-half to kill.
"Let's check out the Shark Reef," my girlfriend suggested. I didn't know what that was, but I like sharks, so I was down for that. The Shark Reef turned out to be this cool aquarium. It was neat to look at all of the sharks, octopi and stingrays they had in there. Unfortunately, there were two downsides to the Shark Reef:
1. They didn't allow alcohol in there. I can see why they wouldn't - imagine some drunken douche banging on the glass - but it still sucks because you should be able to drink everywhere in Vegas.
2. While they didn't allow alcohol in the Shark Reef, they most certainly did permit a**holes. It seemed like every other person was on their cell phone. They were either taping the entire thing, taking selfies of themselves (ugh), or just texting the entire time. This enraged my girlfriend.
"What is up with everyone being so absorbed with cell phones!?" she shouted after we exited. "No one's looking at the animals; they're on their cell phones instead. And there was that one 16-year-old who just texted the whole time! His parents paid $18 for him, and I don't think he even took his eyes off his cell phone!"
I couldn't have said it better myself, but I wasn't nearly as pissed because I was looking forward to the buffet. I wasted no time grabbing a plate (OK, multiple plates) and stuffing as much food onto them as possible. My first plate contained shrimp, lasagna and barbeque ribs. I put that down and immediately secured a second plate, which would end up containing more ribs, fried chicken, vegetable fried rice and a couple of slices of pepperoni pizza.
I was in heaven, but apparently, not everyone agreed with me. This 40-year-old woman passed by me and looked at my plate. She scowled, as if she were disgusted by my food choices.
Hey, f*** you, lady. Not only do I have delicious foodstuffs on my plate, but I also managed to obtain an item from all four food groups. The meat is obvious. The dough from the pizza accounts for the bread. Vegetables? How about the tomato sauce and the vegetables in the fried rice? And then, of course, there's dairy, and that's found on the pizza.
Now that I think about it, my slices of pizza contained all four food groups. So, with that in mind, why isn't pepperoni pizza considered healthy? It should be, yet a**holes like Michelle Obama are trying to get it banned from schools. My theory, from a fat man's perspective, is that she's secretly fat, like me, and she wants to hoard all of the pizza for herself. What a b***h.
We planned to go to the Heart Attack Grill the following day, so I didn't plan on eating much beforehand. However, lunchtime rolled around, and I was pretty hungry. My girlfriend felt the same way, so we tried to go to the beach club right near the Mandalay Bay hotel/beach. There were delicious items on the menu like grilled cheese sandwiches and cheeseburgers, so I was looking forward to eating there. Unfortunately, the hostess told us that it would be a 45-minute wait for food.
"Why don't we try the Border Grill?" my girlfriend suggested. I like Mexican food, so that sounded like a good idea to me. Unfortunately, it turned out to be one of the most disastrous dining experiences of my life.
Our hostess at the Border Grill, a short woman with a Justin Bieber lesbian haircut, showed us to our table. She then looked directly at me and said, "You're going to have the best waitress ever."
Umm... OK? I remained skeptical as I flipped open the menu and scoured it for beef tacos with cheese. "Beef tacos with cheese ... beef tacos with cheese ... beef tacos with cheese ... hey, I'm not seeing beef tacos with cheese!"
My girlfriend looked over the menu for me, and she confirmed that I wasn't missing anything. There was no option for just a plain beef taco with cheese. The "best waitress ever" came over and asked us if we were ready to order.
Girlfriend: Hey, do you have plain beef tacos with cheese?
"Best Waitress Ever:" No, I'm sorry, we don't have that.
Girlfriend: We'll need a few more minutes then.
"Best Waitress Ever" looked at me, as if she knew I was the one who was disgruntled by this lacking option. See, if she was, in fact, the "best waitress ever," she would've squeezed beef tacos with cheese out of her lady parts - or, at the very least, asked the cook to make them - but she failed to do that. So, she wasn't the "best waitress ever," though she was cute and did have a nice a**. And that's when I realized why the hostess said this; she obviously had the hots for "Best Waitress Ever" and wanted to do her own eating from "Best Waitress Ever's" private lady parts.
At any rate, I continued looking at the menu. There was literally nothing I wanted to eat. I even snapped two pictures of it:
Now, some of you may disagree with me that this food is disgusting, but let's go through the menu and discuss why this all sucks:
Ceviches: I don't know what the hell a Ceviche is, so let's skip this part.
Salads: I'm usually good for a chicken Caesar salad, but I just wasn't in the mood for one, so let's skip this as well.
Carne Asada Quesadilla: Caramelized onions? No thanks. I've been allergic to onions ever since I had a nightmare a year ago about eating a bowl of just onions, so I'll pass on this.
Citrus Chicken Quesadilla: More onions? Go f*** yourself, Border Grill.
Market Vegetable Quesadilla: I'm not one of this. "Market vegetable" sounds like something hipster a**holes go to on a Saturday morning, and I hate hipster a**holes.
Tortas: My camera didn't get this, but all of these Mexican sandwiches sucked. Trust me.
What would've been so wrong with that? Why can't these douchey, fancy-shmancy restaurants just make simple food for people like me? Everything has to have signature sauce, or signature crema, or pickled onions, or caramelized onions, or mustard, or mayo, or wild mushrooms. Why isn't there a dish that's just beef and cheese? It's a freaking Mexican restaurant! Ground beef tacos with cheese is a f***ing Mexican staple! In fact, they should have their Mexican restaurant license revoked for not having this particular item on their menu. It would be like an American restaurant lacking cheeseburgers. Complete blasphemy.
I ultimately settled on the grilled chicken Caesar salad even though I wasn't in the mood for it.
"The chicken Caesar salad is really good here," "Best Waitress Ever" said, almost as if she read my thoughts and knew I was reluctant to order it. But I didn't care. I knew I was having a bacon cheeseburger that night, and that everything was going to be OK.
Well, I did have a bacon cheeseburger - only it wasn't at the Heart Attack Grill. But that's another story for next week's entry.
Check back next week for Part 4 of Walt Goes to Vegas!