MY DINNER TONIGHT AT THE PEPPERMILL RESTAURANT AND FIRESIDE LOUNGE
Walking into the famous Peppermill Restaurant and Fireside Lounge for dinner earlier tonight I was awestruck by the lightning bolt of a revelation.
Off to my right was the gargantuan Las Vegas Convention Center, shaped like a space ship. Off to the left in the distance was the much-maligned fiasco called the Fontainebleau Resort. Directly across the street was a bustling marijuana dispensary. Just a few steps away in back of the building was a heaping trash dumpster overloaded with plastic bags and broken liquor bottles. Parked against it was an overloaded shopping cart, presumably the totality of worldly possessions of someone who made many bad decisions in life. Next door was a dead zone of a vacant lot–the spot where the Riviera Casino once stood and is now some “investment property” likely run out of China or by some fuckbag at BlackRock. And ringing harmoniously in the gentle desert breeze was the sound of church bells coming from the Catholic Chapel just a short distance away. Oh, and here I was about to step into a restaurant decorated like a 70’s discotheque serving a 64-ounce “Scorpion” as their house drink special. I mean, WHO orders a 64-oz cocktail?
Greed ….glamor …..vice …..filth …..ecstasy ….intoxicants ….god — the bacchanal of excess was all present in this place at that moment in time. If ever there was a 360-degree living panoramic portrait of Las Vegas, right here where I was standing—–THIS was it. I thought–wow, if there’s a craps table inside this place with a dead body underneath, this rest of this story is going to write itself. Don’t mind me, I’ll just stand here and take notes.
Hard to believe, I’d never dined at the Peppermill Restaurant before, until tonight. It’s been around since the old mob days, the favorite night owl nest for Sammy Davis and Dino and showgirls and gangsters. It looks pretty much the same now as then, I’m told.
The Peppermill was the spot to get a lobster at 4 am. It once had a menu that was 18 pages long. Open 24/7. Full service bar. Gee, I almost wish this place had LESS things to choose from. This is going to be a test of willpower. Studying the menu was like reading a book and then writing a report on Dostoevsky.
The menu is 12 pages now, and the place closes late at night. The 24/7 era is over. But, the Peppermill still delivers a big bang for your breakfast, lunch, and dinner buck. It’s a little pricey, but certainly in line with comparable places along the Strip. Friendly service. A cross section of people from headbangers to hookers to families with babies in strollers. Good-sized portions. A fire pit burning inside, when when it’s 115 degree outside. And disco mirrors and neon track lights. You might think you’ve just stumbled into an adult shop selling sex toys. This place is so fucking tacky, it’s cool.
I couldn’t decide what to order, but when I saw “Steak and Fettuccine Alfredo” as a combo, well don’t try to tell me there’s no such thing as love at first bite. The peppery 16 oz. steak was perfect and the fettuccine with red creme sauce nearly blew my socks off, if I’d been wearing any. Caesar salad, two desserts to go, three rum runner cocktails and I practically robbed a bank getting out the door for a $100 bill.
Joining me this evening was Paul Harris, visiting from St. Louis along with a new dinner companion but longtime poker and gambling associate Kenny Brannstrom, also visiting (he’s from Kalamazoo, MI). Naturally, with the three of us talking, often all at once, it was a three-hour meal.
The Peppermill gets a passing grade from me. It checked every box and satisfied every craving. A solid B+. I’ll be back (be warned–reservations are mandatory at peak times).
Following my delicious meal and pleasant dinner conversation the time had finally come to exit and step back outside and glance again upon the path that led me here. Pulling out onto the Strip, I was immediately confronted by rows of orange construction cones and forced to funnel into a single lane of traffic. Then, traffic came to a complete standstill. Alas, if any spot was the perfect panoramic metaphor of modern Las Vegas, *this* place was it.
