We travelled to Las Vegas at the end of June, and one of the things I really wanted to do was experience a “fine dining” steak dinner. I’d done a bit of research, and came to the conclusion that we should try to get some steak at Emeril’s old-school updated steakhouse Delmonico, and then a more casual bistro trip at Thomas Keller’s Bouchon. Both joints were conveniently located in our hotel.

What I learned, and what I experienced, sort of came to stand for my overall feeling about Vegas (this was my first time).

First of all, I hadn’t really prepared myself for how expensive this would be. Key point here: the “casual bistro trip” ended up costing the two of us nearly two hundred bucks, and jeopardizing the Big Deal Dining at Delmonico. I wish it weren’t so …

Let me say first that everything about Bouchon far exceeded our modest expectations. With one exception, which I’ll get to in a minute. She had an appetizer of duck confit served over fingerling potatoes. Best duck she’s ever had, she said. My appetizer too was fabulous.

For entree, she ordered a seared scallops over potato puree thing that was also “best ever” class. And you know what? So was the service. This place, really, was way fancier dining than either of us expected. Our main waiter, Kryztszofe or something, did the perfect Frenchy snob thing, while also being perfectly friendly and sarcastic, and funny. He explained the food, helped select complimentary wines … the whole thing. We were treated! I was happy. It was expensive.

And then there was the steak. Steak frites, something I love to prepare at home, something I’ve had for real in Paris, something HARD TO SCREW UP.

Thomas Keller, Best Chef in America, screwed it up. Of course Keller Himself didn’t fix my steak. But there it was, wrapped up in one of the absolute best dining experiences I’ve ever had, a lousy cut of flavorless, gristly flat iron, that was cooked three clicks under the Medium I’d ordered. Come to think of it, I couldn’t even recognize it as flat iron steak at all.

The frites themselves were a perfect haystack balancing pretty much impossibly high on the plate. The bourdeaux carmellized shallots topping the steak were perfect. The maître d’hôtel butter on top of that was perfect. The service was perfect. Her scallops and duck appetizer were perfect. Crème brûlée (DUH!) and Madeira for dessert were absolutely god damn perfect.

But the heart of the whole meal, for me anyway, was so utterly wrong, I just really couldn’t believe it. And, weak-willed diner that I am, country-mouse in the amazing big-city bistro, I didn’t have the balls to send it back. I couldn’t! Every single word out of our mouths up till the third bloody lukewarm gob of steak was “mmmmfabulous”. Most of the time all we could do was nod and grin with full mouths. I really really couldn’t even believe it, or stand it, or send the damn steak back.

And, we blew our budget for Emeril’s Delmonico. Later, we’d learn from our favorite casino bartender, we should’ve done it the other way around.

I have to confess though, that I actually did have a teriffic steak in Vegas. Out of nowhere.

Down on the Casino level of the Venetian, seemingly around the corner from the food court garbage, we dropped in to chef Luciano Pellegrino’s casual The Grill at Valentino. Thank GOD! A dead simple 9oz New York with tiny zig-zags of Tuscan BBQ sauce. It was simply done, perfectly seared, exactly Medium, and flavorful, and tender. Just the thing to unbreak my heart.

I don’t know what went wrong upstairs at Bouchon. I hope it was just as flukey as it seemed to have to be. But I really kind of doubt I’ll chance it again. Next time, I’m taking aim at Emeril.