Christine McKellar

Chef Francois Payard (L)

The Garden of the Gods at Caesar’s Palace was the perfect backdrop and a delectable opportunity for me to sample some of celebrated Pastry Chef Francois Payard’s dazzling, delicate and delicious pastry creations during a rare media preview Thursday, April 8.

From Chef Payard’s self-effacing media intro, “Please, I will speak slowly because of my thick accent,” to his recounting with obvious pride how well one of his front-of-house staff handled a customer situation to the satisfaction of all, he exemplifies the credo that employee pride and customer interaction are as important out front as is the master chef in the back.

The founder of the highly-acclaimed Payard Pâtisserie & Bistro at Caesars Palace, Chef Payard was honored later in the evening at the 36th Annual UNLVino® Bubble-Licious event with the the Academy of Food & Wine’s Dom Pérginon Award for Excellence. The award recognizes individuals the Academy believes are doing the most to raise the profile of front-of-house personnel. Obviously, this talented, world class pastry chef has duly earned his award.

The Bubble-Licious event that followed the media preview certainly must have tantalized the palates of many epicureans as a prelude to Vegas Uncork’d; an annual four-day culinary extravaganza presented by Bon Appétit and sponsored by the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors authority.

After a brief between-events respite on the patio of Rao’s, we jumped right into the Bubble-Licious festivities. Among a near mob of revelers, we nibbled on appetizers while sampling, and sampling some more, the grapes (bubbly or not) of countless wineries. Actually, my toes felt like grapes after an hour or so—the turn-out for this event was very high—and all were in the mood for a Bubble-Liciously good time.

I must say, The Garden of the Gods is certainly Caesar’s Palace “all-hail!” to “destination within a destination” supremacy. The eight unique swimming pools offer everything from an 18-ft waterfall to swim-up blackjack tables,44 cabanas, plush loveseats and daybeds all tastefully incorporated among swaying palm trees, gleaming white statues and a sky so saturated with blue you’d better wear shades.

Caesar’s Palace is a long-standing partner in Vegas Uncork’d, so it’s only natural the Grand Tasting kick-off will be held at The Garden of the Gods, featuring sixty chefs with samplings from Vegas’ most stellar restaurants, and pourings from notable wineries around the world.

Beginning Friday, May 7, 2010, at 7:30 p.m., eighteen high-end Las Vegas properties will host thirty-one dining experiences spread out over four days and six resort hotels; Bellagio, Caesars Palace, MGM Grand, Mandalay Bay, Wynn/Encore and The Venetian/The Palazzo.

Those whom the gods bless this year will be able to mingle and rub elbows with such culinary luminaries as chefs Paul Bartolotta, Cat Cora, Alain Ducasse, Todd English, Bobby Flay, Joël Robuchon, Wolfgang Puck, as well as Bon Appétit magazine Editor-in-Chief Barbara Fairch.

Over thirty wineries will be pouring the perfect mélange of fine spirits to complement the offerings of these outstanding chefs. A number of chefs cum authors will also be on hand to inscribe their newest cookbooks for devoted foodie fans.

For tickets, information, and the epicurean time of your life go to: http://www.vegasuncorked.com/

One small portion of the eight stunning pools at The Garden of the Gods.–Photo: Phil Cox

Lovely in red and enough to make a macho man turn pink! -Photo: Phil Cox

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Day Two: It’s only day two of my low-cholesterol diet and I’ve already cheated. Yesterday at lunch I simply had to put a slice of Swiss cheese on my skinny chicken sandwich. I was so hungry after my half-bowl of purple breakfast oatmeal that I found I’d eaten half of the slice of cheese before it even got to the top of the sandwich. I also used Italian dressing instead of mustard.
Adding gluttony to my sins, I garnished my midday meal with exactly eight avocado-flavored tortilla chips. I followed lunch with fresh fruit; apple slices and pineapple, which gave me a serious case of the hiccups. (I tried to eat a strawberry but my mouth puckered so badly I needed a spoon to open it up again.)

After tennis last night I stopped at Trader Joe’s to find a decent (cheap) bottle of red wine. I was hungry again so, of course, I loaded my cart with a lot of unnecessary, but fat free items: Including “guiltless brownies”; for my son, I rationalized. I also picked up a bottle of Trader Joe’s colon cleanse. A close friend had assured me a good old-fashioned cleansing would also help lower my cholesterol. The checkout person held the bottle up and announced it was one of TJ’s best sellers. How nice to know I have company.

While broiling the pork chops (thin sliced) I decided to whip up the brownies. All it takes is 2/3 cup non-fat plain or vanilla yogurt, a spoon, a bowl and a pan. I was more than dismayed to discover that the TJ’s Greek non-fat yogurt is as thick as wallpaper paste. It wouldn’t blend. Seething with frustration and a lack of my former daily dose of cholesterol, I tossed in a real egg, a dash of canola oil and some of my non-fat fortified milk.

Dinner was splendid. I downed four of the colon cleanse capsules as an appetizer. I sipped on a glass of pinot noir throughout the meal. Once the last morsel of chop and southwestern corn vanished from my plate, I fell asleep midway through a conversation with my son.

I kissed Elvis Saturday night—twice. I also sat at the same table as Marilyn Monroe and Frank Sinatra. Tom Jones was within touching distance. No, kissing Elvis wasn’t an erotic dream. Nor were the other stars figments of my fevered imagination. Rather, the kissing was a photo op at a particularly fun media event at Smith & Wolensky’s on the Strip that was hosted by www.bookitinvegas.com., and complemented by the celebrity impersonators.

2010 is only a few weeks old and yet I’ve been with Elvis twice this year. The first time was in Palm Springs over New Year’s Eve weekend. How strange to flee Vegas for the holiday, only to find Elvis on the patio of a popular Mexican restaurant. However, truth be told, dancing with that particular Elvis was nothin’ like being kissed by the one last night.

Elvis Presley was a bit B.C. (Before Christine) I never did see him perform—I had no real desire to when I was in my teens. I distinctly remember the day Elvis died: Most likely because it was the same day as a first date with a soon to become very significant boyfriend.

When I moved to Vegas in the early 80’s it was apparent I had moved to the land of the Elvi. Impersonators too numerous to mention abounded on The Strip. Then, the Flying Elvi debuted in the movie Honeymoon in Vegas in the early nineties. The ten parachuting Presley’s were a hit before they even touched the ground.

I hired an Elvis for my former husband’s surprise 5-0. I wasn’t aware at the time of how many different Elvi one could choose from. I was asked if I wanted a very young Elvis, a slim Elvis, or a later-as-in-heavier-version. No dummy me; I picked the youngest and hottest—very much like the Elvis who kissed me. My spouse, an avid fan, had no idea when he answered the front door that he’d be greeted by Elvis singing, “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog!”

There is more to Las Vegas than gambling and Elvi. The night before The Kiss (es), I attended a soiree in honor of Society of Seven and Jasmine Trias at The Gold Coast Hotel and Casino. The showroom was packed with an enthusiastic audience of friends, stars and media persons. The Hawaiian variety act combines comedy sketches and impersonations with lively music and dance; standards, Top 40, and Broadway. Trias, of American Idol fame, is a talented and lovely addition.

Talent blankets this city like a carpet. Where but in Vegas could you ask Robert Goulet (alas, the gentleman is gone) to karaoke at a party? Or play tennis with Gladys Knight at the local sports club? For each radiant star there are scores who just can’t seem to make the big lights for whatever reasons. But they can be found in casino lounges, at conventions, and at private parties. They can be found entertaining (and sometimes kissing) a suddenly ardent, and starry-eyed fan.

After my two-week hiatus over the holidays, I found myself catching up on some of the local/state news. Why was I not surprised to discover the following gems which were posted on the Las Vegas Review Journal.com news blog regarding the divorce of the Governor of Nevada, Jim Gibbons, and his wife (the mother of his children) of twenty-three years, First Lady Dawn Gibbons?

She looks like somethin’ the cat drug in… wrote on December 29, 2009 05:57 PM: The wrinkled silk bow on Dawn’s blouse is a nice touch. Did she sleep in her clothes? Why does she always look like somethin’ the cat drug in? It also looks like her blouse got splattered with a couple of grease spots from her George Foreman. Could one of her close friends please tell this sob sister to get a life?

The above comment and all that follow (it doesn’t take a forensic specialist to see these posts must have been written by the same person—one of the Luv Guv’s “lady” friends? Or one of the pack of lusty hangers on who must steal a nibble or two from the Guv’s overflowing love platter) shows me that whoever wrote this (these) nasty little note(s) must be well aware that throughout her tenure the First Lady of Nevada was evicted not only from the governor’s mansion but from her own home as well. Our First Lady was forced to live in a butler’s cottage SANS your basic utilities such as refrigerator and stove/oven (enter George F).

The hectic pace of her non-stop service to the state of Nevada and her cramped quarters bespeaks more the question of—how did the First Lady stay sane and committed to her fellow Nevadans while being publicly humiliated by her husband, plus having to live with the strain of a divorce? Not to mention, I can only imagine on her few allotted visits to her own home for basic necessities the First Lady surely must have found some of her husband’s “necessities”. Viagra and soiled panties comes into my mind.

Can we please have a first lady without a club foot? wrote on December 29, 2009 05:50 PM: Wow, this guy looks like a dork on crack.(Ref: a truly character-revealing photo of the Guv) Jim, you’re too old and too fat for those glasses. Roy Orbison was cool, you’re not. Here our little quipster takes a dig that reads more like a little wardrobe advice at the Luv Guv—who by the way is a TOTAL dork, IS old and IS fat, and is generally believed to be an avid adulterer. He’s also facing a lawsuit from cocktail waitress, Chrissy Mazzeo, who has accused Gibbons of battery, false imprisonment and orchestrating a cover-up in October 2006 when the then-congressman wouldn’t take no for an answer at a Las Vegas restaurant. Our brilliantly witty RJ blogger goes on to say in the same breath:

By the way Jimbo, can you try to find a wife who doesn’t have a club foot? Try to make sure the next Mrs. Gibbons has two normal lower extremities and an IQ above 60? More importantly, can you try to find a woman who doesn’t dress like a drag queen on a budget. Yes, the state is in financial crisis but the First Lady shouldn’t have to buy her wardrobe on sale at Walmart…

Having met the First Lady of Nevada personally, dude or dudette, let me point something out to you. That’s not a club foot. Those are her balls getting in the way. Who do you think has been implementing national drug prevention programs and performing most of the gubernatorial duties in Nevada? The Governor doesn’t have time to govern with his lawsuits and dalliances.

You don’t like Dawn Gibbons’ wardrobe, either? You should try living on the minuscule budget she had. Hey, it was the Luv Guv who had to reimburse the state/taxpayers for his 800-plus amorous sext messages to a “lady friend” on the state’s cell phone bill. Remember, the First Lady, the mother of this man’s children, had to live in the servant’s quarters during her sadly limited term of service. Ole Luvvy is still going to have to defend himself against the charges of the cocktail waitress he (allegedly, snicker) tried to maul in a parking garage.

Is she missing a couple of teeth? wrote on December 29, 2009 06:03 PM: I blew up the pic of Dawn getting a hug from a well wisher. Not pretty. It looks like she’s missing a couple of teeth. When is the Legislature going to address the severe shortage of dentists in northern Nevada?

Now, that is simply getting reeeeeaaaallllly petty. Send me a picture of you, Anonymous Character Assassin, and let me blow that up. But, I wouldn’t look at the magnified amplified spaces between your sharp fangs. I’d look into your eyes to see exactly what kind of a mean, spiteful and ignorant soul lies therein. Dawn Gibbons, who has graciously kept her mouth shut throughout this whole mess, has publicly been likened to as “an enraged ferret.” A quote from her husband that has been gleefully repeated by certain press here in Las Vegas.

There are ferrets here, indeed. There are the ferrets in law enforcement that covered up and withheld evidence in the original Chrissy Mazzeo/Luv Guv scandal. There is the ferret that has been using the Governor’s mansion and a family home for secret trysts. There are the ferrets that eagerly drink the wine and feast at the trough of adultery. There are ferrets like you who lambast, insult and denigrate innocent people from the security of anonymous postings where you can vent your poisonous and perhaps envious? spleen.

Jim Gibbons didn’t just lose a devoted and loyal wife when those papers were signed. Nevada lost a devoted and loyal governor-in-residence—even if she did have to live her tenure in the butler’s quarters.

The brouhaha over Tiger Woods too numerous to count infidelities just goes to show…the bigger they are the harder the kersplat. I imagine many men are envious. Not only of Tiger’s activity but his access. Parking lots? Insta-dial sex? Even the Woods’ master bedroom (but not the matrimonial bed) was fair play.

There are plenty of hole-in-one jokes going around the internet, ad nauseum. What I want to address here is not the obvious; Tiger’s sex addiction, lack of discretion, and no trace whatsoever of moral responsibility—hell, no morals period.

What irks me is those women. Those playthings. Those vacuous, vapid, tainted, painted, clinically puffed up unlicensed prostitutes. Allow me the luxury of coining a new tag–Tiger’s sex TOYLETTES are really nothing more than flushable, disposable repositories for not just the man’s sperm (or—condom, please– lack thereof). They’re the sewer into which he spews his over-the-top and unhealthy need for mindless, emotionless sex.

From all reports, we’re not talking about classic, intelligent beauties (like Elin). We’re talking Hooters waitresses and most likely ex-truck stop hookers—or the likes of which who can be summoned for all night car-sex in a church parking lot. Or the media ho’s. The ones who brag and bask in the spotlight of sleeping with (countless) famous men.

I know I’m considered a bit of a prude. I’m not into recreational sex—nor do I allow anyone to stick their tongue in my mouth unless I know their pedigree. New Year’s Eve included. (A little statistic: over 70% of American adults have had some type of STD. Nice.) However, even the most liberated of women should have some self-respect. Respect for their body parts that, like it or not, were designed primarily for procreation not recreation.

I think it’s safe to assume that EVERYONE in the civilized world is aware that Tiger is a married man and a father. I doubt that any of his toylettes gave a thought to his wife and two children—to the sanctity of the marriage. Is it the perfume, jewelry and designer wear that so intoxicates these shameless fill-ins?

Or, is it the notoriety of being able to tell future bedfellows that they too can sink a birdie where the mighty Tiger once had been. Certainly, not one of these toylettes thought they had a chance as a permanent or gilded fixture in Tiger Woods life.

On some level they must know they are nothing more than, pardon my vernacular, port-o-pussies in the grand scheme of things.

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Ah, to be a master of the vine. Las Vegas boasts two home boys (both alums of Las Vegas high schools) who are highly respected wine connoisseurs; Master Sommelier Kevin Vogt and foodie/golf wineau, Les Kincaid. I was fortunate to see both men last night at the 2009 Tasting Panel Tour at miX lounge in THEHotel, Las Vegas.

I met Kevin over ten years ago at Emeril Lagasse’s restaurant in the MGM Hotel. We spent a memorable evening after hours one night in a private wine-tasting with my (then) husband and the general manager of a family property and his wife. At the time, Kevin was one of only a mere handful of members of the Court of Master Wine Sommeliers (CMW). To date there are 176 members of CMW in the world.

As well-versed as Kevin is in the rarified atmosphere of world-class vintages, he has a pleasant, unflappable demeanor that ranks him as highly as the fine wine and spirits he recommends. Kevin is master sommelier and wine director for Emeril Lagasse. You can find him at Delmonico Steakhouse in the Venetian Hotel.

Les Kincaid should clone himself. The avid wineau is also an avid chef, golfer and radio talk show host. I met Les and his wife, Tammy, on a Monterey press junket two years ago. Our group had dinner and paired wine tastings at some of Monterey’s finest restaurants and vineyards. We traveled in style: limousines and vintage (of course) autos. It was a treat to have Les at the table, just as it was a treat to have him patiently walk me and my guest through the array of tastings at miX.

Les indeed has a certain glow about him when talking about one of the loves of his life. There is nary a hint of condescension in his dialogue, either. Just like the Chateau Michele cabernet last night, a conversation with Les leaves you with a smooth finish and no acidic aftertaste.

When it comes to food, wine and golf, Les is definitely more. Listen to his syndicated wine radio broadcast every Thursday, from 7- 8 PM PST on CRNI.net. Discover for yourself non-intimidating and delicious recipes on Les’ website, www.leskincaid.com And get some good golf tips while you’re at it.

(This blog is also posted on www.opensalon.com)

I knew there was something different about comedy impressionist, Frank Caliendo, at the Monte Carlo last night. It wasn’t until my sidekick, Helen, pointed it out to me that I got it: the dude never once dropped the F-bomb, nor did he make any sleazy sexual remarks during his debut. He kept the audience’s full attention—and produced barrels of laughter. While he lost me a few times during his sports spiels, the overall consensus afterwards was a hearty thumbs up.

Fellow ”Salonista” Kathy Knechtges recently posted a comment on one of my blogs: “I note how often sex takes the place of talent in the arts now.” Girlfriend, you hit the proverbial nail with a golden hammer. And nowhere does sex sell like in Las Vegas. Quite frankly (hee, hee), neither Mr. Caliendo nor his head-lining peers need to bother with the subject. From billboards and marquees to taxi cabs and handout literature; breasts, thighs and provocative posing are rampant in Sin City.

Despite the fact that my perky twenties are a shadow in a distant past, I still want to be sexy too! It’s in my genes (well, last night it was in my skintight faux snakeskin pants). There are degrees to which I’ll let certain unenhanced body parts kind of hang out. There are musical rhythms and beats that make my hips and limbs take on a life of their own. Yet there is a certain decorum I maintain that I seriously doubt has come just with “age”. I think it comes with plain old unadorned common sense.

Helen and I went hotel-hopping after Caliendo’s show last night. I went, like, Lady Gag-Ya over most of the ensembles the mainstream girls were wearing. One little Asian gal’s attire pretty well sums it up. A skimpy bustier ( yup, fake breasts) over a miniscule pair of jean cut-(and I say WAY cut) off shortie-short-shorts, complemented (oh, simmer DOWN, Christine!) by black lace panty-ho’s (I need a shrink), and CFM black pointy boots.

In all fairness, I have to ask myself, “Do I envy these young women their youthful glow? Their zero-gravity status?” No. I lament their lack of modesty and good taste. I lament their lack of self-esteem. And I wish to God those two sexy young things at our table-top at the Monte Carlo could have heard the comments the equally-as-young two reptiles in suits made behind their backs. I seriously wanted to bitch-slap all four of them.

Borders at Sunset and Stephanie in Henderson will be hosting a Halloween Book Signing Event with me as the featured author. October 24, 4-6 p.m. I’ll be signing copies of The Devil’s Valet. The first fifteen fans <:-) to buy the book will also get a signed paper mache masquerade mask similar to the one on the cover of The Devil’s Valet. There will be children’s activities and live music so bring the whole family!
A Vampire Satire: Those of you who subscribe to my newsletter already know I’ve written a four-part fiction story as a treat for the month of October. Subscribers get the first chapter free and the subsequent chapters for only $.99. Non-subscribers can purchase the entire series for $1.99 using PayPal on my website. Each chapter will be delivered weekly into your inbox throughout the month of October. A tongue-in-cheek, rib-tickling poke at the vampire trend over-saturating the market is only a PayPal poke away.

I’ve mentioned in earlier blogs how excruciating the process is to find an agent. The time line stretches on forever it seems. Same with book reveiws. I submitted The Devil’s Valet in May to The Midwest Book Review and got the review this week. Here it is:
Betrayal can change everything. “The Devil’s Valet” follows one Crosby Campbell as she meets the man of her dreams, or so she thinks. What follows is a series of events which radically changes Crosby’s life: divorce, pregnancy, and much more. A touching story of a woman trying to find her place in the world, “The Devil’’s Valet” is an entertaining read all the way through.
- Mary Cowper, MWBR.
Borders at Sunset and Stephanie will be hosting a Halloween Book Signing Event with me as the featured author. October 24, 4-6 p.m. I’ll be signing copies of The Devil’s Valet. The first fifteen fans <:-) to buy the book will also get a signed paper mache masquerade mask similar to the one on the cover of The Devil's Valet. There will be children's activities and live music so bring the whole family!
A Vampire Satire: Those of you who subscribe to my newsletter already know I’ve written a four-part fiction story as a treat for the month of October. Subscribers get the first chapter free and the subsequent chapters for only $.99. Non-subscribers can purchase the entire series for $1.99 using PayPal on my website. Each chapter will be delivered weekly into your inbox throughout the month of October. A tongue-in-cheek, rib-tickling poke at the vampire trend over-saturating the market is only a PayPal poke away.

Las Vegas rolled the lucky 999’s on 09/09/09. Wedding chapels were booked and  couples got  married in packs at 9:09 a.m./p.m.  Dinners were discounted to $9.99. Winning poker hands of four nines were rewarded. There’s so much festivity, frolicking, and freakishness that surrounds odd calendar days and standardized calendar days such as Halloween.

This once in a millennium bundle of 09’s precedes a somber memorial date, 09/11/09.  Nine years ago this newly-standardized calendar day, September 11, was birthed in blood by the coordinated attacks of Al-Qaeda terrorist hijackers upon the United States. What American could ever forget even the smallest detail? One could no more bury those visions than most of the victim’s families could bury their dead. I have my American flag posted at my front door  to honor those who died, and also to honor their mortally wounded families, friends and loved ones.  God bless YOU, Americans. Raise your flags and honor not just the 9/11 victims, but  all who stand, and those who die, for America.