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Henderson Turns 60
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April 27 Evening of Hope Epicurean Experience benefitting Candlelighters (CandlelightersNV.org) April 28 The Animal Foundation’s 10th annual Best in Show (AnimalFoundation.com)
Photos by Teddy Fujimoto
April 11-17, 2013
Celebrating the City of Henderson’s 60th anniversary, the Heritage Parade & Festival on April 6 welcomed more than 10,000 attendees. Serving as grand marshals along the Water Street parade route were Betty Beason, one of the city’s first beauty queens and daughter of the late Councilwoman Ida Belle Riggins; Joe Hill, former Henderson fire chief; David Bennion, a 30-year teacher at Basic High School; Hafen’s OK Tire Store, one of the oldest familyowned businesses in the city; and LeRoy Chase, a longtime educator at two Henderson middle schools and co-founder of Pinecrest Academy. The parade featured more than 70 entries, with Foothill High School’s marching band earning the top spot in its category and the Monkey Gym-themed float receiving the first-place cash prize for the best entry. The People’s Choice award went to the Nate Mack Spirit Squad float.
As head of a new Downtown watch, ex-cop Chris Curtis is ready to make sure we all keep it cool
April 11-17, 2013
By Geoff Carter
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When We heard that the Fremont East Entertainment District was getting a Downtown Projectsponsored patrol called the Downtown Rangers and headed by an ex-cop, we imagined nothing short of a jackbooted paramilitary unit, armed with tasers and brass knuckles, marching up and down Fremont to popular indie rock and forcibly instigating “serendipitous interaction.” Then I met Chris Curtis, the 20-year Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department veteran who left Metro on April 1 to head up the Rangers, and found him soft-spoken, centered and immediately likable. Not long ago, a colleague of mine thought nothing of giving Curtis—still with Metro at the time—a friendly pat on the back, only later refecting that
he’d laid a hand on an armed cop without permission. In short, Curtis’ new title with the Rangers, the “Ambassador of Good Chill,” couldn’t be more appropriate. “Our vision statement is ‘to create the most enjoyable downtown experience worldwide,’” he says, utterly sincere. “My hope for the Rangers is that they make people feel incredibly comfortable when they come Downtown, and that it acts as a worldwide model for what the private sector can do to make an unappealing area appealing.” Though that vision statement reads like Downtown Project buzz-wordery, I buy it from Curtis: He may be a sweetheart of a guy, but he’s unmistakably a cop. The former sergeant has worked some
tough beats—he spent a good amount of his time at Metro working as a hostage negotiator, and then he worked on the Crisis Intervention Team, talking people off ledges. He’s earned two Lifesaving Awards in the course of his job: one for saving a man choking on food, and one for literally talking a man off a ledge. And he’s been logging hours Downtown even as part of Metro: His Downtown 360 project—a joint effort between Metro, Siegel Suites and Zappos, among others—gives 60 daily minutes of police and government attention to three apartment communities, educating them on preventing domestic violence and so on. As part of 360, he recently trained Fremont’s bar employees on how to spot fake IDs—a move
mendations by delivering the Heimlich.) They’ll be educated in how to make concise 911 calls, to give proper witness statements, to identify and document different kinds of graffti and to help direct homeless Downtowners to necessary services. Additionally, they’ll be trained in how to do someone a solid. “Say you’re parked at a meter that’s about to run out. You can give a Ranger a buck to go feed it,” Curtis says. “They’re more than happy to do that for you.” The Rangers are walking Fremont East from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m. daily, and I just might take them up on the meter thing. I also might test a promise Curtis has made: If any one of the Downtown Rangers can’t recite the Rangers’ vision statement to you verbatim, then David Lawson—director of the Rangers and Curtis’ second-in-command—will buy you “whatever meal is of the hour.” “Please make sure you get that into the article,” says Curtis. And while it’s a bit outside of the Ambassador of Good Chill’s authority to issue commands, I’ll follow that one to the letter.
Photo by Anthony Mair
The LaTesT
The Chill Patrol
that won’t earn him any fans among the kids, but will keep the bars in business. Curtis has no regrets about leaving Metro (“I’m a no-regrets type of guy”), but that’s not because he’s disenchanted. It’s more the case that he intends to continue cooling down situations and saving lives, only now in the more casual uniform of cargo pants and khaki utility vest with a Downtown Rangers patch on the back. The Rangers, who recently took to the streets for the frst time (there are 16 of them so far), look more like a scooter gang than a military unit. And in case you’re wondering how they’re armed: They’re not. The Downtown Rangers carry smartphones, gloves, hand sanitizer, maps and body cameras. They don’t wield so much as a Wiffe-ball bat. “They’ll be trained in how to de-escalate a situation, but only if they’re confronted. Otherwise, they’ll just be on the periphery and be excellent witnesses,” Curtis says. “They won’t receive training in martial arts or in self-defense.” What the Rangers will know is CPR and other lifesaving techniques. (Remember, Curtis earned one of his com-
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seling that are now standard operating procedure. Everything was so disorganized, so confusing, Rosado says, ordering a whiskey and soda. “You give these guys a weapon,” he says.” You train them to be a Marine. You put them in this situation where they do what they have to do, and then you just let them go? You gotta understand; these guys were so young …”
Moya was 19 and had just fnished boot camp and combat training when he was called to
piled underneath the cantilevered second story of a building and ran to them. From behind the low cover, he watched in horror as vehicles apparently driven by civilians barreled toward him. One car had already plowed over some sandbags and been shot to a stop. Between bullets zinging, grenades exploding and people yelling, Moya thought he heard someone say enemy combatants were commandeering civilian vehicles and forcing drivers at gunpoint to pass through the gauntlet of American troops. With the weaponized cars coming full-speed at them, the Marines had no
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Camp Pendleton. Looking at the brick of a 30-year-old with a chinstrap beard today, it’s hard to imagine him as a fresh-faced recent Clark High School graduate who couldn’t wait to join up. Moya wanted to be infantry; his parents preferred the Air Force. They compromised on the Marine Corps Reserves. “They were devastated when they found out I was going to Iraq,” Moya says. “My mom especially. I’m her only son.” Moya became a machinegunner, a valuable skill on April 8. After the battalion crossed the pontoon bridge over the Tigris and entered Baghdad, three Fox Company platoons of about 40 men each, including Moya and Williams, split up and took separate paths into the city, leaving Rosado and other corpsmen and offcers behind on a soccer feld. The platoons were supposed to take the Iraqi Ministry of Intelligence, a large building near an intersection where fve streets came together in an off-kilter sunburst. That intersection would become the X that marks the spot of many bad memories. There, the Americans found themselves surrounded by snipers and targeted by rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) as they took cover in ramshackle stucco structures fronting the street. Moya spotted some sandbags
choice but to shoot. It pains Moya now to think about how he shot his gun that day, with the certainty—almost pleasure—that his training had drilled into him. He doesn’t know how many times he fred, and he says it doesn’t matter. Whether they were his bullets or someone else’s that did the killing, the result was the same: Innocent people were among the dead. “It’s hard to pinpoint where stuff was coming from,” Moya remembers. “We were taking fre from all sides. It’s hard to say who was doing it, but I didn’t see any uniformed personnel. … I wish I had a clearer memory of what happened.” Moya has tried many things to sweep away the cobwebs. After returning home—he was still in the reserves—he took a job as a Treasure Island valet. Overwhelmed by the tedium of the job, he re-enlisted as a combat instructor in 2005. Although he was based at Camp Pendleton, he returned to Las Vegas frequently, and, by the end of 2007, had a wife and baby daughter here. Two years later, he came home again, trading the reassuring structure of the military for the panic-inducing unpredictability of family life. The challenge of it eventually drove him to seek therapy at the VA hospital, where a fve-minute
questionnaire from a robotic counselor resulted in an unwanted diagnosis: PTSD. Enrolling in school at the College of Southern Nevada a few years ago helped Moya relax and feel productive again. Things took another turn for the better in January when he went on a retreat with the Warrior Meditation Project. Today, Moya is studying psychology at UNLV and plans to use his degree to help other veterans fnd solace on some of those sleepless nights that he, too, still experiences when he thinks about April 8 and what happened at that intersection.
Williams was there that day, too, in the third platoon headed for the Intelligence Ministry. But he watched the events at the intersection unfold from a different perspective. An assault man who fred a shoulderlaunched multipurpose assault
weapon, the then-26-year-old Williams led a team up through an abandoned building to fnd a good vantage point from which to lay down cover fre for the Marines on the ground. When he and the rest of the team got to the roof, however, they found a ledge too small to hide behind. After an RPG slammed into the top of the building not far from where they were hunkered, the band wound its way back down through the dusty, lightless labyrinth and into the street. The episode typifes the chaotic frefght, which went on for several hours. Williams would take up a position, only to start receiving fre from an exposed direction, and move again. Today, the running, the shooting, the yelling, the waiting—it all blurs together in the memory of one long, hectic day. There is something Williams distinctly recalls. Cutting through the cacophony of battle—and punctuating the rel-
atively quieter evening and days that followed, after the battalion fnally took the Intelligence Ministry and was joined there by other troops—was a male Arabic voice emitting periodically from unseen loudspeakers. Some platoon members speculated that the indecipherable calls to prayer were actually propaganda, or codes giving away their positions. “Whatever it was,” Williams says, shaking his head, “it was so annoying!” This moment of mild amusement is one that his buddies at the Leatherneck Club are happy to witness. Less than six months ago, they didn’t expect him to be alive. Williams had never been a drinker, but as soon as he got back from Iraq, he started hitting the bottle heavily. Apart from the frst few months following each of two stints in treatment, he couldn’t quit until last November. That’s when he noticed his belly had become
Photo by Anthony Mair
April 11-17, 2013
“Nobody was prepared for the reservists to go or to come back.”
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Top to bottom: meat pie at Nour Deli, cassoulet at Manon Bakery, and zhangal at Manan Bakery.
run into a line—a long line, often dozens deep—formed outside the lone Steak ’n Shake west of Denver. What are they waiting for? A dining dinosaur: a juicy (read: greasy) burger with all the fxings … for less than $4—and that includes a side of fries. The most toothsome bang for your couple of bucks is the Triple Steakburger, three stacked patties that weigh in at more than a third of a pound (and dwarf the bun). Slap some American cheese on this bad boy, and you’re still out the door for less than a fn. Throw in one of their hand-dipped milkshakes, and your fnal tab—tax and tip included—is about 10 bucks. $3.99 (50 cents extra for cheese), in the South Point, 796.7111.
Bacon and Egg Breakfast Burrito at Del Taco A basic breakfast burrito stuffed with egg and cheese is 79 cents, and 20 cents more gets you crumbled bacon, which makes it a complete meal. And it’s pretty darn good for a fast-food restaurant. If you want a heartier version, you can always add a scoop of refried beans. 99 cents, multiple locations.
Smoked Salmon Quiche at Sambalatte It’s not enough for Luiz Oliveira to serve the best coffee in the city (single-estate grown coffees from his native Brazil, in siphon, flter or Chemex pots). He also sources terrifc products such as chocolates by Jean-Marie Auboine, a killer muffn batter that’s baked on premises, and this wonderful quiche—a buttery, eggy suspension on a melt-in-your-mouth crust. Do not plan on lunch if you have this for breakfast. $8, 750 S. Rampart Blvd., 272-2333, Sambalatte.com.
Mini Yellowtail Sashimi at Miko’s Izakaya The clientele are mostly regulars at this east-side haunt, which also does a mean donburi rice bowl and various Japanese pub dishes. Yellowtail is generally an expensive item, but the three pieces you get here are substantial, all cut fresh to order by an accomplished sushi man. Ginger and wasabi are provided, but your Kirin Ichiban will cost extra. $8.50, 500 E. Windmill Lane, 823-2779, MikoSushiLasVegas.com.
Tantan Men at Fukumimi This Szechuan-style spicy soup—so heavily spiked with sesame sauce that it turns pale gray until a scoop of fre engine-red ground pork is added—isn’t Japanese at all, but Chinese. So it seems ironic that the best local interpretation of the dish is in a Japanese noodle house. These noodles are chewy, and the spices induce beads of sweat to drip down the front of your shirt, into the bowl. Proceed with caution. $8.95, 4860 S. Eastern Ave., 631-2933.
April 11-17, 2013
Fusion Bulgogi Nachos at Komex
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Roy Choi started the Korean/Mexican fusion phenomenon in L.A. on a food truck before opening his own brick-and-mortar place, and that’s exactly what we have here: a small restaurant with a food-truck spirit. Tacos and tortas are popular items, served with Korean-style meats such as kalbi short ribs and Korean-style marinated pork. But the star item might be this glorious mountain of food: hot corn chips topped with meat, a furry of mozzarella, pico de gallo, jalapeños and Korean hot sauce. Not for the faint of heart. $5.99-$7.99, 633 N. Decatur Blvd., 646-1612.
Smoked Pork Butt Arepa at Viva Las Arepas Felix Arellano serves street dishes from his native Venezuela at his spacious Downtown spot just outside
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Dino’s bar. Try empanadas with exotic fllings (coconut and cheese being one), wood-fred chicken and of course, arepas, which are fat corn cakes halved and stuffed with savory fllings. The smoked pork butt arepa must be stuffed with eight ounces of tasty minced, spiced meat. You’ll need two strong hands to manage it. $4, 1516 Las Vegas Blvd. South, 366-9696, VivaLasArepas.com.
Chashu ramen at Noodle ChaCha (left) and tantan men at Fukumimi.
Bacon Garlic Takana Fried Rice at Shoku Ramen-ya Lorin Watada, who owns Bachi Burger next door, makes one of the best side dishes in any of our now numerous ramen houses. This is a modestly sized mound, topped with a fried egg, with an alternating soft-and-crunchy texture thanks to nubs of bacon and bamboo shoots shot through it. Eaten alone, it’s the perfect light lunch, but you’ll want a plate of gyoza—Japanese pot stickers—to go with it. And a cold beer to wash them both down. $7, 470 E. Windmill Lane, 897-0978.
Vampiro at Taco Taco
This Colorado-based chain is down to one location in the Valley, a pity since their wraps, soups, signature sandwiches and salads are uniformly high in quality. Our favorite: their enormous grilled paninis, especially the Italian (with mortadella and other cold cuts) and the Gobbler, which is crammed with pepper-crusted turkey, feta cheese and a sundried tomato mayo. Both are grilled on the chain’s own rosemary focaccia. $7.59, 7271 Amigo St., 4855907, SpicyPickle.com.
Coney Island Hot Dog at American Coney Island Chicago has its famous hot dog on a poppy-seed bun with celery salt and sport peppers. Detroit demands equal time with a lesser-known facsimile, a fat dog topped with a thick, meaty chili, chopped onions and an optional furry of shredded yellow cheese for an additional 75 cents. This is a tasty 90/10 mix of beef and pork made expressly for the chain. Don’t pay extra for cheese, as the chili is substantial, and the onions add the perfect touch of sweetness. $3.75, in the D, 301 Fremont St., 488-2120.
Soft Tofu and Fish Lunch Special at Tofu House This newly remodeled food court is now quite comfy, and there are several stalls serving a combination of Korean, Chinese and Japanese dishes. But the best deal might be this iron kettle flled with soon du bu, soft tofu in a spicy red broth chock-full of shrimp and clams. A server will offer to crack a fresh egg into your broth. Take the offer. Included in this deal are rice, a whole fried fsh and ban’chan—Korean side dishes, one
Stromboli at Four Kegs This bar’s signature menu item is like a pizza tucked into itself. A buttery, golden-brown shell has a great crunch you can hear when you bite into it, yet it’s thin enough so as to not be doughy in the middle. There are several variations—including beef and cheddar, and turkey and Swiss—but our vote is for the original incarnation: pepperoni, sausage, ham and salami, all spackled into the crust along with a tangy-but-sweet marinara sauce and gooey mozzarella. For an extra good deal, note that the Wednesday lunch special comes with fries and drink for just $8. $9.50 (small) 276 N. Jones Blvd., 870-0255.
The Japanese Tapas Lunch Combo at Kyara Dinner and late-night offerings here run the more eclectic gamut of izakaya dining—cold tofu, braised beef tongue, grilled pork belly on skewers—but Kyara’s four-course lunch special can’t be beat. The traditional Japanese bento-box concept features essentially all the major food groups arranged in their own sections of a tray. Your lunch bento comes stacked with a fresh spring salad with sesame ginger dressing, miso soup, and shrimp and vegetable tempura, plus the entrée of your choosing, which is served over steamed rice in a bowl. There’s cooked options, such as beef teriyaki and katsu-don, or breaded pork cutlet, as well as raw, lighter choices, such as spicy tuna or spicy salmon. Even though it sounds like a lot of food, it’s just the right amount for the price—and to ensure you won’t want to fall asleep right after. $10, 6555 S. Jones Blvd., 434-8856.
Meatball Sliders at Meatball Spot During happy hour, Meatball Spot serves its sliders three to an order, where you can mix and match ev-
erything that goes between two pieces of bread. Seven different types of meats, including turkey or the traditional Italian pork, veal and beef, can be dressed with an array of sauces, from mushroom gravy to pesto to Parmesan cream—and of course, your standard marinara. Cute brioche buns serve as the vehicles for your DIY creations. $3.99, in Town Square, 641-7768, MeatballSpot.com.
Braised Oxtail Gnocchi at Due Forni This Summerlin pizzeria cranks out more than just pizzas from its two ovens, such as this hearty pasta dish for happy hour. Fluffy pillows of semolina gnocchi are light enough to take on the heavy nature of the shredded braised oxtail. Cremini mushrooms add earthy tones to the oxtail’s inherent meatiness. $5, 4:30-6:30 p.m. daily, 3555 S. Town Center Dr., 586-6500, DueForni.com.
Tacos al Pastor at Taqueria La Casa del Pastor We’ve been known to affectionately refer to the goods that we eat from Taqueria La Casa del Pastor as “sketchy tacos”—because, really, any food sold in the parking lot of a car wash rarely isn’t. Well, this souped-up taco cart with the huge spit of pork al pastor rotating away serves as the exception to the rule. Sure, there’s carne asada and chicken, and even lengua for those more daring. But it does say La Casa del Pastor on the sign. Small corn tortillas are warmed on the fat-top, and the al pastor is sliced to order. When they ask if you want pineapple, say “Yes!”, as the grilled sweet fruit balances out the savory, almost spicy roasted pork. $2, 5-1 p.m. Thu-Sun, 5893 W. Tropicana Ave., 306-5910. Hungry for more deals? Check out our experts’ all-time classic picks at VegasSeven.com/CheapEats.
April 11-17, 2013
The Italian and the Gobbler at Spicy Pickle
of which is the nefarious stinky fermented cabbage known as kimchi. $6.95, in Greenland Supermarket, 6850 W. Spring Mountain Rd., 450-7878.
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Picture two fat tostadas thrown on a fre until blistered with black spots, wickedly crunchy discs perfect for melted cheese and the meat of your choice. The vampiro is ordered at its own station at this new concept joint, which serves the funkiest organ meats in creation, al pastor carved off a spit, and street-style corn on the cob with crema, chile and limon. Try your vampiro with carne asada or chorizo. Condiments, such as white and black beans, cucumber, radish and a giant salsa selection, are complimentary. $2, 3430 E. Tropicana Ave., 307-1571.
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See more photos from this gallery at SpyOnVegas.com
Photography by Bobby Jameidar
April 11-17, 2013
1501 W. Sahara Ave.
Up close and personable: Ace of Cakes’ chef Duff Goldman, and 6-inch cakes in progress.
Never Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen Foodie fantasy camp lets amateur cooks get face time with culinary masters
April 11-17, 2013
By Grace Bascos
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➧ The firsT day of Food University at Caesars Palace, about 40 dedicated foodies were busy trying on their brand-new, sparklingwhite chef’s jackets, fguring out how to button them, taking bets on who will get theirs dirty frst. Food U host Claudine Pepin— her very name is a culinary legacy—welcomed the inaugural class of students whose culinary expertise ran the gamut from established home cooks to those who don’t know their cumin from coriander. Consider this three-day concentration of cooking classes, tastings and tours a foodie fantasy camp for those who want to expand on their own cooking skills while rubbing elbows with some famous culinary talent. Rich Gore, founder of Food University (FoodUniversityLas Vegas.com) and former live event
producer for Food Network, has overseen more than 300 events for the network. Gore wanted to do something more for the food enthusiast: for audiences to stop being mere spectators and become part of the action, creating an interactive arena where afcionados could have oneon-one time with established professionals. The frst class, as it would be in any culinary school, is Knife Skills. Beautiful, sharp Zwilling J.A. Henckels chefs’ knives sat at each station in the conference room, while Jeffrey Elliot, better known as “the Knife Guy” and author of the Complete Book of Knife Skills, stood in front as we all signed our waivers that say something like, “We promise not to sue if we accidently dismember ourselves.” Which could happen. About 10 minutes in,
we needed our frst Band-Aid. That’s how hands-on this is. Following a crash course in how to chop, julienne and chiffonade, the class was split into color-coded groups, which rotated between the day’s classes. The four conference rooms were set up by students from the UNLV culinary school, and decked out with induction burners and new cookware. I popped into Frank Pellegrino Jr.’s Classic Italian class, where the friendly Rao’s owner talked us through not only how to make chicken cacciatore, but also how to prepare it to entertain guests in our homes. Mise en place for the dish—including crushed tomatoes, sliced bell peppers, onions, mushrooms and white wine—waited patiently for us as we enter. Suddenly, I was glad I skipped
breakfast to have this as my frst meal of the day. “You look so serious,” the event photographer said to me as I furiously whisked three egg yolks in a metal bowl over the bain marie. “Hollandaise is serious business,” I replied without looking up. I knew that if I took my eyes off them even for a second, I could ruin my sauce in Sauces 101, taught by Alex Stratta, formerly of his namesake restaurants at Wynn and currently at Scarpetta at the Beverly Hills Montage. Like all the other “professors,” Stratta made it a point to examine each student’s work, offering praise or pointers as needed. For the notoriously diffcult Hollandaise, it’s a fne line: Pour too much butter in too fast, or if your yolks are too hot when the butter hits, and your sauce will break, creating an oily mess. I heard echoes of “My arm is starting to get tired!” from around the room. This is a severe workout if you haven’t been keeping up with your Shake Weight regiment. Day Two included learning about chocolate with chef François Payard, but the biggest education came from pastry chef Duff Goldman, owner of Charm City Cakes in Baltimore, and star of the Food Network’s Ace of Cakes. Goldman has been responsible for showing the world some of the most insane cake art ever seen, but on the second day of Food University, he showed us the basics of how to pretty-up our 6-inch round cakes. He did this while offering us his thoughts on the difference between pastry chefs and cooks, whom he affectionately referred to as “meat jockeys.” “Cooks are like guitar players,” Goldman explained as he crimped some fondant circles into the shape of a rose.
“Everyone plays guitar. But not everyone can play the drums. Pastry chefs are like drummers. Take any pastry chef and give him some meat and see if he can make a burger. Now give any chef some four and see if he can make a cake.” And with that, he placed a perfectly sculpted rose on the center of a student’s white fondant-covered sample. The fnal day had worked us up to some lessons that proved to be most daunting for home cooks: working with vegetables, building favors and cooking seafood. Hell’s Kitchen winner and head chef of Gordon Ramsay Steak Christina Wilson showed us how to bang out an intense tuna tartare with an avocado mousse, while explaining how to create foundations of favor in all our dishes. Chef Patrick “Paddy” Glennon of Santa Monica Seafood proved that it’s totally possible to cook fsh in your home without it smelling like fsh (a big key? Don’t buy fsh that smells like fsh). The two would later face off in a mystery basket challenge while the students cheered them on, only to end in a tie. When the graduation ceremony rolled around, nearly everyone was all smiles, holding up their newly minted certifcate designating that they now have an “Enlightened Palate.” I didn’t exactly get to unleash my inner Emeril Lagasse, but I certainly brushed up on my Julia Child at the direction of instructors who have actually worked with both. Somewhere between the cook-off and the certifcate ceremony, Gore and Pepin beamed at each other. “Everything we set out to accomplish, we did,” Gore informed me, “I wanted them to get onto the playground. And into the next level of experience.”
Photos by Andrew James
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[ Scene StirS ]
April 11-17, 2013
Get the recipe for Kang’s Coquetier at VegasSeven. com/Cocktail-Culture and watch her prepare one in the Laundry Room at VegasSeven.com/Videos.
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Good Medicine
among america’S earliest cocktails was Creole apothecary Antoine Amédée Peychaud’s preparation of bitters and Cognac brandy, measured out in little egg cups (coquetiers) in 1838. That ancestral cocktail would eventually give rise to today’s rye Sazerac, the offcial cocktail of New Orleans. At the Laundry Room—a tiny bar hidden within Downtown’s Commonwealth—mixologist and history buff Juyoung Kang delights in the tale of the coquetier and all the other
colorful stories of speakeasies past and present. Kang’s Coquetier pays homage to Peychaud’s contribution to cocktail history, blending his bitters with premium apricot liqueur and apple brandy from the frst licensed distillery in the U.S. for a delicately sweet, yet strong concoction. You could also doctor it up with a cocktail-friendly Cognac, such as the new D’Ussé VSOP, or with Sazerac rye. It might not cure what ails you, but it will almost certainly help.
I’m big on crowdsourcing. My Facebook friends—yep, all 3,394 of ‘em!—offer great insight into what’s new, what’s hot in their world and what should be relegated to the fad and meme Hall of Shame. So when I started planning a recent car-camping trip to Valley of Fire State Park, I took a Facebook poll: “What is the spirit, beer and wine of camping?” I asked. More than 41 comments later, I had my answer (and my Klout score had shot up a point or two). First to the spirit: Even with the avalanche of votes for it, there was never any question that the bottle in my kit would be Campfire, a smoky Scotch, bourbon and rye blend from High West Distillery in Park City, Utah. I first got to try it right at the distillery, poured for me by High West founder David Perkins not long after its release early last May. A holiday gift from my parents, I have been hoarding this bottle ever since, hiding it from thirsty visitors and just waiting for the first camping trip of the summer. And it was sublime, drinking Campfire ’round the campfire in the Valley of Fire. Food pairing? Try my signature s’mores recipe: marshmallow Peeps (Easter leftovers) and Ghirardelli chocolate truffle squares between Marie biscuits. You’re welcome. The wine would prove trickier. Red or white? Glass or some variation of a bota bag (wineskin)? “Vinho verde—young, light, crisp, and it has a very fresh finish,” one friend suggested. “A screw-top bottle or something in a Tetra Pak,” offered another. “It weighs less and is easier to dispose.” I considered both opinions at Cost Plus World Market, where I settled on a New Zealand sauvignon blanc by Eco.Love, an inexpensive but deliciously floral wine that is made in the world’s first CarbonZero-certified winery. A number of vinho verdes there also looked tempting. And for backpacking, a Tetra Pak would definitely be ideal. Shockingly, I was not exactly inundated with beer suggestions—whiskey seemed to fuel the discussion—but recommendations ran the gamut from Rio Grande Brewery’s Pancho Verde Chile Cerveza to Ballast Point’s Sea Monster. But I decided to keep it local with a growler of fresh Citra Rye Pale Ale from Henderson’s own Joseph James Brewery. I picked up my glass growler— which was sealed and would easily last more than 30 days if stored that way—at the launch party at Khoury’s Fine Wine & Spirits. It’s so refreshing! I cannot wait for it to come out in cans, hopefully in time for my next camping trip. For more scene stirrings and shake-ups, visit VegasSeven.com/Cocktail-Culture.
Photo by Kin Lui
The SpiriT (and wine and beer) of Summer camping
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Frontman Al Doyle (far left) and his indietronica experts branch out.
Hardwired
Hot Chip doesn’t blow circuits when amping up its rock attack
April 11-17, 2013
By Jarret Keene
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the tag “electro” doesn’t really encompass or account for the very large rock ’n’ roll components and musical chops of Hot Chip. Once admired for its quirky, even kitschy, approach to indietronica, the British band has been steadily unleashing the guitars during its live show—three of them to be exact. Indeed, last summer, when Hot Chip returned to Late Night With Jimmy Fallon to play the single “Don’t Deny Your Heart” from 2012’s In Our Heads album, there was a moment near the song’s end when nerdily spectacled frontman Al Doyle and two of his bandmates busted out vintage axes, layering intricate lines over a heavy funk groove. The scene caused me—and I assume others—to laugh out loud. “Visually, it is a rather nice touch,” Doyle says during a recent phone chat. “It’s not something we do for a show, however. The guitars serve the music. We’re certainly not striking rock poses like a classic rock band!” Still, there are heightened rock elements in Hot Chip’s music. Doyle confesses his band’s shows are
increasingly acoustic-based since starting out in 2000, when Hot Chip relied on one keyboard and a guitar. A Grammy nomination, a Mercury Music Prize nod and fve acclaimed albums later, Doyle’s arrangements have developed into borderline prog-jams in the way each member tackles multiple instruments. “Yes, well, we are trying make things interesting and diffcult for ourselves,” Doyle says. “We like having more people onstage doing more than they’re capable of. I don’t know if it’s rock ’n’ roll, but we do have a lot more gear and techs and people around us—so much so that you might suspect you’re watching an older band.” In fact, the members of Hot Chip are older, which perhaps explains why the band is often tagged as “whizzes”—smart, highly creative musicians who are a bit too smart to be playing electro-pop. “Fine with me,” Doyle says. “We’re an unusual-looking group of middle-aged men. We have a different physicality and wear glasses. But there’s freedom in that. At least we’re not young women constantly
being pressured about our weight.” There doesn’t seem to be any pressure or darkness weighing on him. Hot Chip is back in the U.S. this spring to support In Our Heads (which debuted at No. 1 on Billboard’s Dance/Electronic Albums chart). Critics called In Our Heads the band’s most joyous, danceable effort. Upbeat rhythms. Glossy synths. Catchy choruses. “Lyrically there are darker moments,” Doyle says. “But I agree that, overall, it’s a positive-sounding record.” Not in a vapid way, he says, but in a manner that allows for melancholy at the edges. “You know, we’re relatively depressed people,” Doyle says, chuckling. Not in Las Vegas, a destination to which his band is looking forward. Hot Chip frst played here several years ago on a bill with LCD Soundsystem. While Doyle chuckles at having encountered oxygen-huffing, wheelchair-bound octogenarians bleeding away their nest eggs at slots, he remains eager to take in the entire city this time—including Downtown and surrounding nature (Red Rock Canyon). “As long as we can avoid the shock of over-sugared piña coladas,” he says, “we plan on hitting all the truly best parts of Las Vegas.” Hot Chip with Four Tet at Boulevard Pool at the Cosmopolitan, 9 p.m. April 18, $26, 698-7778, CosmopolitanLasVegas.com.
Yayo Taco reopened? Alas, the once-mighty underground punk/metal venue across from UNLV has no immediate plans to host any shows. Drat! I popped in there recently to chew some killer nachos and found owner Cho Yiu posing with some ladies from South Dakota. They’d seen Yayo on Food Network show Diners, Drive-ins and Dives and wanted a souvenir picture with Yiu. They loved the food. If only they knew that brutal grindcore act Buried at Birth had once graced the non-stage there. I didn’t tell them. Well, there’s always live music Downtown. At least I hope so. Given Yayo’s music kabosh, last week’s news that Tony Hsieh’s Downtown Project had bought the Bunkhouse Saloon rattled my nerves. I’m left with many questions: How will an ownership transfer impact live music Downtown? After all, the promoters booking shows there lean toward highly aggressive bands. Once Hsieh figures this out, how will he negotiate the trick of offering a “comfort zone” Downtown for the regentrification crowd while at the same time owning a bar that consistently features discomforting, eardrum-lashing music? Well, even though the Downtown Project acquired the Bunkhouse in January, the bar’s previous owner, Charlie Fox, will continue to run things through June. According to Downtown Project Communicator Kim Schaefer, the group hasn’t programmed anything for the Bunk yet. Good. But how long until happiness is delivered? El Cortez is getting in on the live-music bandwagon every First Friday in the Fiesta Room. The monthly event, dubbed Sessions at El Cortez, will showcase “budding music acts from across the country.” Only problem is, no one there wants to reveal the lineup, opting for the non-promoting surprise tactic. Good luck with that! Tattoo You? It’s my favorite Rolling Stones album. The intersection of rock and inking the skin will be celebrated at Studio 21 Tattoo Gallery’s 10-year anniversary party at 7 p.m. April 12 in the Arts Factory Bar+Bistro at 107 E. Charleston Blvd. Country-rockabilly ensemble The Clydesdale clomp onto a small stage for a set of desert-blasted, highway-ready folk songs. There will also be a pig roast (don’t tell Morrissey fans), plus an appearance by a gold-prospecting burro named Dusty. I’m going to steal that fucking burro and get rich, yo. A hair-raisingly excellent and astrologically inclined show you need to see this week: Los Angeles melodic gloom-metal trio Ides of Gemini brings its sublimely melancholy sound to the Bunkhouse at 9 p.m. April 16. Singer-bassist Sera Timms, guitarist Jason Bennett and drummer Kelly Johnston keep things surging. Despite Timms’ pretty voice, Ides of Gemini contain traces of black metal and sludge-punk. Imagine Nico fronting Black Sabbath and you get the sound. Local doom-metal exhalers Demon Lung open. Shhh, don’t tell Hsieh. Your Vegas band releasing a CD or buying a burro? Email Jarret_Keene@Yahoo.com.
Photo by Steve Gullick
Don’t Bunk it up
a&e
concerts
erykah Badu
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Oh, on and on … and on and on, we kept waiting for Erykah Badu to sing a song. Energy was high at the Las Vegas Soul Fest thanks to sets by SWV (their harmonies were as sweet as when they first emerged on the scene), 68-year old legend Lenny Williams (he sexually charged the room) and Joe (the ladies nearly pulled him offstage). But it was the lull between Joe and Erykah Badu that killed the vibe. What was initially supposed to be a 15-minute intermission dragged into an hour as a steady stream of concertgoers departed instead of waiting for the soulful songstress. Was Badu worth the wait? Yes, and the remaining crowd seemed to shake off their perturbed mood when she emerged and launched into “20 Feet Tall,” then caught the audience up on her life via a freestyle song, such as “I had three babies from different dudes.” After “On and On” Badu scared the crowd into thinking it would only be a 15-minute set by saying “That’s all Vegas, I’m tired.” Thankfully it wasn’t true. She performed a mostly throwback set, blending song into song, including Badu’s funky solo on an electric drum pad after “Appletree.” “Next Lifetime” continued the jams, and she remarked that being onstage is “my therapy session.” Badu peeled off layers of clothing, making one wonder if she’d strip down à la the “Window Seat” video, but really just revealed she was dripping in gold necklaces that sparkled against her black shirt/ leggings ensemble as she moved. “I gotta get out of here, thank you and good night,” she falsely warned again. “I hate when I go to a concert and they try and pull that shit,” she added before launching into Tyrone. Ms. Badu, we hate waiting around for performers, but with your musical perfection you proved you earned diva status. ★★★★✩ – Deanna Rilling
Photo by Wayne Posner
April 11-17, 2013
Thomas & Mack Center, April 6
A&E
art
Sad Sack-ploitation
Two exhibits revel in pathetic portraiture By Jarret Keene
April 11-17, 2013
In the mId-19th century, photog-
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raphy studios fourished. For a price, stylists, props and rented clothing allowed people to look wealthy—even if they were, in fact, poor. Thus, portraiture was an aspirational industry. As technology advanced, exposure times decreased. Subjects no longer had to sit still for many minutes, and poses became increasingly casual. Before the 20th century, it was even acceptable to have one’s portrait taken at the beach while wearing a bathing suit. Today, on any given weekend, you’ll fnd smiling families in pastel shirts and jeans posing for a paid photographer at, say, Sunset Park. The aspiration in this case is to create images of fully functional, deeply loving units. But some artists take steaming dumps on aspiration, instead focusing on human failings. From Diane Arbus’s freak-show black-and-whites to Andy Warhol’s grungy Polaroid shots and screen tests, these artistic images show people as they really are—or as most of us would never wish to be depicted. In an era of selfpromotion via Facebook, who can really blame noncommercial photographers for their deconstructive impulse? I can. If you’re an artist, it hardly makes sense to punish your subjects for refusing to present their authentic selves online. Yet this is exactly what Krystal Ramirez does in I’m Sorry We Lied at Winchester Cultural Center through May 10. Lied is a mixed-media exhibit—there’s a section of one wall devoted to dozens of hand-drawn and repeated phrases on sheets of paper, as if a Catholic school kid had been
locked inside the gallery and forced to write. (Ramirez is big on punishment!) There’s also an inaudible, ugly video portrait of an inarticulate young man named Joey. But the show’s centerpiece is “The Sleepers,” 37 photos of unbeautiful and anonymous snoozers in their beds. With their permission, Ramirez set up a camera and a timer in the subjects’ bedrooms, capturing them in all their messy non-grandeur. Ramirez has nice friends, because if anyone snapped my splayed, mouth-agaped form in boxer shorts, and mounted the results in a gallery, I’d punch him. Obviously, Ramirez’s touchstone is Warhol’s Sleep, a fve-hour flm of a dozing pal. So what does Lied add? Less monotony perhaps. But not much. There’s an exception: a pretty, porcelain-skinned redhead in shorts and a T-shirt, lying in the sheets like Giorgione’s “Sleeping Venus.” But the image’s allure is muted in the context of so many other Eros-killing shots. Authenticity is a total bummer. Overall, these are disheveled bodies robbed of their own dreams. The viewer, too, is denied any semblance of fantasy. In this way, Ramirez’s title is apt. She offers her own dreary fabrication to challenge the way people use technology to construct public identities. But as my mother used to say: Two wrongs don’t make a right. Over at Contemporary Arts Center, the male haze is underway through April 20 with Philadelphia photographer Justyna Badach’s Bachelor Portraits. These images of single men from all over the U.S. play
Two views of vulnerability: I’m Sorry We Lied (top) and Bachelor Portraits.
a dubious game with issues of gender and race. None of the (mostly) white-guy subjects smile because Badach doesn’t want it. Her aim is to emasculate, displaying unfattering portraits of Men Without Women hanging out in their cluttered rooms and gnarly campers—with their swords and model airplanes and openheart surgery scars. In the text accompanying each piece, she emphasizes their loneliness, isolation and oddness. Hollywood moviemaker Judd Apatow (The 40-Year-Old Virgin) would be proud. Especially of the guy who asked Badach if it would be OK for her to photograph him
naked. If these sad ball sacks have any hopes and dreams, or any aspirations other than drug abuse and collecting disability, we don’t know. Of course Badach gets away with this skewed portrayal because of her gender. For instance, I wonder what the response would be to an exhibit by a male photographer titled Cat Ladies, in which older white women were asked to unsmilingly pose for their portraits with feline companions perched in their obese laps? Actually, I don’t wonder about the response, because such a show would never be permitted at CAC or anywhere. Only in our nightmares.
I’m Sorry We LIed by Krystal Ramirez at Winchester Cultural Center, 10 a.m.-8 p.m. Tue-Fri, 9 a.m.6 p.m. Sat, through May 10, 3130 McLeod Dr., 455-7340.
BacheLor PortraItS by Justyna Badach at Contemporary Arts Center, 2-7 p.m. Wed-Sat, 11 a.m.-3 p.m, 107 E. Charleston Blvd., Suite 120, 382-3886, LasVegasCAC.org.
stage
sunny sinClair perks up entertaining pin up
How long will it take Pin Up to go topless? Email your best guesstimate to Steve.Bornfeld@VegasSeven.com
April 11-17, 2013
bed, clad in a nightie and fending off a mischievous little pillow that keeps attempting to snuggle up against her. Mostly, it’s Sinclair’s castmates who gin up Pin Up. Credit a handful of limber dancers highlighted by token beefcake Ryan Kelsey—a marvel of athleticism and enthusiasm—plus singer Autumn Belanger and a blast of a six-piece band fronted by local stalwart David Perrico. Kick-ass production numbers include a twirl-a-whirl, swing-era dance to “Sing, Sing, Sing”; a boisterous “Calendar Girl”; an infectious “Tango” (turning the stage into a steamy Little Havana); and a fun, baseballthemed competition between (sexily uniformed) hoofer Sarah Short and drummer Brian Czach, trading off frenzied riffs between her tap-tastic dancing and his lightning drumsticks. Honey-voiced Belanger flls the inbetweens, bouncing from contemporary power tune (Alicia Keys’ “Girl on Fire,” accompanied by obligatory pole dancer) to upbeat standard (“You Gotta Have Heart” while strolling through the audience) to torch-song lament (Madonna’s “Sooner or Later” from Dick Tracy). Pin Up gets the retro spirit right, bolstered (whenever she’s on) by Sinclair who, while she won’t set the stage afame with her talents, is a sexy spritz of retro charm. Sure, she’s as hot as that big yellow ball about to cook this city into a neon pot roast. Fittingly, she might also be the sunniest chick on the Las Vegas Strip.
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Photo by Marc Paulus
start here: Claire sinClair
is a tasty, made-forVegas combo—a dish of rich cheesecake served with a slice of apple-pie exuberance. Warm and winning, she exclaims, “Hi everybody!” onstage and might be more sincerely thrilled to see you than any headliner in town. In a “sin” city that welcomes the world, she could be our offcial greeter: sex on a stick, but with a Jiminy Cricket streak. Holly Madison, Brunette Edition. That Playboy’s 2011 Playmate of the Year, top-billing the Stratosphere’s new Pin Up, parallels playmate-peep Madison in the latter’s onetime Peepshow role—delish eye-candy rather than balls-out performer—should surprise no one. Yet Sinclair pulls it off with more panache, though her feeting pop-ups in Pin Up can prove frustrating. You want more of her than you get. Positioned between intimate erotic revues and overblown Peepshow, 75-minute Pin Up (which exposes not a nipple) is a tangy retro pastry. Emphasizing Sinclair’s Bettie Page-y appeal, bangs and all—she calls Page “firty without being dirty”—it celebrates the fresh-scrubbed sexiness of ’40s/’50s calendar gals. Diffused smoke effects create a sleek nightclub vibe in the classily appointed Stratosphere Theater, and the set is nicely unfussy—back-screen and decorative railing, with stage-side videos fashing month-by-month illustrations of Sinclair. More emcee/ marquee billing than star, Sinclair doesn’t make her entrance until the fourth number (you start wondering whether she got stuck in traffc), emerging from behind her own gyrating image on a large stage monitor to “In the Mood.” One provocative package in a curveclinging lavender gown that must’ve been painted on, she brightly kibitzes with the crowd (even impersonating an elderly Hugh Hefner), then appears sporadically. One piece of stagecraft has her portraying a sexy witch mixing a brew. More amusingly, in a tricked-out segment, she turns up in a
A&E
movies
A stunt motorcyclist (Gosling) tries to make a life for his family (Anthony Pizza Jr. and Mendes), setting off a dark chain of events.
Carnival Triptych
Blue Valentine director gives us a three-ring exploration of blue-color masculinity By Michael Phillips
April 11-17, 2013
Tribune Newspapers Critic
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in director derek Cianfrance’s previous feature, Blue Valentine, pretension found itself in a stern deadlock with dramatic honesty. Thanks to the performance of Michelle Williams, opposite the fashier, more contrived fourishes of Ryan Gosling, the results were worth seeing. Now, however, Cianfrance has stepped up with The Place Beyond the Pines, a more sprawling and ambitiously structured story, again co-starring Gosling. It is a better, more fully felt and moving picture than Blue Valentine. Gosling and co-star Bradley
Cooper have stepped up as well, fnding the value in interacting as well as the quiet isolation of men in crisis. The reviews have been a little sniffy thus far, as the flm has traveled from the festival circuit into limited theatrical release. The best course of action is to see it, and then fgure out what does or doesn’t work for you in its tales of sons, fathers, moral compromise and the harsh, beautiful business of living. Describe some of co-writer and director Cianfrance’s narrative details, and The Place Beyond
the Pines, like its title, sounds a tad grandiose. Gosling plays Luke, a motorcycle stunt performer traveling with a two-bit carnival. Coming through Schenectady, New York, on his annual tour, he learns he has fathered a son with a local waitress (Eva Mendes), now living with a man (Mahershala Ali) who doesn’t like Luke sniffing around. Pulling a page from the Billy Bigelow Carousel playbook, Luke turns to bank robbery at the behest of his pal Robin (Ben Mendelsohn). It goes well for a while. Luke’s ardent attempts to establish something
like a familial connection with his infant son complicate the audience’s relationship to the flm’s protagonist. And then, for reasons I’ll leave you to discover, the focus shifts to a police offcer, played by Cooper, whose life changes forever the day he becomes the hero (the word haunts him the rest of the flm) who pursued the “moto-bandit.” I love how The Place Beyond the Pines hands off from the criminal to the law enforcement offcer. I love also how, in a daring “15 years later” leap forward, it becomes a story of the male teenage offspring of the troubled men played by Gosling and Cooper. There’s an encompassing sense of destiny guiding the events of Cianfrance’s movie, but the people in it really do seem like people, not pieces of plot. Separately, the components of Pines are familiar: Ray Liotta, among others, plays a dirty cop, for example, and nothing
in a sentence containing “Ray Liotta” and “dirty cop” could possibly surprise anyone. But the script co-written by Cianfrance, Ben Coccio and Darius Marder gives both male and female halves of the onscreen relationships their due as fawed, intriguingly knotty members of the same species. Its fnal third putters a bit: 140 minutes doesn’t feel indulgent, exactly, just occasionally slack. But it’s not enough to lessen the achievement. Sean Bobbitt’s cinematography refuses to glamorize these people or the places they inhabit; in the same vein, editors Jim Helton and Ron Patane and composer Mike Patton keep the momentum fowing subtly. You watch what happens, often dreading the worst. Even when the worst comes, though, it comes with honor and a kind of grace. The Place Beyond the Pines (R) ★★★★✩
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A&E
movies
by the book (of the dead)
Evil Dead remake doubles the gore and loses the humor By Michael Phillips
Tribune Media Services in the Book of the Dead, the barbed-wire-wrapped volume causing the fuss in Evil Dead, one lavishly illustrated page states that after the forest demon “feasts on fve souls, the sky will bleed again.” Translated into franchise terms: If this grim, outlandish remake of the 1983 Sam Raimi flm makes $50 million or more, which it will, the multiplex screens will weep once more with crimson tears. Sequel! Evil Dead offers the core audience for modern horror plenty of reasons to jump, and then settle back, tensely, while awaiting the next idiotic trip down to the cellar beneath the demon-infested cabin in the woods. The most reliable jumper cable, cinematically, is the old trick you already know: the sudden appearance of someone or something, accompanied by that hackneyed metallic YeeeeeeUMMMMPPPP!!!! sound effect. The movie’s gore, meanwhile, goes straight to 11. Many dismemberings. Limitless liters of blood. The weaponry includes nail guns, chain saws
and crowbars. As in the original, one character suffers a grueling act of supernatural, plant-based rape. As in the original, the scene throws you out of the movie in the name of upping the stakes. Uruguayan director Fede Alvarez, making his feature debut, manages a shrewd narrative variation on the original. What’s missing, though—by design—is the jaunty, kinetic exuberance of Raimi’s visual approach. You can’t remake a sense of humor. To its credit, the new Evil Dead takes seriously the recoveringaddict plight of its central character, Mia, played fercely by Jane Levy. The premise is simple: Mia’s drug problems confuse her senses. Her brother and her friends have brought her to the cabin in the woods to cure her. But is she seeing visions of demonic possession, or is this the cold turkey playing tricks with her brain? Evil Dead never had much plot, and never made much sense. The demon jumps from human to human. But once
Shiloh Fernandez and Jessica Lucas get demonic in the woods.
inhabited and transformed, the demonized human can be confned to a cellar? Really? Not in my experience. Back in the early Reagan era, Raimi upped the violence to improbable levels. The original Evil Dead went out unrated rather than risk the demonic X from the Motion Picture Association of America. Yet each time Bruce Campbell appeared bug-eyed, square-jawed and freaking out in close-up, you knew this wasn’t a standard horror flm. Raimi’s camera was on fre: It
never stopped moving, and it sprinted through the woods like something out of James Fenimore Cooper. Raimi and Campbell serve as producers on the remake, which is rated R but is, naturally, 46 times as bloody as the original. Little of what Raimi brought to Evil Dead remains. (Except the remains.) All is dark, sepia-toned, artful in its murk, and relentless and rather numbing in its geysers of bodily fuids. The original featured crummy writing and mostly
short reviews
April 11-17, 2013
G.I. Joe: Retaliation (PG-13) ★★✩✩✩
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The action is nonstop in this sequel. But do we really want our action to never end? Like, ever? The plot concerns the murder of the Pakistani president, stolen nukes, a frame-up job by COBRA disgracing the Joes. The Joes fight back. Spoiler alert: They win. Sure, there’s Channing Tatum as Duke, Dwayne Johnson as Roadblock, and even ole Bruce Willis as the original Joe, but the movie plays out like a video game, and I think we’ve learned by now that there should be a difference.
The Host (PG-13) ★✩✩✩✩
This movie version of Stephenie Meyer’s departure from the Twilight series is painful to watch. Earth has been invaded by aliens called Souls. Some Souls called Seekers locate humans to serve as hosts for other Souls. Saoirse Ronan plays Melanie, whose body is sublet by a Soul named Wanderer. Melanie and her Soul become frenemies, and Melanie arm-twists her visitor to return to Melanie’s cave-dwelling survivalist clan. Then Wanderer falls in love with Ian (Jake Abel). And then ... you get the picture. It’s agonizingly slow and just not very good.
Olympus Has Fallen (R) ★★✩✩✩
This movie is Die Hard in the White House, where terrorists appear out of nowhere to storm Washington, take over the White House and seize the president (Aaron Eckhart) and most of the cabinet. Their only hope is former Secret Service agent Mike Banning (Gerard Butler), the only man who knows how to get into the fortified presidential bunker where the hostages are. Banning proceeds to stab, shoot and strangle his way through legions of terrorists. There are much better thrillers out there; this one is just a manifestation of a first-person shooter video game.
(besides Campbell’s) bad acting, but it was perverse and icky fun. The new one is better acted, more carefully composed. But it feels like a lot of other remakes of ’70s and ’80s horror titles. Competent craftsmanship, vacuous slickness. It’s not bad. It’s nowhere near the subbasement level of Saw and Hostel sadism. But it’s no Evil Dead 2, even though we most certainly will be getting the remake Evil Dead 2 in a year or two. Evil Dead (R) ★★✩✩✩
[ by tribune media services ]
Admission (PG) ★★★✩✩
In this fraught romantic comedy, Portia (Tina Fey) is a Princeton University admissions officer with a secret. Her live-in boyfriend, a professor played by Michael Sheen, treats her like a dog—literally. But on a road trip, Portia visits a new-age alternative high school, run by John (Paul Rudd). John has reason to believe that a promising applicant just might be the same boy that Portia gave up for adoption. Fey and Rudd are smooth as silk together, but the film is only half good.
Marketplace
7 questions
It’s a beautIful marrIage between musIc and food. It’s just all about the sensory experIence. they just go hand In hand; It’s lIke pb&j. What kind of culinary events do you envision for Life Is Beautiful? I’d like to be doing something from my roots: barbecue and some kind of brewsand-bones-type events. We’re talking about doing a great, phenomenal pop-up dinner in one of the local venues Downtown … We’re going to be doing demos and cookbook signings. They’re going to have me busy!
April 11-17, 2013
Have you ever paired up with a music festival before? I have, in varying degrees, but nothing of this magnitude. … I’m super excited about being a part of creating it, helping the team develop it and giving my ideas—and being with all my colleagues.
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Cat Cora
The chef on being involved in the Life Is Beautiful festival, how music pairs with food and her desire for a permanent Las Vegas presence By Grace Bascos
cat cora, best known for her epic battles on Food Network’s Iron Chef America, is no stranger to Las Vegas. The celebrity chef has participated at Vegas Uncork’d—our city’s renowned annual food-and-drink extravaganza—and before the recession, there was even talk of her opening a restaurant here (and if the Jackson, Mississippi, native has her way, those talks eventually will heat up again). In the meantime, Cora is set to make her Vegas return this fall for the Life Is Beautiful music festival, having recently been named to the culinary advisory board for the Downtown event, scheduled for October 26-27. Life Is Beautiful will offer Cora, 45, the opportunity to work alongside a completely different pantheon than her former Iron Chefs: Rick Moonen, Chris Cosentino and Jet Tila, to name a few. Invited by culinary board chairs and longtime friends Eric and Bruce Bromberg (of Blue Ribbon Sushi Bar & Grill fame), Cora will help curate a festival eating experience that’s way more than foods-on-a-stick and deep-fried Twinkies (the tentative plan calls for a Moroccan-style bazaar with food stalls, cooking demos and one-off meals).
What kind of music are you into? I’m into a little bit of everything, whether it’s jazz or blues or country or a little rock. I’m up for any of it. Bring my Zydeco from New Orleans! How do food and music work in concert with one another? It’s a beautiful marriage between music and food. I don’t know any dinner that I cook at home where we don’t have some music going, or when you’re dining [out]. It’s just all about the sensory experience. Music does that in one way, and then it complements the food and wine. They just go hand in hand; it’s like PB&J. There’s nothing better than food to get you in the
mood and music to get you in the mood, and they’ll do that simultaneously in a beautiful way. What’s your favorite festival food? I have to say barbecue—I love sampling the grilled items. One of the reasons I love that is because it’s so global. I’m Greek-American; I grew up cooking Mediterranean—every country has their version of something barbecued. To me it’s just the best food in the world. Spring is finally here, so what’s your favorite ingredient to work with this time of year, and how do you like to prepare it? When spring comes around we eat artichokes almost every day. There are so many things you can do with them, and my kids love them! … They’re a little diffcult to get to the heart unless you’re eating a leaf, but if you wanted to do something different, you could braise them. But other than that, my favorite way is to blanche them a little bit, slice them in half, throw them on the grill with some great olive oil [and] sea salt, and then dip them in a really good sauce. You recently opened Ocean Restaurant in Singapore. Do you still hope to someday open one in Las Vegas? Absolutely! We were in talks with a couple of hotels there before the economy crashed, so I was really bummed. But [we were] on task with a potential opening. So, yes—call me!
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