Go: Where to Go, What to Do & Why

By James P. Reza

The last time I was in the Chi Chi Club on SoCal's Mediterranean-esque Santa Catalina Island, something struck me. It wasn't the rec room decor, the odor of the carpet (and I thought the Hard Rock Hotel's former Baby's was the only nightclub/bar foolhardy enough to install absorbent material on the floor) or the young Irish traveller who had somehow attached himself to our party suddenly projectile-vomiting from the second story window onto the sidewalk below.

No, what remains most vivid in my mind from this--the only nightclub in the one-mile-square town of Avalon--was the silly sign offering "bottle service" in a "VIP room" that was little more than a few painfully upholstered couches lined up behind a well-worn velvet rope. That the Chi Chi Club is Catalina's most popular nightclub is little justification for this decidely bourgeois affectation, considering it is also the island's only nightclub.

But perhaps that singularity is precisely what inspired the operators to think that salty weekend warriors reeking of suntan oil, boat soap and tequila would somehow find the experience of grooving to Nelly all that much more--forgive me--chichi if only they could plop on a furry couch and unleash exhorbitant amounts of cash for a bottle of middle-shelf vodka like some sort of post-treasure hunt Johnny Depp. To be fair, the Chi Chi Club is fun, in the same way a summer camp dance is fun, but the presence of bottle service moves what could be an enjoyable evening of "what happens at camp, stays at camp" into less than a frenzy of tanned pretense.

Which brings us to the touchy subject of bottle service in Vegas. For more than five years, the presence of forced bottle service everywhere from THEhotel's snazzy Mix (justifiable) to downtown's Ice House Lounge (justifiable?) has been a sore spot for locals looking for a night out. I can still remember the night my favored Velvet Lounge at the Venetian (to be replaced by NYC's Tao sometime soon) first sported the dreaded velvet rope barrier around the couches, essentially spoiling what had become a top spot for locals. This trend would repeat itself most recently at the MGM's wonderful Teatro.

"Ah," you say. "I know where this is going." So before I get too deep, allow me this: Bottle service should not be eliminated. In Vegas, cash is king, and if some folks are so (insert favored pejorative here) that renting an expensive seat inflates their cachet for a few hours, so be it. Just think of bottle service as the Corvette of the nightclub.

And while I've suffered a fleeting moment of frustration at being moved from a comfy couch to a barstool (or to linger under a heat lamp with my bourbon), I haven't read it as humiliation. The key factor is this: Bottle service is not for locals, folks, part of the reason places like Kona Grill (547-5552) are so popular. Bottle service is for the pretenders and playas who leap into our sandbox every weekend, hoping for something--anything--interesting to happen to them. They arrive with reels of Swingers and the Rat Pack spinning through their heads. They want to touch that famed Vegas! where money is the great equalizer and anybody can be Danny Ocean, if only for as long as they flash the cash, and frankly, who can blame them? We live this city and we are its landlords; they can only rent it. Bottle service permits them to chase the fantasy, even as it pushes our notions of reality, but isn't that what the yin and yang of life in Las Vegas has always been?

Living like locals

As locals, our greatest asset is that we have choices. Whereas visitors must carefully plan in which line they'll be standing this weekend, we have an endless number of weekends to fill. On the nights when we are looking to run with the playas, we can dress like goons and valet our cars and pretend to read VEGAS magazine. But on those other nights, when meeting up with friends for a comfortable drink is the key to our sanity, there are plenty of places that play friendly.

The cachet of tapas bar Firefly (369-3971), continues to grow (especially with Sunday's "Spanish Fly" locals night). Here, low-key lounge and house music fills the air and the front "smoking" dining room has been permanently converted to a couch-strewn lounge sans bottle service. Paymon Raouf's University District stalwart Hookah Lounge (731-6030) is a locals fave with two locations. Here, couches (and hookahs) are first-come/first-serve, which encourages a constantly-rotating palatte of hipsters, hotties and regular folks to come and go throughout the evening. Somewhere between the źber-dive Double Down (791-5775) and television's mythic Cheers is Champagne's Cafe (737-1699), a dark, cozy liquor lounge wallpapered in velvet and lined with red booths deep enough for the cast of Casino. Similar is the Peppermill's Fireside Lounge (735-4177); hate the televisions all you want, you can still get an easy seat.

Even the Strip can be the place to play if you're smart about it. Mix opens at 5 p.m. with open seating; bottle service doesn't start until 10 p.m. Teatro (891-3695) follows that lead, opening at 6 p.m., with 10 p.m. bottle service. Back at Mandalay Bay, locals can benefit from early appearances (arrive at 10 p.m.) at Forty Deuce (632-9442), often gaining no-cover admission and seats in the non-VIP area. And finally, the lavish new mod spot at Caesars, Pure (731-7873) one-ups every nightclub in town by offering dozens of giant ottomans in the general areas for free seating throughout the night, while VIP couches remain behind velvet ropes. Here's hoping that this dual approach is the wave of the future.

Native Las Vegan James P. Reza spends his money more wisely. E-mail the author at jpreza@cox.net.