Living in New York, brunch is a meal anticipated all week. One can revel into the wee hours, take a quick cat nap, and roll into the neighborhood diner be-speckled and baseball-capped for a city omelette (one that is cooked on a flat top griddle) and a screwdriver with out the pressure of looking cute. But in Las Vegas, the real city that never sleeps, this languid, alcohol-infused Sunday morning meal was something that, until recently, I had never experienced.
Chef Devin Hashimoto's East-meets-West omakase at Mizumi thrills like few other meals in Las Vegas. After an opulent amuse-bouche—say, salmon tartare, wasabi crème fraîche, and Osetra caviar—a jewel-box of appetizers arrives: tender octopus carpaccio...
With laid-back island tunes drifting overhead and photos of friends and family posted on the wall, this
strip-mall restaurant feels more like a weekend cookout. It smells like home, too, with chicken and fish
frying away, sweet and sour sauces simmering, and the light scent of our just-ordered poke salad— fresh,
raw ahi tuna tossed with sesame and furikake—tempting us to begin our meal.
There's nothing like a good steak, and the ones from Las Vegas steakhouses are legendary. Conjure up a leather booth, mix a martini or a Manhattan, and tuck into this classic menu: iceberg wedges with creamy blue cheese, crisp home fries, creamed spinach, and a perfectly-seared steak topped with a velvety horseradish zabaglione.