What Happens in Vegas…

by Adrienne
Recipe: Lucky Ladies Salad

Apparently my mother enjoys gambling, a lot. I learned this fun fact on a trip to Las Vegas for work.

The signs were all there, I suppose, from a young age. My mother and father took their twice often trips to Atlantic City, where they wagered $100 each on video poker. Afterwards, they would hit White House Sub Shop, a hole in the wall restaurant in Jersey. To this day, they still serve my favorite cheese steaks. I looked forward to those trips, waiting patiently for them to return home with the ode to meat and cheese, white American. The White House Special, essentially an Italian hoagies, is also amazing.

But I never experienced this addictive side of my mother until this recent business trip. It was Mother’s Day weekend so I figured I would get points for inviting. She’s amusing, at least for a few days. We stayed at the Wynn, one of the classier places on the Strip. And by classier, I mean the garish colors and man-made water features are only slightly less tacky than at those hotels that mimic metropolitan cities or Ancient Rome. And the $28 buffet is among the best in Vegas.

There was routine to our mornings. She woke up way too early and quickly shuffled out of the room to avoid incurring the wrath of a sleeping Adrienne. When I woke up a couple hours later, I would call mom, and she would come rushing up with coffee and oatmeal. Yes, I resort to old roles around my parents; I am the baby. On one particular morning, she hurried up with my breakfast and quickly retreated to walk the Strip and pick up tickets for a show. I meanwhile ate my breakfast in bed while reading Jason’s well-worn copy of A Year in Provence.

I finished my coffee, oatmeal, and the book—but mom never returned. After a couple of hours, I started to get nervous and somewhat impatient as I wanted to sun by the pool. I called my mom, who sheepishly answered the phone. “Where are you?” I said in my usual less-than-courteous tone. She hesitated before responding: “Playing video poker.” It’s at that point that I realized she had never even left the hotel, drawn in by the bells and whistles of video poker. She was up $300. How could she possibly walk away from this hot machine? I mocked her, hung up, and realized she was two steps away from a 12-step program. She never did get tickets to a show, but at least she paid for dinner—several times.

For all of its idiosyncrasies, Las Vegas is a foodie’s dream, albeit one lit in neon. BLT Burger. Osteria del Circo. Joel Robuchon at the Mansion. Now, I’m not typically a fan of Wolfgang Puck, who’s taken his commercial chef shtick a bit too far. But his pink lady salad at Spaggo is simply delicious. Here’s my interpretation:


Lucky Ladies Salad
1 pink lady apple
½ lb. burrata
½ lb. baby arugula
¼ cup hazlenuts
¼ lb. prosciutto
¼ cup of chopped hazlenuts lightly toasted.
Balsamic vinegar
Olive oil
Salt & Pepper

Thinly slice apple into circular pieces. Arrange slices on four plates. Top each part with equal parts of prosciutto and creamy inside of burrata. Drizzle with balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt, and pepper.

In separate bowl, toss arugula lightly with vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper. Top apple combination with arugula. Garnish with toasted hazlenuts. Serve.

(In case you didn’t notice, there’s extra burrata. This should be consumed at your leisure, preferably by yourself with a nice glass of red wine and sopresatta.)