Sin City tries hard to pretend that Christmas is a day like any other, so great shopping continues up to the last minute. If you squint, you can almost see the Three Wise Men out in the desert—or is that Frank, Dino, and Sammy?
WHERE TO STAY Old-school charm mixes with postmillennial theatrics at Caesars Palace, which means you can unwind at a Roman spa after experiencing Celine Dion's eye-popping concert. The Palms Casino Resort is much more low-key than hotels on the Strip—you can actually walk to your room without having to cross the casino. THE ART OF DINING Chef Julian Serrano creates a sublime four-course Christmas repast at Picasso in the Bellagio: poached oysters with osetra caviar; sautéed foie gras with confit of quince; roast breast of pheasant with pears; and rich chocolate fondant for dessert. TOP SHOPS Beyond the chintzy reproductions at Ancient Creations are real artifacts such as Assyrian terra-cotta heads and Roman dice from the first century b.c. Grammy's Art of Music has limited-edition lithographs by David Bowie, John Entwistle, and Grace Slick, plus electric guitars signed by Eddie Van Halen and the king of Vegas himself, Elvis. IT'S NOT A MIRAGE After sunset, drive out to Ethel M Chocolate Factory & Cactus Garden in Henderson. Skip the self-guided tour of the chocolate factory to revel in the surreal beauty of cacti dripping with more than 250,000 twinkling lights. GREEN CHRISTMAS The ace horticultural staff at Bellagio's botanical gardens dresses a huge indoor Christmas tree with gargantuan ornaments and zillions of flowers.
—Leslie Brenner
After decades of rescuing greenhorn cooks from culinary crises, Francine Maroukian revels in a gracious invite and a quiet holiday
During my 20 years as a New York-based private caterer, I was often called upon by friends and acquaintances when culinary disaster struck, and never more so than when those amateurs decided to throw that once-a-year holiday party. In places as far away as London and as near as Darien, Connecticut, someone would pick up the phone and, suddenly, I was talking otherwise sane folks down from the country-ham ledge, or patiently explaining why turkey bacon and bacon bacon aren't remotely the same thing, especially when you're making boeuf bourguignon.
Later, when people called back to share their successes, I felt connected to each party as though I had packed up my immersion blender and hit the road, cooking my way across the country. There was the eggnog crème brûlée that wouldn't set in Los Angeles and the six-course, from-scratch Chinese dinner that left me holding a takeout menu in my hot-oil-splattered hands. But catering had also taught me that some people have deep psychological issues that I would never be able to solve with a perfect soufflé.I've spent decades guiding people through the Thanksgiving-to-New Year's minefield, a time when cooking something—anything—brings out the worst in even the most genial people.
One Christmas Eve in Boston, I found myself in a spartan, expensive home right out of Woody Allen's 1978 film, Interiors (chilly rooms, icy people). The hostess announced that she would be in the kitchen carving the rib roast; after almost 15 minutes, she hadn't reappeared. Her husband, busy holding court at the head of the table, turned to me with a big gin grin: "Find out what is taking her so long." What I discovered shocked even me. There, on the distressed Italian blue-pearl granite counter, that austerely chic woman was furiously cutting any trace of fat from each slice of meat. It was roast rage: she was willing to buy it and even cook it, but she'd be damned if she'd let anyone enjoy it.
It was then and there that I understood the Zen of entertaining: Give a party only if you really want to have a party. I experienced this principle firsthand when I accepted a Christmas dinner invitation in Beaufort, South Carolina. When I was catering, I could rarely make holiday plans that required advance travel arrangements (well, I could make them; I just never knew if I could keep them). This was my first free year, and I was excited to actually be going somewhere instead of just manning the emergency hotline and imagining myself at other people's parties. I surrendered my itinerary to my hostess, Suzanne Williamson Pollak, the author of Entertaining for Dummies (who is also currently working with novelist Pat Conroy on a cookbook memoir). She planned every detail of the trip with my comfort in mind.
The travel dates she suggested meant that I would arrive after noon on December 25, thereby allowing her to enjoy the intimacy of Christmas morning with her family and freeing me to spend Christmas Eve where I always did—at home in New York. Surprisingly, flying on Christmas morning was much more relaxing than I ever thought it could be. Without the crazed December 24-or-bust crowds, the airport was manageable and almost exciting, like something out of the 1950's, when flying was an event.
Not long after my arrival, Suzanne and I began making pasta. This was not the usual frantic transfer of responsibility from an unskilled hostess to me. The work took the form of soothing repetitive motions, rather than being a stressful task. Occasionally the doorbell would ring and she would ask me to answer it, as though I belonged there and was not just perched on the edge of her family's life. By the time the duck lasagna was in the oven and the other guests had arrived, I felt as though I were part of the family.
When I got back to New York, I found a small tin of handmade truffles tucked in my bag along with a note: WE LOVED HAVING YOU. THANKS FOR COMING. Now that's hospitality.
FRANCINE MAROUKIAN is the author of Town & Country Elegant Entertaining.
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