As we touched down at McCarren Airport in Las Vegas, we could see our hotel glistening from the tarmac – the beautifully bronzed Wynn Encore. It stood out majestically amongst the other hotels on the strip, which seemed to rely on themes to draw in the punters. Like pirates and parrots? Visit Treasure Island. Want a bit of rock n’ roll? Then The Hard Rock Hotel is for you. If your tastes are more ahem, adult, then a stay at Hooters is a must.

Getting out of the taxi at the Encore and stepping into the cool air-conditioned lobby, we knew we’d made the right choice. A proper grown up hotel. No cheesy muzak or grubby buffets for this hotel. Instead style and sophistication seemed to ooze from its every pore, from the cool clubby tunes pumped from the invisible speakers, to the beautiful hostesses plying gamblers with drinks.

A quick trip to the pools further reinforced our perceptions. We had our pick from a family style pool and the ‘European Style Pool’. No prizes for guessing which one we plumped for. The European style pool featured a resident DJ, cabanas, alcoholic snow cones and Baywatch style cocktail waitresses. Swimming? Who was here to swim? This was all about posing.

But onto the food. Our first meal in Vegas was spent in a jetlagged fug. We went to Maggiano’s, a lovely trattoria opposite our hotel. Was it lunch? Was it dinner? Who cares. We were in Vegas. We ordered like refugees who hadn’t seen food in years. Two enormous salads, garlic bread, garlicky crumbed (what is it about Americans and crumbing?) mushrooms and more. Huge portions. I’d forgotten how big they were across the pond. It was good but then even a Happy Meal would have been gastronomic heaven after our airplane meals.

The rest of our trip was spent shopping, sunbathing and of course, eating at many of the restaurants that dominate the hotels. We had magnificent burgers at Stripburger, with pickle fries (deep fried bread crumbed – yes, more crumb – pickles) and wonderful steaks at Craftsteak. We enjoyed zingy sushi, sashimi and more deep fried things at Tao. Dessert at Tao was especially special for the husband. He has a thing, you see. When he sees the words ‘sorbets’ and ‘ice cream’ on the menu, he knows more often than not, the hapless waiter or waitress will not know what they are, and will often have to trudge back to the kitchen to find out. He was disappointed this time. Not only did our waiter know what they were, but the sorbets on offer were the husband’s holy trinity – mango, passion fruit and raspberry. The husband was in heaven. The evening continued upstairs at the club where he was even more delighted to see semi clad caged dancers writhing to the music. Now, anyone who knows my husband will know he hates dancing. So it was quite a surprise when I had to drag him away muttering the words ‘complete philistine.’ Wonder what he meant.

The only low eating point came in the form of ‘Rosemary’s’ which reminded me of Oslo Court in London’s St John’s Wood. If you’ve been there you’ll know the decor and menu are resolutely stuck in the 70s. Just like Rosemary’s. We couldn’t leave fast enough. A quick appetiser, an entree, no pudding thanks very much – ‘We’ve got a plane to catch,’ we lied gamely. We were back on the Strip in an hour, drinking French martinis and dancing at our hotel bar & club – Blush. A bottle of champagne and 3 martinis later, it was time to gamble. The husband was mildly successful and made $5, which I promptly lost, along with $20 more dollars on the slots - ‘Jusss one more pull, ’ I slurred. Fearing he had a wife on the edge, I was swiftly dispatched to bed.

Our final meal was at Postrio, Wolfgang Puck’s casual Italian eaterie at The Venetian, an Italian themed hotel complete with waterway – pizza, salad and a glass of beautifully scented Californian Chardonnay. We enjoyed the slightly surreal images of gondolas, Italian costumed counts and countesses, mingling with shoppers, and marveled at the world that was Vegas. Completely bonkers, yet a wonderful respite from reality. We’d be back.

Nish