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To open this feature, we’ll defer to the wit and wisdom of none other than Oscar Wilde, who famously wrote, “I love this bar/ It’s my kind of place/ Just walkin’ through the front door/ Puts a big smile on my face.”
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You don’t go to the clamorous, corrugated bro cave Hi Scores for anything resembling chill ambience, but hey, you can try your hand at the original Mortal Kombat on free-play and see if you still know Scorpion’s fire-breathing fatality move.
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Intellectually, I know that strip clubs are vortices of frenetic sad-flavored desperation, but the fact that El Dorado Cantina shares a wall with Sapphire Las Vegas never fails to tickle me with a frisson of ooh maybe something sexy will happen.
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Summer is the best drinking season because of its implicit approval of volume.
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Don’t be put off by the oonsta thunderbeats shaking the sidewalk outside Turmeric; inside, the music is muted, turning the restaurant into a fun Fremont East people-watching fishbowl with a soundtrack.
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Usually, Scotch makes me think of the following in a sort of randomized blurry associative mental whirlwind: country clubs, ascots, self-satisfied chortling, jodhpurs, stubborn institutional white privilege.
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China Poblano in the Cosmopolitan is all about freewheeling culinary hookups, Mexican and Chinese cuisine getting together and being down for whatever.
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In its oak and velvet simplicity, the Monte Carlo stands for the philosophy behind Classic Jewel’s cocktail menu.
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Elixir is hidden atop a curlicue of asphalt that swirls off of Green Valley Parkway, in a nondescript office/retail cube that looks more suited to CPA firms and law practices.
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Happy fifth birthday, Barrymore! *party horn, confetti toss* Not an insignificant milestone for a retro-luxe gem hidden in a sleepy timeshare tower on desolate Convention Center Drive.