Fear and Bloating in Las Vegas

 

In this latest installment of Cooked, J Lee arrives in Las Vegas for the opening of Cantina Contramar, the Fontainebleau’s new outpost of Mexico City’s most beloved dining institution. It’s his first time in Sin City, so after the travel day from hell, he did not hold back. What followed was four excessive days of eating and drinking his way through the desert, semi-responsibly.

FRIDAY, MARCH 27,2026

6:55 AM EST

I traveled 19 hours on the worst travel day since 9/11 to eat a tuna tostada in the middle of the desert. I’ll admit, I’ve lived a sheltered life, but I’ve never in my days seen the level of chaos that I saw at JFK Terminal 5 on March 27th, 2027. Multiple rejected budgets meant a near shutdown of TSA. On the morning of my flight, this meant a security line that engulfed the entire terminal and flooded the sidewalk outside. Airport security is stressful enough as is—on a normal day it’s one of the first world’s worst humiliations— now imagine your worst airport security experience, multiply it by ten, and instead of TSA agents, there are worms-for-brains ICE motherfuckers in full tactical gear, guns strapped to their hips, no idea what they’re doing, directing the whole situation and making it infinitely worse. No one knew where to go or what to do. It was every man and woman for themselves. Your PreCheck won’t save you, CLEAR won’t save you, time to find god. I watched a mother change her newborn baby’s diaper on the cold hard concrete, while the baby cried and people stepped over him, because she was scared she’d lose her spot in line. I had the same fear, and I held my pee the entire time. Four and a half hours later, I still missed my flight by twenty minutes.

9:49 PM PST

After seven hours at the airport, a six-hour flight, a rancid egg drop soup, no sleep, and a viewing of The Housemaid, I arrived. I’ve never been to Vegas. I’ve never felt the need to go to Vegas. I’ve never understood slot machines, we’ve got Carbone at home. But I’m here, and it feels good. The air is warm, and I’m a sucker for the bright lights of a city. I’m in Las Vegas to be wined and dined, martinied and bambinied, maybe I’ll smoke a cigarette indoors as a little treat, maybe it’ll even be a skinny cig. I’m here for the opening of Cantina Contramar at the Fontainebleau, the first stateside outpost of the seminal Mexico City lunchtime institution, owned and helmed by Gabriela Cámara since 1998. The pre-opening party is tonight and I’m late, exhausted, and I smell like shit, but what happens in Vegas happens in Vegas. I check in at the VIP lounge. This hotel is crazy. There’s a Rick Owens store here, and a place to get an IV for when your hangover feels like it’s going to kill you. I run to my suite and take 50 photos of the Sphere, which you can see from my window. It’s an amazing sight. I throw on a pair of non-sweat pants, I look in the mirror and give myself a little slap. I’m ready.

10:07 PM

I’m too late to the party, I missed the gift bag and there’s no one to check me in, but I hear music so I just walk right in. I walk straight to the bar and pound a marg. It’s made with Casa Dragones, the good stuff, and it’s delicious. After the day I’ve had, I deserve this, and I deserve another. I don’t recognize a single face, and it’s freeing. I sip my second margarita and bop around the room. The DJ is amazing. Everyone is dressed in suits and gowns. I received the memo, but I ignored it. This feels like the end of a fancy Mexican wedding in a movie. I’m crashing the best part, where all the old people have left. Everyone is glowing and dancing freely, just drunk enough, or even a little bit too drunk. There was a beautiful energy in that beautiful room. I’m glad I stopped by, but I’m a sleepy baby. On my way back to my suite, I meet Jason and Karolyn at Motherwolf, right off the casino floor. There’s no seat for me at the bar. I eat the scraps of their Amatriciana, I hold the bowl with one hand and use a dirty spoon to shovel the pasta into my face with the other. I go back to my room, I put on my robe, I close the curtains because the Sphere is too bright, I turn on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, and pass out.

SATURDAY, MARCH 28,2026

7:47 AM

I’m up earlier than I’d like to be, and I’m pissed. I’m freezing because I love a cold hotel room where you’re forced under the blankets to survive. I toss and turn and try to sleep a bit more, and then I stare at my phone for two hours.

10:00 AM

I have a reservation at 10 AM at La Fontaine, the Fontainebleau’s French-inspired restaurant, famous for their soufflé pancakes. I’m not really hungry, but I have $136 of credit to spend, and I’m determined to be a little freak. I ordered an $11 Pellegrino, a $15 green juice, a $48 glass of Billecart rosé champagne, and for some reason I ordered a $38 lobster roll. I honestly don’t know what my thought process was. I think I was expecting it to be a decadent and dainty little dish, but what I got was a bit of a beast. Basically half a pound of lobster, half an avocado, some frisée on half a loaf of brioche. I struggled with it as my first meal of the day. My bad, honestly. I poured the $15 green juice into the $48 rosé champagne and it was delicious. If you ever have money to waste, I highly recommend it. You get that green juice glow with some champagne giggles. I guess I was a bit too giggly, I got back to the room and realized I’d left my phone on the table at the restaurant.

12:44 PM

I have a reservation for a bed by the pool. It’s 92 degrees and windy, and the pool is packed. Everyone who works at the pool is hot and amazing. Cheyenne, you rock. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to order a $60 bucket of water. I ordered some kind of Asian chicken wrap, and it was perfect. A sweet and savory nothing food, with breaded fries, which I know are divisive, but I love them. I drank two piña coladas, they were delicious, but I’m not sure they had alcohol in them. I felt nothing. I brought my piña to the adults-only pool and paddled around while everyone around me appeared to be swingermaxxing. I spotted a guy walking around the pool with an owl. I hung out with him for a second. Seeing an owl up close feels like seeing a dinosaur, or a little gremlin guy. The owl’s name is Ozzy. I went to my room and took a nap.

5:30 PM

I’ve had great meals at Contramar in Mexico City and not-so-great meals at Contramar in Mexico City, but I love and respect it as institution.I don’t think it’s hyperbolic to say that what Balthazar is to New York City, Contramar is to Mexico City. Interpret that as you wish. Contramar exemplifies a form of leisure that, while prominent in Europe, is almost nonexistent in the US. The long lunch is a lost art. There is nothing more decadent or leisurely than a four-hour lunch of shrimp cocktails, tostadas, and meringue, a bottle of rosé, maybe a marg, your top three buttons undone on your shirt and your pants, followed by a little nap. Contramar Las Vegas begs the question: what if Contramar was even more decadent? Could it still be leisurely?

This is the first seating of the first official service at Cantina Contramar. Gabriela is in full force. The maestra prowls the floor, greeting guests, shaking hands, making jokes, checking in on the kitchen and bar. Her rizz is powerful, and it brightens the room, which in Vegas tradition is a windowless box—an impressively beautiful windowless box, full of tiles and textures, earthen tones and soft hues. The room feels weighty yet light. The designers snapped when they made this room. There is a warmth to it — it’s airy, and it’s surprisingly bright. You can see the food, and your guests, and the kitchen. You can see the whole room from your seat, which is fun, and you want to.  It’s dinner and a show. On the first night it was full of cool, glamorous, beautiful people. It’s a room that encourages cross-pollination. It’s easy to imagine spotting your friends across the room and sidling up to their table to share a cheeky mezcal. This is the spirit of the long lunch, this is the spirit of Contramar, and I’m thoroughly impressed that they were able to capture it in a windowless room in Las Vegas. I’m no expert, but this feels like a radical concept for a Las Vegas restaurant. This is no clubstaurant, or rather, it reimagines what a clubstaurant can be. Sometimes it’s sexier to fuck with the lights on.

The menu at Cantina Contramar is a mix of Contramar classics like their aguachiles and tostadas, with some added dinner fare. If I’m being honest, dinner was a bit of a blur, as good dinners sometimes are. I could not tell you how many dishes I tried or how many mezcal-based beverages I tasted. We had six desserts. After a nearly five-hour dinner, we poured our Carajillos (Contramar’s famous espresso-based cocktail) into paper cups and headed to the Poodle Room.

10:17 PM

The Poodle Room is a poodle-themed members-only bar on the top floor of the Fontainebleau. It’s shiny and ridiculous and campy. It’s dumb, and after a few drinks, it’s fun in exactly the way that I’d hoped Vegas would be. We were there for one reason and one reason only: to see Gavin DeGraw perform his multiplatinum CVS banger, “I Don’t Want to Be.” Twenty-three years later and the song still slaps. The whole crowd sang along. I looked out the window onto this psychotic sparkling city in the desert, my stomach so full of fish and flan and rare agaves, and all I could think is that I don’t wanna be anything other than what I’ve been trying to be lately.

SUNDAY, MARCH 29,2026

10:00 AM

Weirdly, I’m not hungover. That’s good mezcal for you. I’m not much of a breakfast-in-bed kind of guy—I’m really not a breakfast guy in general—but room service is a privilege that I do not take for granted. I order their “Asian breakfast” set, which comes with some mixed dim sum and a big bowl of congee with all the fixings. I’m impressed. This is the best hotel congee I’ve ever had.

2:27 PM

The Chinatown here is impressive. I wish I had more time to explore it. It’s full of Thai, Vietnamese, and Filipino restaurants, but “Southeast Asian Town” doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. We choose a Thai spot called Weera that the concierge recommends. It’s a popular little place and full of locals, as far as I can tell. We order a papaya salad, larb, and a crab fried rice in a failed attempt to eat light. Every time I eat Thai food I think it’s the best food in the world.

4:30 PM

I had to do it. KÀ by Cirque du Soleil at the MGM Grand. I’ve never seen a Cirque du Soleil, but this was scarier than I thought it would be. It’s all very dark and steampunk and “oriental” and Mad Max and Playboi Carti, a splash of matador, plus clowns. If that sounds like something you’d be into, by all means. Honestly it kind of blew my mind, but I don’t know if I ever need to do that again.

8:11 PM

I’ve not been to Gymkhana in London but I’ve heard nothing but great things. It feels almost wrong to experience Gymkhana for the first time in Vegas of all places, but here we are at the Aria. There’s a Gymkhana Rolls-Royce parked inside. The room is moody, dark, and deceptive. It feels a little clubby, but more like a clubhouse than a nightclub. The ceilings are low (for Vegas), and it gives you a false sense of intimacy. From your seat, you’d have no idea this restaurant is huge. Once again, we ate a ridiculous amount of food. Credit where it’s due, this is some of the best Indian food I’ve ever had. All of the flavors were so dialed in, so complex, but restrained enough to allow you to appreciate every element in every dish and every sauce. Everything was “spicy,” but in surprising ways. A ginger and cardamom-studded quail seekh kebab was accompanied by a mustard and mint chutney that was fresh with that bitter mustard green kind of spice. It rocked me. I’m embarrassed to admit that by the time the venison biryani came around, I was almost tapped out, but I’m glad I pushed through. This is by far the most delicious game meat I’ve ever had, lean yet tender and juicy, lifted by the pomegranate and mint raita. This is a decadent dish that eats light, all things considered. For dessert, the saffron pistachio ice cream falooda was a complete explosion of flavors and textures—noodles, jelly, seeds, nuts, ice cream—completely over the top and decadent, which feels right at home alongside the neon signs and flashing lights of Las Vegas. Next time I need to come back with a big group—and bring Tupperware.

10:23 PM

The Annex is a secret-ish cocktail lounge at the Bellagio, but don’t call it a speakeasy. You walk through a maze of slot machines, pass some blackjack tables, and you’ll find the Annex behind a nondescript door. You will have trouble finding the door, and that’s half the fun—unless you’re me, you’ve already had two cocktails, you’re full of biryani, and you’re running twenty minutes late for your reservation. This is what you want a secret cocktail lounge inside the Bellagio to look like. It’s a little jewel box of a room, very dark. The focal point is the bar itself, which is beautiful and stocked full of rare, expensive bottles. In the bathroom there’s a Japanese toilet. This bar is notably expensive, even in a city with no shortage of expensive experiences. The cheapest drink is $28, but from there the prices increase exponentially. There’s a $70 black truffle cognac cocktail and a $99 drink called the Zeus, which is made with wagyu fat-washed Japanese whiskey, comes with a side of steak tartare, and is served on a pedestal in the shape of a swaggered-out French bulldog wearing a bowtie, a Louis belt, and aviators. And this is before you even get to the “vintage cocktails.”

The vintage cocktails are made with vintage spirits (think a bottle of Bacardi from the 1960s), and they are all market-priced. Truly, if you have to ask, you can’t afford it. The thing is, the cocktails are incredible. They’re truly works of art. Every drink is so well balanced, not too sweet. There’s a real hand at work crafting these cocktails (shoutout Alec). A pornstar martini was one of the most joyful drinks I’ve had. I could down three with ease. The Kennedy is basically a daiquiri made with that vintage Bacardi. It’s so special. You get a really beautiful, earthy grassiness from the old rum—it feels like a time capsule. Maybe Marilyn Monroe drank a daiquiri back in the day that tasted exactly like this. There are so few of these old bottles left, it almost brings a tear to my eye. The price of this cocktail also brings a tear to my eye: $165. Of course, I forced myself to eat a $100 wagyu sando before I left. Bloop.

MONDAY, MARCH 30, 2026

10:27 AM

I’m literally not hungry at all. Honestly, I’m running out of steam. Four nights in Vegas is a lot. But I should eat something. I get an eggplant wrap from Momofuku’s Bang Bar. The flatbread is fresh and crispy, the eggplant tender and flavorful. If I ever find myself in Columbus Circle (the only location outside of Vegas), I’ll be copping one of these.

2:27 PM

Lunch at Din Tai Fung. I don’t know what to say that hasn’t been said: this place is perfect. The soup dumplings are a fucking miracle. Their cucumbers are perfection. I could eat this every day. There should be one on every corner, in every city aroundthe world. DTF.

9:22 PM

Dinner at Carbone Riviera, the newest addition to the Carbone family. I don’t eat at Carbone in New York—I can’t afford it and I can’t get a reservation—but I love Carbone. I’ve gone on record so many times with my love for the Major Food Group. This is not me glazing them; they don’t need it, they don’t want me. I only just learned how to say “Aimé Leon Dore.” I still say it wrong most of the time, but I think they do a fantastic job across the board. Carbone was born and bred in New York, but Las Vegas feels like its spiritual home. The machismo, the decadence, the theater of it all just feels so at home in Las Vegas. But Carbone Riviera does things a little differently. To me, Carbone Riviera feels like Carbone for girls, and I mean that in the best way. It’s completely decked out in pastels and mosaics— there’s a flourish to it, it’s very cute. Jenna Perry would love it here. Of course this is a reflection of their coastal Italian influence; ladies love Capri, and so do I. I like this seafood heel turn for them. It makes me miss Santina (RIP). The food is fun, the room is fun. You get to see the famous Bellagio Fountain from your seat, or out on their beautiful deck. Be careful—the martinis are incredibly strong. You might actually think for a second that you’re on a Mediterranean vacation, or you might go to the casino and put a hundred dollars on black and lose it in 30 seconds. That’s what I did.

12:12 AM

One vodka shot at Bruno Mars’s bar, Pinky Ring. I didn’t need it. I got my unc on a little bit to their live band and took a photo of Bruno’s Grammy for “Uptown Funk.” This was my celebrity sighting.

TUESDAY, MARCH 31,2026

6:43 AM

I wake up unbelievably hungover. I swear to God those martinis are insane, but I’ve only myself to blame. Honestly, you didn’t do it right if you’re not leaving Vegas with a hangover. Thankfully there’s no line at the airport. I’m not hungry, but I order a breakfast sandwich at Wendy’s to try to soak up some of these toxins. As soon as I land in L.A., I puke it up.

The end.