Columnist John Katsilometes: The scent of sex at Delmonico

John Katsilometes' column appears Tuesdays and Sundays. Reach him at 259-2327 or [email protected].

Our friends Jim and Elaine visit Las Vegas twice each year for a major trade show. They own a gift shop in the San Francisco Bay area. Every six months they join thousands of other small-business owners to restock their inventory, sniffing out amazing wholesale bargains like 10 dozen Gucci sunglasses for $36 a dozen or 50 sets of sterling silver candle holders for $100.

(There seems to be an inordinate number of long and dangerous knives for sale at ridiculously low prices at these shows, but that's another column for another time, Juice.)

On every visit, being Bay area dwellers who enjoy the finer things in life, Jim and Elaine stay at a major Strip resort and meet us at a fancy restaurant for dinner. On their last visit they stayed at Bellagio and had my wife, Adrienne, and I decide where to eat. We made the inspired choice of Drai's at Barbary Coast.

This time Jim and Elaine booked a room at the Venetian and made reservations at one of the hotel's finest restaurants. When we asked which one, Elaine said, "It's the steakhouse. The famous one."

Delmonico?

"That's it," she said.

Hoo boy!

We had never been to Delmonico. Del Taco, absolutely. But not Delmonico. We did know it was one of the most acclaimed restaurants in the city, owned by celebrity chef Emeril Lagasse, and it had become somewhat notorious as the home court of Robin Leach and his chocolate-covered dates.

Jim and Elaine had not heard of the Leach episode. Apparently it wasn't widely reported back home. Sexually nefarious behavior -- whether by elfin celebrities or more faceless, run-of-the-mill perverts -- is not exactly earth-shaking news in certain Bay area townships.

Thus, Jim and Elaine were in for some unexpectedly spicy dinner conversation.

When we arrived at Delmonico we were seated just outside the private dining room called the Kitchen Table -- Leach's hot spot. Jim's back was to the Kitchen Table (which is clearly visible through sheer curtains), so as we looked at him we couldn't help but look in there.

Noticing our smirks and catty remarks ("Tonight, dessert is on us!"), Jim asked what was so funny.

Clearing our throats, we tried to explain Leach's infamous dinner date of May 31:

"Robin Leach ... remember, the host of the 'Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous?' "

" 'Champagne wishes and caviar dreams?' That guy."

"He had dinner here with a few women."

"I think they were dancers."

"John thinks they were dancers. I don't know. They had dinner and afterward they took off their clothes."

"They were dancers, I tell you. Maybe from the Olympic Garden."

"Anyway, one woman laid out on the table and had chocolate smeared on her body. Some other women had desserts spread on their bodies and the kitchen staff and some of the guests could see. It went on for 15 or 20 minutes before they were told to cool it."

"Cool it with the Cool Whip!"

"So a few days ago Emeril had to appear before the Clark County Commission and apologize for the whole thing. He got a reprimand, but he got to keep his liquor license, which is fair because it really wasn't his fault. I kind of felt bad for him."

"Leach wasn't around, by the way. The guy who caused the whole problem was out of the country. Probably on a dessert island."

"Or desert island."

"Whatever."

Jim then asked where, exactly, this all took place. When told, "Right behind you," he nearly snapped his spine spinning his head around. He could've been a stuntman in "The Exorcist."

By then the table was positively bubbling over with giggles. A waiter came over and Adrienne asked about the Leach episode.

"Oh, you've heard about that? Did you hear about it on TV?" he asked.

"Actually, I cover Clark County for the paper," she said (this is true).

The waiter then explained what happened that night, offering no new news (drat) and calling the scene "a voyeur's paradise. Actually, it was an exhibitionist's paradise, too."

More laughs.

Dinner turned out to be, as expected, fabulous. The service was excellent as well. But there are scores of comparably outstanding restaurants in Las Vegas, and very few can claim the mystique of Delmonico. The place boasts a naughty, risque ambience, and has Mr. Leach to thank for it.

The Delmonico staff is certainly aware of the restaurant's newfound identity.

As we were leaving, our waiter -- seeming a bit wary of his departing guests -- pulled us aside and said, "See? Everything was fine. No shenanigans tonight."

"Yeah, that's true," I said. "Dang it."

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