Hemingway in Vegas: One Man’s Journey for the Perfect Mojito

Vegas is hot. Vegas is loud. Vegas is fast.

Everything in Vegas is designed for a purpose, and that purpose is to separate the average tourist from the memory that money is required for everyday living. Its flashing lights promise entertainment, riches, sex. Its streets promise the chance to run into the famous, or at least that they may run into you. Its buildings promise you your wildest dreams. And its drinks promise relief.

On my trip it was that last item that I was concerned with. In a city that has rapidly (on a global timeline) positioned itself at the pinnacle of cuisine and leisure pursuits, I realized that it would be a crime not to have some predetermined gastronomic goal for my trip. That goal, decided in a seat on the jet that was hurling my companion and me across the breadth of this country, was to drink mojitos.

First a little background on the drink that fueled my quest. A mojito is an alcoholic drink made of rum, sugar, lime juice, crushed mint leaves, soda water, and shaved ice. Originally a Cuban cocktail, the drink has seen a resurgence of popularity in America in recent years. It is a distant cousin of the Mint Julep, and of the British Navy’s “Grog.”

When properly prepared, it tastes like heaven. When improperly prepared, it tastes like toothpaste.

I had never tasted a mojito when I was sitting in that plane. I think that I had read about them in a magazine, or on some website. All I knew is that I liked lime, mint, and rum. So I decided to give them a shot. My goal was simple. Whenever they were available, I would drink a mojito. An accompanying glass of water would be asked for so that the desert didn’t make a scramble of my brain. As I sampled the wares of Vegas, I would keep simple notes. And hopefully I would come out at the end of the week with an appreciation for the nuances in what can only be described as a simple drink.

Mojito # 1 : The Awakening

After a wearying trans-continental flight, the usual scramble to gather up our luggage, catch our shuttle to the hotel, and check into our room, we of course decided to hit the strip. We were staying in what our (then) travel agent described as a “Classic” Vegas resort. After seeing the lobby, room, and casino floor, we decided to find a new travel agent. The Riviera was ancient. It may have been top of its class when the rat pack was hanging around town, but now it seemed like it was home to a different pack of rats. Ok, it wasn’t that bad. But it was not quite what we had hoped for in our Vegas experience.

We hit the strip and headed toward the real resorts. We hadn’t really eaten since about 6:30 AM and it was rapidly getting dark. Food was a priority. Not quite enough of one to eat in our own glorious resort though. We flipped and flopped about what we wanted, and passed by at least 25 choices without making up our minds. Feeling like a starving person being shown a buffet table, we just couldn’t decide.

But of course, between our dinner and us, there were the distractions. We wandered first into Treasure Island. This was a true resort. After the Riviera, it looked like a palace. (Not Caesar’s though, that is a few doors down.) Wandering through the casino I spotted my first target. A Mexican restaurant cleverly disguised as a casino bar. It wasn’t until the next stop that I actually realized it was anything other than a bar. The sign (found upon later inspection) was approximately 6 inches wide.

The mojito. On first reaction, it tasted like a rum margarita. Really heavy lime. Barely any mint. Not spectacular, but what did I know? At that point it could have been the worlds greatest mojito. It just wasn’t what I was expecting. With a growling in my stomach I had to say goodbye to this place before I really understood what I had started.

Mojjito # 2: The Sating

Don’t let the stories of Vegas fool you. Things close. Including many of the restaurants in the casinos. Our indecision, combined with a spate of closed eateries kept us stumbling around half-asleep until about midnight. Finally, tired and about to give up our search for food, we found an acceptable place. The Grand Lux Cafe in the Venetian Hotel.

This is where I consider my Vegas experience to have truly started. Seated immediately, we found the menu full of enticing entrees, so much so that my companion actually found something that sounded good (you have to have traveled with her to understand just how much of a challenge this can sometimes be).

Our waiter didn’t even flinch when I ordered the mojito, which was not on the drink menu. The resulting drink was a polar opposite to my previous attempt. Landing firmly on the mint side. It appeared that the mint had been chopped in a food processor rather than the traditional muddling. The sugar and the lime were however in perfect balance with each other. The presentation made it seem much more of an after-diner dessert drink, than an old school cocktail.

With a full stomach and a solid start to my notes, I retired to the splendid Riviera for some much-needed rest.

Mojito # ?: The Mojito that wasn’t!

While wandering the strip on our second day in town we found ourselves in the Paris hotel and casino. Of all of the newly built super hotels on the strip, this place has the most “mouse loving” major-theme-park atmosphere. A replica of the base of the Eiffel tower sits astride the gaming floor. And as with all of the casinos, there is a convenient bar.

It was at this bar that I attempted to grab my first mojito of the day. When I asked the bartender, he replied that he couldn’t make them. No fresh mint. While I can respect that this place would rather not serve a drink than carry pre-made mix on hand, the bartender couldn’t leave it at that. No, he then decided to give me a lesson on the drink that I had ordered.

Here is a tip for all of the aspiring service workers out there. When a person asks for a drink/food item by name, they probably know what they are asking for. Trying to explain what it is to them is probably going to piss them off. Doing it in a condescending tone is definitely going to piss them off.

Now this fine young man told me that if he had mint on hand he could make one. After all, as he explained to me, “A mojito is just a mint julep with rum instead of bourbon.”

As I previously said, the drinks could be considered cousins. Even going as far as saying a mojito is a descendent of the julep. But for a bartender in the “City of Sin” to not understand the difference in two very standard drinks where (completely different) preparation is the key to both, well, that was unacceptable.

I ordered a Guinness and left.

Mojito # 3 : McMojito

No, I didn’t get my next mojito at McDonald’s.

Our next stop was at the New York, New York Hotel and Casino. At a restaurant called Nine Fine Irishmen. We took a break from sightseeing, and losing our cash out on the floor, to lose some cash for a good cause.

The restaurant is beautifully decorated with dark woods, shelves of books and statues of its namesakes, and a huge bar. After my failure earlier in the day, I was prepared for the inevitable Guinness. After all, this was obviously an Irish pub. There was no way they were going to prep a mojito, right? Wrong. There it was, staring at me from the menu. Simply labeled “mojito.” No funny flavors. No Irish Whiskey mojito. No Guinness mojito. This place just made a regular mojito. I was shocked.

So I ordered one. It came out in a teardrop goblet, and it looked beautiful. It tasted the same. Perfectly balanced mint and lime. My only complaint was that it could have used a tablespoon more simple syrup to suit my sweet tooth. But this was by far the best I had tried. To think, I had to go to an Irish pub to find a good Cuban cocktail.

Mojito # 4: A Taste of Heaven

Billboards from the airport to the strip advertise the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay resort and casino. So in our travels we decided to stop in and check it out. I am not ashamed to admit that I am a nature geek. I get giddy like a five-year-old at the thought of zoos, aquariums, and natural history museums. I watch a ton of nature shows. I love the stuff.

So I was really looking forward to this place. Sadly the excitement didn’t last very long. Getting in was expensive, required standing in a long line, and having our souvenir picture taken at the entrance in true theme park fashion. Once inside, we followed a winding walkway through several exhibits of various wildlife. Each exhibit was interesting, and the place showcased the animals beautifully. The problem was that it was over before it started. It took all of 15 minutes to walk through the entire place. Maybe I was expecting more than I should have been. But the cost and the hype led me to believe that I was in for a treat. I was pretty disappointed to say the least.

But the failed endeavor led me to what I believe is the jewel of the city. To get to the aquarium from the front door of the resort, you must walk through the gaming floor, a shopping mall, and what seems to be a never-ending corridor. It was in this corridor that I found a treasure. The Border Grill. A Mexican theme restaurant and bar. On the outside there was a to-go menu. And the word mojito seared itself into my brain. We stopped in and took a seat at the bar. And I opened up their menu. I found not one mojito, but half a page of them. They had variations on the choice of rum, additional fruit choices, and all were still respectful of the classic drink.

Thinking I had finally found a base of operations to continue my research I decided to throw caution (and my wallet) to the wind and go for the most expensive mojito on the menu. A traditional made with 12 year old Montecristo rum.

The bartender made the drink with care and precision. Using an actual muddler to blend the sugar and mint, adding the limes just before the end. Letting the rum soak up the flavors for a while before adding the soda. I watched and waited with anticipation.

It was perfect.

The four flavors were all in absolute balance. All were playing their part exquisitely. The first sip told me what I had been waiting to hear. The reason expats like Hemingway decided to stay once they got there. This was what a mojito should taste like.

Realizing that there was more of the town to see, I had to leave the Border Grill’s other mojito choices behind. But I made a note to return.

Mojito # 5-8.5: Variations on a Theme

On our last full day in Vegas I had to say goodbye to my companion for a while. To be honest, the real reason we were in town was for her to work. Vegas may very well be the conference capital of the country these days. She was there for a dental conference, and today was the day.

We took the monorail from the Hilton next door to our hotel down to the lower end of the strip and we parted ways at the conference center stop.

Now I was going to be alone in Vegas for at least 6 hours. Whatever shall I do? So many choices. But knowing many of them would end up with me flying back home alone, I decided to do what any good boy would have.

Get stinking drunk and lose the last of my money.

And if I was going to get drunk, I knew exactly where I was going to do it. At the bar of the Border Grill.

After swapping from the city based monorail, to the hotel owned one across the street, I finally ended up at Mandalay Bay. Sadly it was about 9am by this point. And though I had no problem staring my day that early, the Border Grill wasn’t going to help me. They didn’t open for two more hours.

But the great thing about Vegas is that you can always kill time. If you have the money that is.

Flash forward two hours. I had lost quite a bit at the Bellagio, tried and failed to ride the roller coaster at the NY, NY, and wandered the Luxor and Excaliber’s gaming floors without managing to lose my shirt.

I arrived at the Border Grill as they were opening the roll doors. I took a stool at the bar and prepared for a good day.

The best news I had received that morning was that it was May 6^th. I had lost track of the days, as I often do on vacations. Realizing that I had all afternoon to sit at the bar and watch TV, I was happy to find out that it was Kentucky Derby day. Not a horse racing fan, but big spectacles of any genre always interest me.

Bonus – As I started watching the event coverage, they gave a demonstration on how to make a Mint Julep. Ha! Take that, bad bartender guy!

I ordered an early lunch and my first cocktail. Having tried what I considered to be the best mojito I was going to get outside of Havana, I decided that the day would be spent trying variations of the drink. And the bartender was more than happy to help me out.

The night before, the bartenders had decided to mess around. They soaked an entire pitcher full of sliced cucumbers in vodka overnight. And their special of the day was, you guessed it, Cucumber Mojitos. After my initial revulsion, I settled into the thought. The fact that they used vodka instead of rum was a smart choice. I rolled the thought of cucumber and mint around my head. I added in some lime. The more I thought about it, the better the idea seemed. I went for it.

My imagination was working pretty well that day. The drink tasted pretty much exactly as I had envisioned. They went light on the sugar, letting the crispness of the cucumber carry the drink. It was a drink that I would keep in the back of my mind, ready to break out for a summer cookout. Light, crisp, cool. Not a “mojito,” per se, but a damn fine drink nonetheless.

As I enjoyed my fajitas, I began chatting with the bartender. I explained my research and she told me flat out, she makes the best mojitos in Las Vegas. She said her secret was that she loved to drink them. Hence, she made little else for herself when she was drinking.

For my next choice I had the house mojito. Made with Cruzan rum. Nothing special. It was better than any of the non-Border Grill mojitos I had sampled. But still not spectacular.

Buy this point people were starting to flow into the bar and restaurant. The interesting dynamic that I had not noticed up until this point is that Vegas’ lack of open container laws make bartenders very lonely people. I saw at least 10 people come in one after the other and grab their drinks to go. No chatting, little tips, and a lot of rudeness.

So I made a point to chat as much as I could. I am a bit of an introvert, so this didn’t come easy. But with two drinks and a belly full of lunch in me, I was in an especially good mood this morning. I decided to let the bartender play. I seen her talk a patron out of spending $40 on a shot of top shelf tequila, instead giving them one half the price and much better quality, explaining that it should be sipped, not slammed. So I knew I was in good hands.

I told her that I would try any mojito she wanted to make. As long as I got a glass of water with it. It was after all, just after noon.

As she was preparing my drink, the bartender was telling me that she had another mojito that she had always wanted to try, banana. I really dislike bananas. I haven’t eaten one since I was about ten. Rather than offend, I explained to the bartender that I would really need to drink the one she was making before she made me another. Hopefully she would forget before it came time for my next.

When she turned around and placed the glass in front of me, I was worried. It was orange.

She explained that she had never made an “Orange Creamsicle” mojito before now, but that she had always wanted to try. I am please to report that she did well. Made with orange and vanilla Cruzan rum, the drink mimicked its namesake surprisingly well.

As I took the first sip, a young lady sat at the other end of the bar. She told the bartender that she wanted something but didn’t know what. Seeing her opening, she offered this new patron her famous banana mojito. The unsuspecting young lady accepted graciously.

A half a minute later I found a rocks glass half full of banana mojito sitting next to my orange. Along with my new friend, the bartender, asking me if it needed anything. I had to say, it didn’t. In retrospect I have decided that a shot of pineapple rum could have made the drink something really special. But as it was, I was (drunk and) happy that I actually enjoyed something with bananas in it.

Taking my time with the two drinks in front of me, I tried to focus on the horse race. Anyone who has ever watched the Kentucky Derby knows that there are hours upon hours of pre-race coverage. And now that I had started, I was damn sure going to stick around for the race itself. The problem was, at the rate I was going I was never going to make it. So I ordered some chips and salsa, sat back, and relaxed my pace for a while.

Around 2pm I decided that I could only handle one more mojito for the day. The bartender took down the Montecristo, and made me yet another perfect drink.

I asked for the bill in order to make sure that I would’t decide to have another. Here is a little inside info. If you are ever in Vegas, talk to your bartenders. Lunch, 4.5 drinks (one top shelf), and chips and Salsa came to $30. My friend got a damn good tip.

I savored my last drink while watching the horses prepare for the race of their lives. I don’t have any idea which horse won the race. It didn’t really matter. I had found what I was looking for.

Chris Nopper is a world traveler and alcohol enthusiast with a tentative claim to a baronage under the Holy Roman Empire. His new goal in life is to visit Belgium to imbibe beer made by the Trappist monks at the Abbey of St Sixtus of Westlvleren.