O'Keeffe show doesn't deliver the magic I was seeking

I set off for Tate Modern wanting desperately to love the Georgia O'Keefe show. I already had an affection for the artist based on childhood visits to her work at the Art Institute of Chicago. I wanted to bask in her rich colours, get past the cliches of the endlessly-reproduced flowers and the sexual innuendo to find something greater. Sadly, I did not.

Instead, I drifted quickly through a series of rooms filled with a lot of work that didn't catch my attention. The first four rooms on her early career left me cold. I know the developmental stuff is essential in a major retrospective, but knowing more didn't do me any favours. I saw an early version of today's marketing-savvy modern artist, more about creating shock and disrupting the status quo than creating inspired beauty. (I freely admit that this statement reveals my prejudice against ... and some would argue lack of understanding of ... modern art.) 

We're confronted early on with some of those highly-sexualised flower paintings. Sorry, but the enormous floral clitoris just hits me as a juvenile attempt to shock. The New York cityscapes are striking, but I didn't think they were that much better than the Art Deco-style paintings that finish off the 1930s look at the recently renovated Lansdowne Club's dining room. Great interior design, but high art?

Things improve when O'Keeffe gets out of the city. There's an enormous canvas of two luscious red poppies that delivered the awe and emotion I wanted from the whole show. Many of the other canvases were smaller than I expected, and lacked depth. Little drew me in or invited lingering study; I found her colours surprisingly flat, closer to great graphic design than great art.  

I was most keen to see her works from the American West. With the Grand Canyon such a recent memory, I have a greater appreciation of the magical colours of the desert. In trying to photograph it, I got a sense of how difficult it is to capture the nuances, the shadows, the vast spaces. It's a landscape better suited to art than photography. Indeed, these were the works I liked best, wanting to clamber through that frame and explore the alternate reality of those shadowy valleys and mesas. And yet, the things that held my attention for longest  in this room weren't O'Keeffe's work, but a couple of black and white photographs from her buddy Ansel Adams. These moved me more than anything else in the exhibition, and are the things I'm likely to remember longest.

Near the end there's a version of the cloudscape that was my childhood favourite at the Art Institute. Chicago's is vast, hung above a light-flooded, grand stairwell so that you actually have the feeling of soaring as you hold on to the upper landing railing and gaze over it. The show's version is more modestly-sized, on a normal wall. Without the setting, it just doesn't inspire the magic. 

I wanted this show to move me past the cliches. Instead, it pushed me towards them. O'Keeffe's work reproduces well for posters, bags and household items. It's pretty. It's a perfect interior design choice if you're trying to convey Art Deco, or flowery femininity with a modern edge, or a sophisticated version of the American West. But I wanted more.

Drinking and Dining at Tate Modern

My general ambivalence towards modern art means I've only covered the Tate here once before in almost ten years of cultural coverage. Gaugin didn't fare that well under my criticism either. 

I've been in the building frequently over the years, however. It's a popular event venue with spectacular views over the Thames towards St. Pauls. I have many friends who are members as much to get access to the 5th floor members' lounge, with its stunning rooftop balcony, as to see the art. We spent the early evening appreciating the view as the long light of the setting sun peeked through clearing clouds, making streets and buildings that had been slicked by an earlier rain shimmer. It was as beautiful as anything we'd seen inside.

We headed upstairs one floor to the Kitchen and Bar for dinner. The Tate has just opened a massive new extension called the Switch House, which is topped by a new restaurant. They're clearly trying to push visitors there, as the old Kitchen and Bar no longer accepts reservations and is doing much less promotion. It used to be tough to get a table here for a Friday night; last night it was half empty.

The Switch House restaurant is much more expensive and has gotten terrible reviews, both for poor room design that squanders its views and small portions of average food at unreasonable prices. Meanwhile, the Kitchen and Bar continues to deliver what I've come to count on it for: gastropub style classics with a resolutely English provenance to match the Tate's original British mission. With a stunning view. Unlike the Switch House restaurant, which reports say only has windows at shoulder height, meaning you can't see anything when you sit down, the original restaurant has floor-to-ceiling glass walls offering the whole sweep of the city between Waterloo and Tower bridges. I don't think there's anywhere else along the South Bank you can get that view while dining for such a reasonable price. You can even indulge your inner modern artist with pots of crayons and colouring-book style table covers. 

Summer round-up: restaurants (Fenchurch, Nopi), music, cricket and underwater archeology

Whoever coined the phrase "the lazy, hazy days of summer" clearly had a very different life to mine. Summer in England always seems to be the busiest time of year other than the run-up to Christmas. Every weekend is packed with special events, many of them annual traditions that populate the calendar well in advance.

We usually avoid vacations over the summer months for this reason. This year, two weeks and three weekends out of the country seems to have made things even more manic. Between work, my parish councillor duties and all the fun stuff programmed in, I've barely spent time in my garden. Ironic, as this is the lushest and most floriferous it's yet been. I certainly haven't had time for much blogging.

And so, in the interest of accurate reporting ... and not wanting to miss out several excellent adventures worthy of attention ... here's a round-up of social, cultural and culinary highlights since returning from Las Vegas.

Fenchurch & the Sky Garden

For a special meal with spectacular views in London, try Fenchurch inside the Sky Garden at 20 Fenchurch Street.  The venue is spectacular. The top three floors of this new skyscraper slope outwards from the floors below, left open by the designers to form a tropical hot house 35 stories up. The views are fantastic, and gardeners will be delighted to wander up and down the tiers of exotic plants, most with informative labels. (The garden is clearly immature; give the plants five years to bed in and it should be as good as Kew or Wisley.) A glass pavilion rises from the garden's heart with restaurants on two stories. The top one is, unsurprisingly, the more expensive.

It's a great place to impress someone, celebrate a special event or take advantage of an expense account. The warm, wood-and-brass traditional interiors form an almost colonial counterpoint to the exotic foliage beyond the windows, as do the resolutely English costumes of the staff. (Houndstooth check waistcoats, tailored jackets, natty bow ties.) The food is high-end continental with heavy English influences. Doing things properly, with three courses, cocktails and wine, will easily nudge you towards the £100 per person mark, so this isn't a commitment to be taken lightly. But in addition to the excellent food and amazing views, it's a surprisingly quiet venue in the heart of the city where they meet all your needs then allow you the table for as long as you need it. A top choice for an important business meeting.

With advance planning, however, there's a much cheaper option. Entry to the Sky Garden is free, as long as you reserve a ticket online, well in advance. There's a bar that also serves snacks in the general admissions area, and a handful of tables. Book for 5pm on a weeknight and you could have the swankiest happy hour venue in town for the price of your drink.

Sunken Cities at the British Museum 

I have promised myself I will go back, and I will write a longer review. But just in case...

This is the finest example thus far of how the curators can do magical things with the museum's new exhibition space. Here, they've used subtly wavering blue light and a soft aquatic soundtrack to give you the sense you're under water, discovering all these priceless artefacts for the first time. That's assisted by high definition videos on large screens next to certain artefacts, where life-sized archeologists are shown uncovering the same object from its watery grave.

You're looking at the remains of two Egyptian cities sunk beneath the Mediterranean, preserved perfectly by water and silt until their recent re-discovery. The circumstances mean that this is some of the most beautifully intact stuff from the ancient world you've ever seen. More interesting ... and definitely playing into the British Museum's goal of making relevant, modern political points ... these cities were crossroads of international trade, where Egyptian and Greco-Roman culture mashed up comfortably and accommodated many others. Much like the just-closed Sicilian show, this one reminds us that multiculturalism has worked well in the past.  Why can't we do it today? A question to ponder over lunch at the Great Court Restaurant where, though the prices carry the usual museum dining mark up, you'll find excellent food, a reasonable wine list and a blessed retreat from the children who are packing the galleries at this time of year.

A test match at Lords
Even if you don't think you like cricket ... if you have a friend who can sort the tickets and explain the basics, go. It's one of the great delights of the English summer, and perhaps the most civilised of all sporting events. While the teams break for both lunch and tea, fans can bring lavish picnics and their own alcohol into the stands. Any game that can be credibly enjoyed with foie gras and sparkling wine is worthy of attention. Too bad England's performance against Pakistan was softer than the centre of my home-made brownies.



Alcina at Longborough Festival Opera

Another triumph from our favourite country house opera company. As with the past two years, they've chosen to revive Handel's baroque opera for their young performers' production. In doing so, they continue to breath life and innovation into operas that have often been ignored as ponderous and archaic.

Alcina is a re-telling of the Circe story: man-eating sorceress entraps wandering sailors on her enchanted island. The spell is broken when one plucky lass comes in search of her bewitched betrothed. It's the music that's truly bewitching. In typical Longborough style they made the most of a simple set, focused on a raised circle that called to mind an Olympic wrestling ring. Here, the battle of relationships unfolded with tension, trauma and poignancy.  They move away from Handel to Gluck next year. Can't wait.

NOPI
After cooking from Yotam Ottolenghi's recipes with great success for several years now, I finally got to his flagship restaurant. As expected, the man elevates vegetables to a heavenly place. Though we had a couple of meat dishes, this is a place you could easily go vegetarian and not miss your animal protein. Beetroot and goat's cheese is a classic combo, but I've never had it done better.

Though you can do a traditional three course meal, the menu is skewed toward small plate starters, and its typical to share a bunch of these. The decor is cool and white, all marble and modern art. The wine list is interesting, filled with intriguing vintages you've never heart of. The staff is well informed, friendly and seemed to be packed with good looking Australians who enjoyed a bit of flirting with a few amusing, mature ladies on their girls' night out. We split a couple of desserts that were as creative and intriguing as the rest. (Strawberry mess with sumac and rose water? Yes!) I'm in a hurry to get back.

Battle Proms
It's the same core event every year: military re-enactments, Spitfire flyover, '40s swing, 1812 Overture with canons, Beethoven's Battle Symphony with fireworks and the usual suite of patriotic last-night-of-the-proms stuff. But it never gets old. And we've rarely had better weather. Yet another luxury picnic (just realised I've produced them three weekends in a row; no wonder I feel time-deprived). I can't imagine the summer without it.

Grand Canyon chopper tour is the unforgettable climax of US trip

"Grand" is a rare piece of American understatement. The most famous canyon in the world is so
much more.

Spectacular. Humbling. Monumental. It's one of a handful of places in my life so awe-inspiring I literally lost my breath on first view. That drama was heigh
tened, no doubt, by the nature of my initial encounter.

We skimmed up an unremarkable ridge hill in a glass-walled helicopter, the well-practiced pilot building the drama with his story telling. Then, with the perfect timing of a man who gives multiple performances a day, he announced "ladies and gentlemen ...  one of the seven wonders of the world ... The. Grand. Canyon! ..." precisely as we reached the top of that ridge, the Canyon dropped away beneath us, and he plunged us into it.

There are many ways to see the Grand Canyon. I doubt any are as spectacular as a helicopter tour. Yes, they're expensive. But this was our first, and possibly only, time to see this wonder. After careful research (my husband and spreadsheets were involved) we chose Maverick from more than 10 companies offering a bewildering variety of tours. Research, and several recommendations from friends, paid off. Our magical experience was worth every penny. Maverick puts itself out there as the top quality provider in the market, and does everything right to back up their claim. Luxury air-conditioned coach, picking us up at our meeting point just a little bit early.

Beautiful terminal building, efficient check-in people, comfortable lounge. The newest fleet of helicopters in the market, all spotlessly clean and seemingly fresh off the production line. Pilots recruited for their significant experience and their ability to be a charismatic guide, who then must dry clean and press their uniforms and make sure they are clean shaven and their hair is regularly trimmed, in order to look the part.

All of this icing on the cake, of course. What really matters is the tour. In our case, the "Dream Catcher Sunset" version. Given the subtlety of the colours, and the way the sun can wash them out, I highly recommend spending the extra money for the end-of-the-day jaunt. You get a much richer palette of colours and, in high summer, your time in the Canyon itself is much more pleasant.

From the first thrilling moments when you skim at speed over the runway, then lift off over the Vegas suburbs with the Top Gun soundtrack in your headphones, you're having fun. The pilot alternates frequent, informative commentary with time to just take it all in, with more carefully chosen music in the background. It's all swashbuckling stuff. There wasn't a question our man couldn't answer, and he was a wealth of facts weather dealing with Las Vegas trivia, geology or the history of Western exploration.

Once you clear suburbia, where you can marvel at the outrageous developments flagrantly using water to create a version of Tuscany in the desert, it's out over Lake Mead, where you can see the alarming, thick white band around the whole thing that shows where the water level once was. The contrast of the diminishing blue water out here against the completes un-bleached desolation of its surroundings drives home the ecological danger the whole place is built on. Minutes later you're over the Bowl of Fire, another popular hiking and camping destination for locals. It's similar to, but even more magnificent than, Red Rock Canyon. But the Bowl doesn't have any convenient roads leading through it. So unless you're a fit hiker, this is the way to go.

Next over a seemingly endless stretch of desert, where we learn about the flora and fauna that survive down there, and both the chaos and wild fertility that the odd rainstorm brings. And then, suddenly, you're swooping into the Canyon.

I've seen photos of it all my life. I've looked down on it from 30,000 feet in planes headed to California. It's as familiar a bit of America as the Statue of Liberty or the Golden Gate Bridge. But nothing prepares you for the reality. It's huge. That hits you from your first glance, when this gash in the Earth is so big it disappears beyond the horizon. The longer you look, the more you can lose perspective. But then you see how tiny the shadow of your helicopter is, or spot a green section on the Canyon floor where the trees look like toys, and the humbling proportions reassert themselves.  The Canyon's towering walls are sinuously beautiful, moulded into almost-living curves by wind and water. The rock seems to flow with a staggering yet subtle spectrum of colours that shift as the light changes. You could hover here and drink it in for hours.

Instead, you go deeper. One of the big advantages of flying with Maverick is their landing rights, negotiated for many millions a year with the Hualapai indians who have custody of this part of the Canyon. Maverick has exclusive rights to a broad plateau 3,500 feet below the Canyon edge, more than 2,000 feet above a deep bend in the Colorado river below.  At least five helicopters can land here at once, with plenty of space around each. You have about 45 minutes to explore here, while the pilot offers sparkling wine,  soft drinks and snacks. I scrambled up the gentle, rocky slope behind our landing spot, getting close to the cacti and scrub plants, then walked along the ledge of our plateau checking out the frightening drop to the river below. But mostly I just gawped at the magnificent spectacle that surrounded me. The sun had already dipped below the horizon high above us, long afternoon light casting crazy shadows and bringing out dramatic reds, browns and golds. It was magical.

Time flew too quickly, and soon the six passengers from our chopper were piling back in for the next leg of the journey. We flew out of the Canyon and towards the sunset, colours getting more dramatic by the minute. The more gentle desert slopes that didn't seem so interesting on our way out gained drama in the long shadows of our return. Skimming over the black bulk of Fortification Hill, an extinct volcano jutting its black bulk above the golden desert, added to the show. We landed again, this time at a fuel farm. While the pilots took care of their vehicles, we enjoyed sunset over the desert landscape of hills, valleys and ridges sloping away towards Las Vegas.

Back on board, I was in the front seat for the final leg. (Another mark of Maverick's professionalism: they rotate passengers with each stop so that everyone gets one leg up front.) We followed the Colorado River up to Hoover Dam, the arial perspective making the engineering feat that much more amazing.

Lake Mead and the suburbs again, then we were heading for downtown. The return journey heads for the Stratosphere Tower, turns left and follows The Strip, going over all those iconic casinos as their neon replaces the last fading rays of natural light. And then it's all over. Aside from my wedding, 4.5 hours has never gone faster.

It was a marvellous holiday. We had wonderful times, connected with beloved friends, did lots of new things. But no matter how you cut it, one thing will stand out above everything else: the spectacular, humbling, monumental ... and Grand ... Canyon.

Ten things to do beyond the Vegas Strip

We are proof you can have a great time in Vegas without ever setting foot on the four miles of Las Vegas Boulevard that most tourists never leave. Sure, we did The Strip. But we had more fun at the places below.

1. The Grand Canyon
One of the 10 best experiences of my life. Save, scrimp, beg, borrow or steal to get enough cash for Maverick Helicopters' sunset tour. So amazing it gets a whole story to itself, coming next.

2. Neon Museum
Las Vegas does have history, it's just very good at throwing it away. The people behind the Neon Museum wanted to prevent the past from disappearing, so started collecting the city's most iconic art form: the neon sign. They opened The Boneyard in 2012, filling a lot about the size of a football field with the colourful detritus of the city's past. You start in the lobby of the La Concha Motel, rescued, moved here and beautifully restored. People of my generation will instantly be transported to early childhood; its swooping mid-century design is straight out of childhood road trip stops. You can only get into The Boneyard with a guided tour ($18 for adults), and it's best to book in advance. It's a fascinating tour that covers everything from the history of the town and its casinos, to the science of neon, to legendary characters, to nuances of typography and design. I loved the story of The Stardust plummeting into insolvency when they ditched their iconic mid-century signage for a boring font update in Ariel. You can see both here. Even without all the facts, it's worth going to see something that is both strikingly beautiful, and fun. Remember, however, that you are in the middle of the desert. Daytime tours can be gruellingly hot; book early to get early morning or evening slots. You can see some of the collection without visiting the museum if you wander around my next stop.

3. Fremont Street
The Vegas of legend wasn't on The Strip at all, but along a stretch called Fremont Street. Once the mega-casinos and resorts started to appear, businesses here slumped into obscurity. Many were shuttered or torn down and some parts of the area became seedy, no-go places. In recent years there's been a massive renovation effort here, and our friends tell us that this is the place locals prefer to go. It's full of restaurants, art galleries and quirky shops, many decorated with impressive graffiti murals. There are a handful of old hotels and casinos. The median dividing the road features restored, vintage signs from the Neon Museum which light up at night.  I actually preferred this evening drive to the larger-than-life world of The Strip. At one end, the Fremont Street Experience does try to give The Strip a run for its money, with an arched canopy over the street streaming a light show while tourists pay to fly overhead on zip wires. But I preferred the scene further down, at places like the Container Park. They've stacked colourful shipping containers, turned them into restaurants and boutiques and put gardens and play areas for the kids in the middle. Check their website for free concerts and other events throughout the year. Further up the street are still-shuttered motels full of potential. I can see an uber-cool boutique hotel like the one we stayed at in Savannah thriving here; recreating the elegant but slightly louche mood of the Rat Pack/Madmen days for visitors who want to do something different.

4. Red Rock Canyon
You can't beat the Grand Canyon, but if you don't have the time or money ... or just want to do more of the great outdoors ... this is a gorgeous place. A one-way, 13-mile loop road lets you drive around the canyon floor, stopping frequently to gawp at the fascinating red rock formations and the towering 3,000-foot canyon walls. You might spot wild burros (we did) and bighorn sheep (we didn't). Joshua trees, agave, yucca and creosote bushes abound. It looks like a monochrome landscape from a distance, but once you're in it, it's a wonder of subtle reds, browns, greens and golds. Best of all, there's a wonderful National Parks visitor centre that does a great job of explaining geology, flora and fauna. We spent about 40 minutes here, but I could have easily done two hours. In winter, when temperatures fall to comfortable levels, this is a big hiking area. Packing a lunch and walking in to the waterfall our friends told us about is the No. 1 reason I'd return to Vegas.

5. Boot Barn's Western Super Store
Probably far more intriguing to foreign visitors than Americans, I admit. It's a temple of Americana. There are cowboy shirts pattered with Mount Rushmore, screaming bald eagles or the constitution ... or maybe all at once. How about stars and stripes place mats made from shotgun cartridges? Linger along the vast wall of Stetson hats, which you can customise with a range of showy hat bands. Silver belt buckles the size of a salad plate? They're here. And, of course, half the place is lofty stacks of boots. Even if you're not in the market, it's worth browsing their enormous collection to appreciate the range of prices and materials. You can jump into the thousands quickly if you fancy some stingray skin. There are some real works of art here.

6. Casa Don Juan
Now you've worked up an appetite. Go here. Back in London, Mexican seems to be the one global

cuisine we just can't get right. Thomasina Miers has brought us upscale Mexican street market food at Wahaca. That's good ... but this is the real thing. The old lady in the corner making the fresh tortillas. The variety of salsas and fresh chips loaded on your table, and replenished constantly without asking. The eclectic decor complete with the Virgin Mary smiling benignly over the votive candles at your beer. Obviously hand-made tamales, smokey sauces, fresh vegetables. And they didn't bat an eye when we asked to assemble a platter of starters with all the tomato on the side. Gaudy donkey cart with sombreros and musical instruments you could use for a group photo. I loved this place.

7. Hoover Dam
One of the modern world's great engineering projects. We got some fine views on the way back from the Grand Canyon. It's supposed to be an excellent tour, and also one of the best places in America to see art deco architecture.  It's an easy 30- to 40-minute drive from Vegas. We were three cars from the entrance when our host and driver realised he'd forgotten to leave his gun at home. And they aren't allowed on federal property. So we turned around. Only in America.

8. Boulder City
Unable to get to the Dam, we went to Boulder City instead. This dusty little place housed the workers building the dam, and now it's become a place to see the old time West without having to go too far from Vegas. Homey cafes jostle for space with shops flogging antiques, American Indian arts and crafts and clothes. Don't miss The Flying Saucer, a shop and centre for all things alien, inspired by nearby Area 51. There's even an extraterrestrial out front named Eak you can grab a selfie with.

9. A local casino
I now understand that casinos are more like multi-disciplinary entertainment venues than they are places for gambling, and appreciate that in a city that runs 24/7, a large percentage of its workforce is unwinding their day, or getting ready to start it, at strange times. Here's where the local casinos come in, providing relaxation space for people who work on The Strip, but want nothing to do with it otherwise. We walked through The Silverton, which has a much more laid back atmosphere and where the glitz is limited to a giant fish tank in which a girl ... aided by air pipes hidden in the coral ... swims around pretending to be a mermaid. It's attached to an enormous Bass Pro Shop replete with waterfalls, a Noah's Ark of taxidermised fauna, artificial landscapes and an indoor gun range. More rampant Americana, but with camouflage. Warning: Don't do this and the Boot Barn on the same day. Your head will
explode.

10. Grouchy John's Coffee
Our hosts' local, and where our friend Tommy Vinci does cartooning classes and shows some of his art. In a world of chains, how wonderful to find a local coffee shop with owners who cater for locals and set a distinct mood for their place. The shop is a temple to cult entertainment franchises: Doctor Who, Star Wars, super heroes, etc. In addition to all the standard coffees, they do a range of great smoothies (test your geek creds by spotting the Star Wars characters they're named after) and delicious breakfast sandwiches made by layering just cooked eggs and meats onto freshly-sliced croissants. Pop in. Chill out. Buy some of Tommy's art.

Vegas confounds my expectations, but I tire easily of The Strip

The same people who assumed we'd be going to The French Laundry when they heard of our trip to Northern California raised a curious eyebrow when we said we'd be going on to Las Vegas.

"You ... erm ... have never struck us as Las Vegas kind of people," they'd say, struggling to be polite. Closer friends would laugh, and predict "you are going to hate it."

Guess what? We didn't. While we wouldn't return without the excuse of friends to visit, we had a great time. The place confounded many of my expectations. The adjective I expected to encapsulate the city was ... tacky. Not so. It was expensive. Closely followed by wasteful. With hot as a close third.

I hadn't appreciated this critical fact about modern Las Vegas: less than a third of its revenue now comes from gambling. Margins are much better on hotels, shopping, shows and dining, especially if you charge premium prices for a captive audience. "The Strip" essentially functions like one of those enormous resorts that makes it inconvenient for you to leave. Especially if you don't have a car. It's often too hot to walk much, the spaces between resorts are deceptive and the horrific traffic makes taxis chew up the fares.

There are no bargains here. Those show tickets? The cheapest will cost what you'd pay for the best seats in London.  The bill for a casual meet-up on The Strip with friends (two burgers, four beers, two margaritas and a soft drink) was within twenty dollars of the bill for a generous dinner for five, with drinks ... in the old downtown area. (Make the effort to get to Casa Don Juan on Main Street in the old downtown area. Family owned, hand-made classics, eclectic decor, margaritas as large as a child's head. All that a Mexican place should be.)

But I get the appeal, especially for a country where most people only get two weeks' holiday and don't live in cosmopolitan urban centres. The nations' best chefs and most famous shows mix with grand architecture and outlets of every luxury brand in existence. The Wild West and dramatic canyons ... including the grandest ... are an easy day trip. It's a convenient mash-up for the short-on-time, and the appeal for conventioneers is obvious.

The best of The Strip
We, however, spent a grand total of eight hours on The Strip, and that was plenty. There's no question that the scene setting is fun. The frequent comparison to Disney made sense. The attention to detail in the Parisian and Venetian resorts is magnificent; it was a real pleasure to simply wander around and

appreciate the illusion. Gordon Ramsay's British steak house on the side of a French square and a Mexican restaurant along a Venetian canal were a bit odd, but it's only worth taking authenticity so far. The interpretation of a ceiling from the Doge's Palace that greets you when you walk into the Venetian is a jaw dropper. My favourite place was the shopping mall at Cesar's Palace. It's exquisitely designed and perfectly in tune with historic Roman precedents. Mosaics, fountains, grotesquerie, Pompeiian frescos, caryatids. True, the caryatids are three stories tall and stand beside wondrous circular escalators ... but you have to think Augustus would have loved the place if he'd had the technology to build it.

Everyone predicted I'd love the Bellagio. I would have, had it actually been on Lake Como with 70% fewer people. It tries to be sophisticated and elegant. The Chihuly installation in the lobby is impressive, as is the glass-roofed courtyard beyond with its seasonally-themed gardens. The architecture is tasteful, the modern art of museum quality. But the exquisite stage sets were undermined by huge crowds in casual clothing, walking through and gawping. (And that included us.) Packs of tourists seem natural in the fake Italy or France; we're used to it from Disney. But the Bellagio turns its back on make believe, trying to be a real bastion of exclusive luxury ... and thus felt more fake than the gondoliers under their artificial skies.

An exception within the hotel was Todd English's Olives restaurant. Once through the doors and seated, we found ourselves in an oasis of peace and quiet. The interior was truly beautiful, with its sculpted trees holding candles in their branches, beautiful backlit bar, marble table tops and sleek wooden chairs. The food is tasty and the service fantastic, but get ready to pay that location premium. Burgers, salads, one desert, a few rounds of beer and coffee was about $70 each. The place is one of my top Vegas tips, however, thanks to the Bellagio's famous fountains. Book a table on the patio about 90 minutes before the show. Have a leisurely lunch, then you'll end up suspended, like a Roman emperor in his box, over the side of the lake with comfortable and unobstructed views as the iconic show runs. This was one of the most magical moments of the week. Sun glistening on the spectacular dancing plumes of water, framed by an amphitheatre of gracious architecture, Sinatra playing over a spectacular sound system. It was a magnificent moment.

That, incidentally, was the only time we heard Sinatra on The Strip. One of my positive expectations of Vegas was that I'd be enveloped in a Rat Pack soundtrack. Nope. It's modern dance music all the way, with the tunes changing and warring with each other every 100 yards. Like the people in the Bellagio, the music fights with the atmosphere.

Besides the Bellagio's fountains, the other free show worth taking in is simply a night time drive up The Strip. Establishments compete to out-do themselves with illuminations. Some are honestly beautiful. Many are ridiculously garish, but it's the spirit of the place. Giant electronic billboards are far too prevalent for my tastes, making the modern Strip more a canyon of advertising than the run of dramatic casino signs I expected. (For those, you need to go to the Neon Museum, which I'll be covering in my next entry.)

Beyond the bubble
Had we been staying on The Strip, I suspect we would have been bored, and irritated by the crowds and noise, by the end of Day Two. Fortunately, the whole reason we came to Vegas was to visit friends, so we were ensconced in a comfortable family home in the rambling suburb of Henderson. Those resorts employ a lot of people. Who need groceries and clothes, dog walkers and coffee shops. There's a University, an Air Force base and a Tesla manufacturing plant. Everyday life goes on.

It happens in sprawling, modern subdivisions marked from the next by long brick walls and electronic gates. Inside, it's classic America: big houses fronted by two- and three-car garages on tidy plots of land. Despite the fact we're sitting in a desert where summer temperatures kill almost everything (it was 42c/108f when we arrived), drip irrigation systems create all the lawns and gardens you wish to pay the water company to have. Large air conditioning units hum beside every building, keeping everyone comfortably cool. Just like Texas and Florida, you need to carry a second layer with you at all times, as the temperature differences between indoors and out are vast.

Little I saw would have pre-dated the turn of this century. Construction equipment dots the horizon. All in a place where humans were not meant to live in any great number. Life in Las Vegas is a feat of engineering, consuming vast amounts of water and power. And yet, I saw a city booming with growth. Thus the adjective wasteful rose into my brain. Lake Mead, the area's main water supply, is at record lows, a towering white strip around its shores showing how far the lake has receded. And yet we didn't see a single warning about water usage in our visit, and the population grows on. In one of the sunniest places on the planet, I saw fewer solar panels than in my cloudy home. This must be one of the most unsustainable places on Earth. (Granted, I haven't been to Dubai yet.) Our friends' back garden, pictured above, does take a sustainable approach; artificial turf and gravel dominate, while a few heat loving plants add interest.

If you can ignore your discomfort with a city merrily contributing to planetary doom, there are plenty of ways to have fun here. There's spectacular nature,  feats of human engineering, minor league baseball, even some history. Next entry: my Top 10 things to do while completely avoiding The Strip.

Famous French Laundry fails to impress against England's stars

Two words are likely to spring to gastronauts' lips when they think about Napa Valley: French Laundry. It was the most frequent question anyone asked when they heard I was going to this part of the world. Would we eat there?

Thanks to the enthusiasm of others in our party and a dedicated trio working multi-media to snag a reservation, we hit the dining big time on the penultimate evening of our wine country visit. A special experience? Absolutely. Value for money? That's a question that very much depends upon your starting perspective.

I refer you back to the caveat with which I started these Northern Californian gastronomic entries. I can only review through the filter of my own experience. When it comes to restaurants, I live in one of the most fine-dining-obsessed countries in the world (if you still think Britain has bad food, you are decades out of date), and I've been been blessed to eat at three of England's four three-Michelin-star restaurants. Given that the French Laundry was the single most expensive restaurant I've ever dined at ... yes, even with variations in the pound, it's more expensive than anything in London ... it was always going to be tough to impress me enough to believe I was getting value for my money.

What you do get, unquestionably, is flawless cuisine, cooked to perfection, presented as tasteful works of art by elegantly deft and highly informed servers. You get a place that's more obsessed by local sourcing than anywhere I've ever been. They send you home with a glossy 48-page booklet that profiles all the purveyors of their raw ingredients. It is a hymn book to the church of American cuisine.

As you wait for your meal, you can wander through the large and fantastically maintained gardens that provide herbs and vegetables. The building itself is out of a design magazine. Historic, but restored like new, covered with rambling white roses. You're welcomed into a tasteful little courtyard with the historic old laundry on one side and the modern kitchen on the other. Gaze through the window at the team of chefs working their magic, or look through another to see the servers striding down the connecting hall carrying their plates of treasure.

Like many of the top restaurants these days, the only choice is the chef's menu, with a vegetarian alternative. That's your $310 starting point (which, fortunately, includes service.) While some popular dishes repeat from one night to another, the restaurant's claim to fame is a constantly changing menu that always reflects what's best that day, and never repeats any single ingredient across its eight courses. The sommelier was unusually flexible. You set a price for a wine flight (they suggest $250), then direct them on your tastes. Our all-Californian request was not a problem. But I sensed you could have gone round the world, or all white, etc. This definitely puts them in a unique category; it's usual for the sommelier to sit down with the menu and assemble one list that works best.

My stand-out dish of the night was a pork jowl that set a new benchmark for the term "melt in the mouth". Evidently they slow cook it for 24 hours. A cucumber, hearts of palm and fennel salad with an avocado puree was a paean to presentation. Beyond the quality of ingredients, the tastes were straightforward ... it was the visual transformation of salad to art that impressed. Their trademark "carrots and peas" was a beautiful crab mousse in a pea pancake with carrot puree; another striking plate visually.

So what was my problem?

First, there are the menu add ons. In most of my experience, once you decide to blow the budget on the chef's menu, you're done. At The French Laundry, the $310 is just the entry menu. Most courses have an alternative, with a supplemental price. $60 for the caviar instead of the oyster. $30 for foie gras rather than salad. (Really? Foie gras is basic table stakes for a European chef's menu.) $125 for truffle mac 'n' cheese rather than that pork jowl, and $100 for wagyu beef rather than lamb. If you went for all the upgrades, your meal would now cost $625. Frankly, I resent the fact that, after making the painful financial commitment to eat there, I then felt I'd been baited-and-switched, the menu suggesting that my initial investment wasn't enough to get the good stuff. (My only upgrade was the caviar.)

I didn't care for the atmosphere, which I thought was excessively formal. The rooms are featureless, all attention on the heavy white linens. There's a dress code, unsurprisingly, with the servers leading the way in their coats and ties. It all feels very old fashioned. So does London's Le Gavroche, but that dining experience is almost a knowing send-up of old fashioned restaurants, enlivened by Michel Roux Jr. popping out of the kitchen to work the room. No Thomas Keller doing the same here. Instead, it all seemed to induce a kind of soporific reverence on the diners. People spoke in hushed tones, if at all. The clink of cutlery outweighed the sounds of humanity. The occasion demanded to be taken seriously; it was not about having fun.

I hated the way dessert ... often my favourite part of the meal ... was presented. After seven lovingly

staged courses, the sweets are dumped on the table all at once. None of the foreplay of pre-desert followed by the climactic main event and the lingering cuddle of the petit fours with coffee. Instead, the servers piled a banquet of treats on the table in a great rush, sending a clear message that we should hurry up and and get that monumental bill. Everything was delicious, but nothing was given a chance to shine.

Most of all, I was surprised by not being surprised. Nothing made me think "my God, the man's a genius ... who would have thought of putting that with this!" (Munich's one-starred Tohru Nakamura runs great circles around Keller on this front.) Aside from that one morsel of pork jowl, there was nothing that stood out as the best example of something ever. No presentation that made me gawp with amazement. No wine pairing so magical that the combination changed and elevated the constituent parts.

If I'd had no background information, and someone else paid the bill, I would have thought The French Laundry was an excellent ... though too full of itself ... one-star to fit comfortably beside places like L'Ortolan or Murano. London's two-star The Ledbury beats its three-starred American cousin decisively. When you put the three-stars against each other, Restaurant Gordon Ramsay impressed more and cost less.  The Fat Duck is far more inventive in every way, and while its prices are roughly the same, there are no surcharges to drive up the final bill and make you feel inferior.

Upon reflection, one British parallel did emerge. I had almost exactly the same experience at the three-starred Waterside Inn. A lovely evening while I was experiencing it, but the more I thought about the bill afterwards, the more resentful I felt about what I got for the money. The big difference? I could run up to Bray today and get Alain Roux's Menu Exceptionnel for £160 ($212), a third less than than the starting point of its Yountville counterpart.

Ultimately, however, those two nights of culinary disappointment were linked by something bigger. Friendship. Thus it's worth ending this entry with the same words I used to close the Waterside Inn story nine years ago:

"And that, I suppose, is why this evening will go down in memory as worth the expenditure. Not because of the meal, but because of the company. I looked around that circle of dear faces at evening's end; everyone relaxed, mellow, suffused with contentment. These are amongst the very few people who know me best, who are there in good times and in bad, who celebrate the victories, support you in disasters and know you well enough to point out and help correct your shortcomings when you're heading down the wrong path. This is actually what life is all about. To me, the biggest victory of my life will not be counting up what's in my bank account as I near death, but toting up the relationships I've had at this level. Having dear friends is the finest reason to celebrate in the world. And while you can usually do that in the local pub, I suppose sometimes it's worth breaking the bank to do it in a place that's as special as the relationships you're commemorating."

California Wines Part 2: Seven wineries to sample three valleys

Tasting at Honig

Happily, our tastings exceeded my expectations. I'd been warned not to look for deep expertise in the marketing-led tasting rooms. The pourers had their set schpiels, and were unlikely to want ... or be able ... to talk in further depth.

This was certainly the case in our first, and only unplanned, winery stop. Bartholomew Park was picturesque, a stone's throw from our rental property and had pleasant if unremarkable wines. Our pourer was a retired lady who was doing this for some part time cash; friendly, but uncomfortable with any wine conversation that went beyond the official tasting notes. To be fair, this was also the cheapest tasting we did: $10 for the standard range and $20 for the premium. But it had me worried that it might set a standard for the region.

Fortunately, we could rely on local expertise to up the game for the rest of our tastings. In Napa, we hired professional guide Dean Gross to organise a full day's exploration of the valley. In Sonoma, two of our party had once lived here and could take us to old favourites and spots tipped by their friends. And in the Russian River valley, some wine-obsessed new friends who were also Bay Area residents got us in to two wineries that impressed every local who heard the names. Here's a roundup of those visits:

NAPA

Honig - A small, family-run operation with a fresh attitude and a sparky staff. The most enjoyable tasting we had in terms of conversation; Casey clearly loves what he does and sparkles with the enthusiasm of sharing his knowledge with others. His ability to talk in depth about Honig's wines, but also put them in the context of his wider understanding of Californian and world wines ... all with a wonderful sense of humour ... was exceptional. Lead winemaker Kristin Belair is one of a growing number of women in the industry; a change in which California is far ahead of Europe.

Schramsberg - One of the oldest wineries in continuous operation in the valley, German immigrant
Jacob Schram built a business so respected in the late 19th century that visiting literary star Robert Louis Stevenson dropped by. It left family hands at the turn of the next century and didn't do much significant production until the late 1950s, when the Davies family took the place over with a dream of producing sparkling wine to rival Champagne. Twenty years later, they were the brand President Nixon took on his diplomatic mission to China, and their reputation was made. The family home is a historic landmark, the gardens are lushly beautiful and the tour of the cellars does a fine job explaining this fascinating process. My one criticism: the tasting takes place in the the musty cellars, where the strong scents of mould and mildew can overpower the delicate tastes of the wine. Two of our party with minor allergies had significant breathing problems after half an hour; I don't want to think what the lungs of the workers who spend their days down there look like.

Krug - Another winery with historic origins, Charles Krug and Schram were friends and colleagues; Krug's vineyard slightly pre-dates the higher-altitude Schramsberg fields. German heritage passed to Italian in the 1940s when the Mondavis bought the winery. It's still in the family. The vines might be old but the winery building and tasting rooms are some of the most modern in Napa, fresh from a multi-million dollar renovation. It's a dramatic, modern space that plays with dark and light, with massive glass walls separating the working winery from the tasting area. You're welcome to bring your own food to take advantage of the shaded picnic lawns and great views out front, as long as you buy a bottle of their wine. You can also explore the herb garden of the Culinary Institute of America, which occupies a hill across the street. I would happily have lingered longer here.

SONOMA

Gundlach Bunschu - Another winery with roots in 19th century German immigration, this one has been in the hands of the same family since its founding in 1858. The foundation story is wildly romantic: Jacob Gundlach bought the land, returned to Bavaria to marry his childhood sweetheart, then they spent their honeymoon collecting European rootstocks before returning to California to get to work. The Bundschus married in later. Today you do your tastings beneath pictures of the fifth, sixth and seventh generations. It's obvious the team feels a part of this family spirit and is hugely proud of their story.  The hillside location has stunning views and a hip, casual vibe. With lots of live music and a variety of outdoor seating, this is the one I'd be most likely to hang out at if I were a local.

Ledson - It's wine tasting at Hogwarts! Ledson's "castle" is the California wine region captured in architecture. (It's the lead photo in my last entry.) Grand European tradition, lovingly crafted with high quality standards, implemented with technology and featuring all the mod cons. The family has a long history as farmers and building contractors in the area, becoming more famous for their winemaking after the opening of the castle in 1999. Ledson specialises in small varietal lots and has an unusually large range of wines on offer. This is a great place to sample how traditional European varieties like viognier, riesling or petit verdot adapt to California. There's a great shop, a deli with tasty sandwiches and lovely grounds to explore, making this the quintessential "destination winery".

RUSSIAN RIVER
We liked the pinots from these wineries best, and it was here we were able to really taste the kind of dramatic, terroir-based variations in vintages we're used to in Burgundy. With our limited experience, it's hard to say if that's because the Russian River wines are better overall, or if the friends who organised this day picked the best wineries of the broader region. Certainly, it's an endorsement when the sommelier at the French Laundry raises his eyebrows in appreciation and tells you you're off to two special places.

Littorai - I have a sweet spot for this place because it was started by a writer (reflected in its name) and has a passionate attitude towards organic gardening. The vineyard tour is a gardener's delight. Herbaceous borders next to the vines are stocked with flowers to attract pollinators or to draw pests away from the vines. Other plants are grown because they rot down to make organic fertilisers or provide early indicators for disease control. They move goats around the vineyard to munch down the weeds, and recycle all their waste water through a reed bed. It's the place at which I most wish I would have had a notebook. Not for the tasting notes, but for the gardening tips.

Merry Edwards - The only place where we bought a bottle. The queen of California's growing ranks of female wine makers, Edwards has been at her craft since the mid '70s and is a legend in these parts. Her winery was most similar to our European experience. No distracting shops or adjunct activities, no "destination" pitches, no wine clubs. Just very serious wine, best known to the sommeliers of very serious restaurants. This was our most detailed, traditional tasting, providing loads of information on soil qualities, growing conditions and how those elements transferred into what we were tasting. Here we found true variety across terroir, exploring how pinot noir could change dramatically from place to place. If you're serious about your wine, this is the place to seek out above all others.