Nob Hill, the NRA and the whole shmear: A guest post by DH

Some foods are designed to be relished slowly in an elegant setting; others gulped thoughtlessly in passing. Though not card-carrying members of the slow food movement, Kim and I appreciate the allure of a meal that is sensuous rather than just plentiful, luxurious rather than convenient. It’s rare that we dine without the boys, but there were two recent occasions on which we did.

One was during an adults-only Vegas trip last spring. The other was on a school day the following month when we dashed and gulped our way through McCormick Place for the last day of the NRA’s Restaurant Show (no, the other NRA; restaurants, not rifles) and the first day of the All Candy Expo (which wasn’t all candy at all. There were plenty of chips, nuts and cookies to boot).

In March, we spent nearly three hours at Nob Hill at the MGM Grand, savoring the privacy of a walled-in booth and the ministrations of an attentive, knowledgeable waiter who humored us with his unpatronizing patience as we commented and inquired about the menus, the food preparation, the serving style and even the cutlery and plates. Top it off with Kim shooting unending photographs of the exquisitely prepared dishes, thinking that without pictures, the kids would never believe how nice it was. (They did believe it. They just didn’t care.)
Nob Hill seemed the sort of place where you wouldn’t take kids. There’s nothing salacious going on; what happened in Vegas can certainly be told elsewhere. Just small portions of expensive food that would have shocked—shocked, I say—our children. Especially Smartypants, who sometimes can’t believe how much grown-ups spend on things.

To be fair, he often orders from the adult menu, daring to venture slightly out of his comfort zone with exotic foods like, well, er, salmon. Pikachu remains comfortably in the kids’ menu realm with grilled cheese being his top choice. For both boys, the critical elements of any meal are, bring it fast, give me plenty and finish with dessert. Oh, and the price be damned! (Except when Smartypants checks out the seafood prices.)

Much to our surprise, the table next to us brought their toddler and his older brother, who seemed to spoil the meal for their parents (and nanny), but provided us a conversation point during our stay (Three hours at a restaurant seems more like a stay than a meal) and nicely contrasted the civility and grown-uppedness of our own cloistered table.

As surprised as we were to see kids at Nob Hill, we were even more shocked (shocked, I say) to find so many children—infants through teenagers—strolling around Las Vegas at all. What with the seedy hawkers trying to stuff our hands with brochures offering escorts to your hotel room (if you’re just staying in your room, where do you need to be escorted?) and the bawdy T-shirts and, well, the whole Vegasness of it all. I guess some folks aren’t as lucky to have grandparents to watch their kids for a week.

The Restaurant Show and the Candy Expo are the sorts of places where children ought to be (and are) excluded. It’s tough enough for adults to exert self-control and politely decline the hundreds of samples being purveyed by a few thousand exhibitors. No doubt, our children would take the opportunity to horde the goods. Oh wait, click here for Kim’s confession from last year’s Candy Expo.

Anyway, in the non-junk-food side of the convention center, we found countless variations on barista drinks and fried whatnots (meat, potatoes, breads, snack foods. Anything can be fried nowadays, and there’s a specialty machine for everything). This year offered few truly innovative foods, but a couple of sophisticated gizmos and doodads caught our eyes. One fave was the anti-stove. Instead of heating a griddle to cook foods, this air-conditioned unit chilled the griddle cold enough so liquid chocolate squirted onto sticks quickly solidified into fresh lollipops.
What struck me about both shows was both the abundance of corn-syrup-derived or breaded and fried grub, as well as the ease of obtaining and swallowing it. It’s a classic convention hall move to walk about looking interested in the product, reach out a hand, grab a goodie and BOOM, you’ve got food. Sometimes the vendors want to chat. Usually they let you eat and run. A person lacking self-restraint could easily eat a week’s worth of calories in the space of a few blocks.

Nob Hill, by contrast, is a joint where our waiter, Jaime, wiped the excess sauce from the rim of the plates before carefully setting them in front of us, rotating them just so, to orient them in the most optimal feng shui manner. Each course sat on a different colored or shaped plate and Jaime replaced our silverware between courses—emphasizing the luxury and the uniqueness of each dish. None of the courses, alas, were served on fire, as is my preferred serving style, but the lobster pot pie was cooked en croute steaming itself in its pastry shell before waiter Jaime carved it out of the casserole bowl as if shucking an oyster and gently placing it down on the dish. Hands down, this was the most memorable course in terms of just enjoying the show that is Nob Hill.

By contrast, my favorite corn-based item at the Candy show was caramel corn molded into the shape of an ear of corn, served in a plastic wrapper. For caramel corn fanciers on the go (and what caramel corn fancier would pour the snack onto a ceramic plate and spend three hours consuming it), it’s easy to hold it by the wrapper, give the bottom a smack and send the pointed top bursting through the seam of the package. That way the hands remain unsticky while the carm-corn fan nibbles on the sweet snack and ambles about looking, perhaps, for a plate of hot wings or ribs.

After finding the wings, how does one avoid getting one’s still-clean fingers all messy with sauce? Well, with a trong or two (they’re like chopsticks on steroids) one puts ones pointer and middle fingers into flexible plastic grippers with which greasy, saucy morsels can be lifted without fear of soiling said digits.

“Honestly,” I confronted the vendor, “What man with any sense of manly pride would eat food this way in front of his manly friends?” But he insisted that many passers-by showed interest in the product and that the product is economical enough (and can be customized with the restaurant name) to do well in the marketplace.

What happens, though, if despite the plastic caramel corn wrapper and the wing tongs, one still gets sticky fingers? Imagine a device where both hands (to the wrists) are inserted into holes a box and get the equivalent of a touch-free car wash! Yes, without having to touch a bacteria-laden soap dispenser or a grimy faucet, this device sprays antibacterial soap and water all around both hands as the user holds them in place and enjoys a brief bath. Meritech’s automated hand washing stations take about 30 seconds for a complete cleansing, after which—if you’re lucky—you can move over to one of those high-speed touchless hand driers for a completely hygienic after-meal cleanup.

On that note, if Nob Hill’s service lacked one amenity, perhaps it would be that I had to wash my hands all by myself.

A Martini goes gluten-free

Adrienne Martini, author of Hillbilly Gothic: A Memoir of Madness and Motherhood and mother of a child with a gluten-free diet is back, and this time she's guest blogging at Scrambled CAKE. She agreed to do this even before she knew I was going to send her some of the organic gluten-free lollipops I snagged at the Candy Expo. Check out Adrienne's regular musings at Martininimade.


The old adage about surprises is doubly true when it comes to kids. Expected joys and challenges seem to follow the small set like puppies follow peanut butter.

My husband and I didn’t expect to have a kid with Celiac disease, which means that any form of gluten will destroy the villi lining her small intestine. Her diagnoses came quickly. It took six short weeks, a blood test and a biopsy to figure out why she’d stopped growing, had a host of bowel issues and was generally lethargic.


In six short weeks, her entire diet had to change. Wheat, barley and rye had to be eliminated.

At the time, it was monumental. Finding the gluten turned out to be a larger problem than eliminating the gluten. Wheat is pretty easy to ferret out, thanks to the FDA’s new labeling laws but it and barley extract can sneak past you in things like tomato soup or butterscotch chips.

You learn to get on top of it – and describing that process is worth its own very long essay. To sum up, our little Diva –who is almost five now and growing like a weed – eats rice pasta like she chowed on the wheat kind. We focus on what she can eat, like apples and blueberries and cheese. She knows how to protect her own tummy and will give you an earful about her needs in that special way that a preschooler can.

Still, one obstacle remained. We had no idea what to do about birthday parties. Whether they were at her preschool or at someone’s house, kids’ parties always have cake. Always. It’s a rule of childhood. So what could we serve her when all of the kids were snacking on their iced confections?

For a few months, I simply let her eat as much ice cream as she could hold. If I were feeling daring, I’d scrape off some frosting that hadn’t touched any of the cake beneath. (This is fraught with cross-contamination hazards and I wouldn’t recommend it unless you are truly desperate.) Then I was flipping through our newspaper and discovered the recipe that changed everything: magical cream cheese cupcakes.

Essentially, these are mini-cheesecakes without any crust. What’s fabulous is that you can make a huge batch (with your kid, if he or she is interested) and freeze them. When a party arrives, you pop one in your bag and go. What’s even more fabulous is that you can dress them up in any gluten-free way that you like. Smear ‘em with frosting. Sprinkle them with colored sugars. Top with nuts and/or jam. The options are limited only by your kid’s imagination.

The magical cream cheese cupcakes

3 8-ounce packages cream cheese, softened (I recommend using name brand cream cheese. My experiments with the store brands have been less than satisfying. Edible, certainly, but lumpy.)
1 cup sugar
5 eggs
1.25 tsp vanilla extract
jam, sprinkles, fruit, frosting, nuts

Preheat oven to 325. Line two 12-cup muffin tins with cupcake liners.

Beat (by hand or with a mixer) cream cheese, sugar and eggs. Add vanilla. Pour batter into muffin tins and bake 40 minutes.

These will settle a bit in the middle as they cool. Fill the resulting divot with whatever topping moves you and your kids. Enjoy!



Next up in the food allergy series: gluten-free dining in Chicago.