Katherine & Kelsi’s Las Vegas Survival Guide

A birthday dinner that started with lashes and lychee martinis and ended with truffle gyoza, a chocolate lava cake, and the realization that this is your new standard for celebrating anything.

Zuma at The Cosmopolitan is not a meal—it’s a moment.

Think sushi so fresh it might change your life plan, beef tenderloin with a side of spiritual awakening, and cocktails that arrive cloaked in smoke.

Every detail is designed for drama, in the chicest way possible.

We came for a birthday. We left asking ourselves why we don’t celebrate everything like it’s a Vegas birthday.

We came for the tequila, stayed for the tacos, and accidentally found a margarita that tastes like childhood. (Yes, really.)

Between mechanical bulls, emotional guac, and a dangerously smooth marg that could summon your inner Midwestern dad, Chayo in Vegas gave us everything. Including a spiritual tequila awakening.

If you’ve ever wanted to sip your way through Sin City like you’ve got a PhD in day drinking and drama, this one’s for you.

What do you get when you order a cocktail called Daddy Issues in a velvet-drenched wonderland designed by Lisa Vanderpump? Sparkle, sass, and a side of tiramisu that could end friendships.

Pinky’s at the Flamingo is all chandeliers, drama, and drinks that deserve their own IMDb page.

From caviar-topped deviled eggs to cocktails that arrive dressed better than you, this isn’t just dinner—it’s a main character moment with a martini chaser.

If you’ve ever wanted to live inside a glam reality show, this is your golden-hour gateway.

One glitter-drenched morning in Vegas, we wandered into The Chandelier Bar on a mission handed down from Kelsi’s dad (yes, really): find the “secret drink.”

What followed?

A cocktail that zaps your taste buds like a citrusy lightning bolt and makes your mouth feel like it’s hosting a rave.

Spoiler: it’s not a prank. It’s a flower. A very electric flower.

Throw in three floors of crystal-draped chaos, cocktails that could be runway models or Michelin stars, and an ambiance straight out of Barbie’s glam lounge—and yeah, it’s a must.

Just don’t say we didn’t warn your taste buds.

At Fuel Bar Las Vegas, drinks don’t just get poured—they get launched, flipped, spun, and landed with the flair of a gymnast and the swagger of a rockstar.

It’s part cocktail, part performance, and 100% the best Vegas show not on a stage.

World-champion bartenders toss bottles like it’s an Olympic sport while serving up dangerously drinkable chaos (and yes, there’s a BOGO deal involved).

If you’ve ever wanted to be emotionally moved by a margarita or spiritually wrecked by something neon and unnamed, this is your bar.

Come for a cocktail. Leave with an existential crisis and a video worth reposting.

There are birthday dinners, and then there are nights that end with tearaway pants, Aussie accents, and your soul briefly exiting your body during the cowboy number.

What started as a chic meal at Zuma turned into a full-blown spectacle of abs, accents, and zero shame at Thunder from Down Under—where fantasy tropes and fireman uniforms collide in a fog machine frenzy.

Picture a Vegas stage show that’s one pelvic thrust away from breaking the sound barrier, complete with lap dances, denim drama, and Blake (yes, we’re still emotionally recovering).

It’s not just a show—it’s a shirtless, 70-minute core memory. Proceed with caution. And waterproof mascara.

By the time we sprinted to Chippendales with dinner comas and a pair of emergency Spanx in tow, the chaos was already at a 10.

We weren’t ready for the fog, the body oil, or the shirtless man who landed in one of our laps like a very sexy meteorite.

Honestly? No notes.

What do you get when vintage glamour, feathered fantasies, and a six-foot champagne glass collide in Vegas?

A rhinestone-drenched spectacle starring the one and only Dita Von Teese.

From corseted perfection to sparkle-soaked striptease, her Voltaire show isn’t just a performance—it’s a sultry sermon in sequin worship.

Add iconic cocktails, radiant strangers-turned-besties, and unsolicited life advice between acts, and suddenly you’re not just watching burlesque—you’re becoming it.

Warning: you will leave craving a corset, a silk robe, and a dramatically slower walk.

And honestly? You deserve it.

Walk into The Barbershop at The Cosmo and it looks innocent enough—pomade, clippers, a man getting faded at 4 PM.

But behind that not-suspicious-at-all door? A speakeasy straight out of a dream where The Greatest Showman bar and your college band fantasies collide.

Think moody lighting, killer cocktails, live music that makes you believe again, and a crowd that’s 50% glam and 50% just-here-for-the-vibes.

Karaoke has a house band.

The drinks have names you’d swipe right on.

And by round three, you’ll be making eye contact with the bassist and rewriting your five-year plan.

Hidden behind an unmarked door in a food hall, Ghost Donkey is a neon-lit fever dream where mezcal meets main character energy.

It’s like stepping into a cocktail-fueled Pixar short—with nachos.

Picture disco lights, agave trivia, bartenders who hype you like it’s your quinceañera, and décor that screams, “This is where tequila comes to party.”

There’s no velvet rope, no bouncer judging your sneakers—just vibes, mezcal flights, and nachos that might emotionally ruin you.

One minute you’re sipping citrusy magic, the next you’re considering a tattoo of a donkey in a sombrero.

It’s chaos.

It’s culture.

It’s calling your name.

It started like a rom-com plot twist: lost inside the glitzy chaos of the Cosmopolitan Hotel, following a food tour guide down what looked very much like a maintenance corridor.

No name, no signs, no Google help—just a whisper of melted cheese in the air.

Enter: Secret Pizza. New York-style slices served behind a wall of vinyl records, where drunk cravings meet vintage vibes and the crust is so crispy it deserves its own fan club.

We found it.

We devoured it.

And now we’re that person who insists you go too.

What do you get when you take a rebellious street cart from 1990s L.A., toss it onto the Las Vegas Strip, and give it zero chill?

Dirt Dog.

It’s the kind of place where hot dogs wear lobster rolls like designer handbags, fries come fully loaded with three kinds of meat, and a Deep Fried Ding Dong somehow makes perfect sense.

Born from teenage defiance and fueled by grilled onions and glorious audacity, this isn’t just a meal—it’s a delicious middle finger to moderation.

Spoiler: your taste buds won’t recover. Your dignity? Also questionable.

Block 16 is your favorite street foods if they got cast in a reality show, moved to Vegas, and developed zero chill.

We’re talking spicy Thai chicken, moody sushi bars, bougie donuts, and wraps that require a post-meal therapy session.

You’ll sniff out truffle oil before you even find the mezcal-speakeasy hidden behind a mysterious gray door.

It’s loud, it’s weird, it’s dangerously delicious—and it will ruin every other food court for you.

Bring stretchy pants, a good attitude, and zero shame.

You’re going to need all three.

Bang Bar Las Vegas isn’t just serving food—it’s serving closure for every sad sandwich you’ve ever settled for.

Tucked inside Block 16, this David Chang creation is a flatbread fever dream: spit-roasted meats, saucy drips, emotional support carbs.

One bite of the pork fold-up and we went silent.

Reverent.

Possibly in love.

The bread? Griddled perfection.

The flavor? Personally offensive (in the best way).

This isn’t fast-casual—it’s wrap therapy.

And once the smell hits you from 40 feet away, it’s already over.

You’re in. You’re hooked.

You’re thinking about breakfast wraps like they’re a life decision.