Taste Buzz Food Tour Las Vegas: Will Walk for Snacks (and Tequila)

Katherine: If Vegas had an art museum disguised as a hotel, it would be the Cosmopolitan.

Kelsi: And if you’re not paying attention, you’ll miss half of it.

Like a visual scavenger hunt… with cocktails.

Before we even started eating, Nap took us on a crash course in Cosmopolitan coolness—because turns out, this isn’t just a hotel. It’s a vibe. It’s an aesthetic. It’s a gallery with room service.

One of the first stops? Starbucks.

Yes, that Starbucks.

But don’t roll your eyes yet—because inside is something you definitely weren’t expecting: a three-dimensional optical illusion by French artist Georges Rousse.

You read that right. Art. In. Starbucks.

It’s the first-ever permanent public art installation from Rousse in the U.S., and if you didn’t know to look up (or have Nap as your guide), you’d probably miss it entirely.

Kelsi: Do we sound cultured if we say we went to Vegas for the art?

Katherine: Only if we say it with a glass of rosé in hand.

From Starbucks, we rode the escalator straight into what felt like a side quest in a video game.

There’s no sign, no neon clue, no digital breadcrumb trail. Just a hallway. A very unassuming, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hallway.

At the end of that mysterious path? Secret Pizza.

And yes, that’s what it’s actually called. Kind of. It’s unofficial. Unmarked. Unapologetically hidden.

It’s not even on the Cosmopolitan’s website, which somehow makes it cooler—and just a tiny bit maddening if you’re hungry and not in on the secret.

Kelsi: It’s giving ‘pizza speakeasy.’

Katherine: It’s giving ‘I will dream about this crust for the rest of my life.’

We grabbed slices of their white pizza, slid onto a stool, and took that first bite—and immediately understood why this place is a legend.

Creamy, cheesy, garlicky perfection. One of the best slices we’ve had since New York, and we’re not saying that lightly.
This is New York-style, open-til-3am, fold-it-in-half-and-let-it-ruin-your-lipstick magic.

We won’t say much more—because yes, we’ve done a whole separate love letter to Secret Pizza (she deserves her own article)—but let’s just say it was one of those slices that quietly ruins you for mediocre pizza.

FOMO level? Extreme.

Cheese pull level? Olympic.

Would we come back here at 2:59am in heels and a sequin dress? In a heartbeat.

Katherine: I was still mentally making out with the Secret Pizza slice when Nap announced the next stop.

Kelsi: Same. I was like, “Another bite? Already? I’m emotionally unprepared.”

But up we went—to Block 16, the Cosmopolitan’s Urban Food Hall with big flavor energy and a name that’s lowkey a wink at Vegas’s wild past.

The original “Block 16” in Las Vegas was where all the fun happened when hotels weren’t allowed to have liquor or gambling. (Rude.)

Today’s version? No sneaking required—just good food, strong drinks, and no judgment if you’re double-fisting dessert.

Our stop: Bang Bar by Momofuku. *Cue angel choir*

Kelsi: Okay, I thought I was still full. I was wrong.

Katherine: Same. This fold-up wrap just reset my entire digestive system.

We were served their Fold-Up Wrap—a fluffy, slightly charred Bāng flatbread wrapped around crispy-edged, spit-roasted pork.

It was handheld perfection.

The kind of flavor combo that makes you pause mid-bite and go, “Wait… what is that sauce?”

Kelsi: I wanted to eat it fast, but it demanded slow, appreciative chewing.

Katherine: It was smoky, tender, salty, a little sweet… like if your favorite food truck had a baby with a five-star restaurant.

Katherine: Just when we thought we were rolling out of the Cosmo, Nap hit us with a “wait, there’s more.”

Kelsi: And suddenly we were back in our speakeasy girl era.
Before officially leaving the hotel, Nap led us to two of The Cosmopolitan’s hidden gems—both of which you’d never find unless you knew exactly where to look (or had a tour guide with insider tea and main character energy).

First stop: Ghost Donkey. Tucked away like a tequila-fueled fever dream, this neon-lit speakeasy is equal parts wild and whimsical.

And while it was empty when we peeked in—thank you, daytime tour privilege—Nap let us know that if you want a seat here after 4PM, you better be early or be emotionally prepared to hover. It gets packed.

Next stop: The Barbershop Cuts & Cocktails. Yes, it’s an actual working barbershop. Yes, it’s also a hidden bar behind a door in the back. And yes, it features a bar that was literally used in The Greatest Showman.

Both spots were empty when we visited, which made the experience feel even more VIP.

It was one of those classic “how is this real?” Vegas moments—like the city whispered, “Here’s a secret. Don’t tell the others.”

Katherine: So we’re walking along the Strip, trying to process the pork wrap we just emotionally bonded with—

Kelsi: When Nap brought us to Fuel Bar at the Grand Bazaar Shops and was like, “Hang tight, I’ll be right back. Go grab a drink.”

Challenge accepted.

Fuel Bar is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cocktail spot with a front-row seat to Vegas bartending theatrics.

Nap darted around the corner to secure our next food stop, and we slipped inside to rehydrate… with tequila.

Kelsi: Hydration is subjective.

Katherine: Tequila has water in it. That counts.

We ordered The Huckleberry (subtitled: “’Cause Stone Cold Said So!”), which sounds like a fruit smoothie but hits like a plot twist.

It’s Casamigos tequila, Grand Marnier, agave, lemonade, pineapple juice, lime juice, and—wait for it—a whisper of Tabasco. Fruity, spicy, and somehow still dangerously drinkable.

Kelsi: It was giving “sweet summer cocktail” with just enough chaos.

Katherine: Like if a margarita went on a bachelorette trip and came back with stories.

And the bartenders? Full show mode. Tossing bottles, slinging jokes, building cocktails like they were auditioning for a flair bartending reboot of America’s Got Talent.

Kelsi: I’m not saying I blacked out from the performance…

Katherine: But we clapped. A lot. With our whole hearts.

It was the perfect mid-tour sip stop—a quick cocktail, a little showmanship, and just enough liquid courage to prep us for whatever Nap had planned next.

Katherine: We had barely finished swooning over our first sips of The Huckleberry when Nap came strutting back into the courtyard like a one-woman food delivery service.

Kelsi: Arms loaded with plastic containers. Zero explanation. Maximum intrigue.

She handed them out like Oprah giving away cars and told us we were about to experience Dirt Dog—a name that sounds chaotic in the best possible way. And inside those humble containers?

Mexican Hot Dogs.

We’re talking next-level dogs: bacon-wrapped, topped with grilled onions and peppers, all tucked inside a toasted, buttery lobster roll bun.

It was the hot dog equivalent of wearing heels with sweatpants—unexpected, but somehow it worked.

Kelsi: Why don’t all hot dogs come in lobster buns? Is that not standard?

Katherine: This was messy in a spiritual way. Like, “let it drip down your hand and don’t apologize” energy.

Everything about it was bold and indulgent: the crispy bacon, the slightly charred dog, the sweetness from the onions, the richness of that roll. One bite and suddenly we were believers.

Kelsi: I came to Vegas for glitz and glitter. I stayed for this hot dog.

Katherine: Honestly, if this had been the only thing we ate all day, I still would’ve tipped Nap extra.

For a brief, blissed-out moment, everything aligned: the booze, the bacon, the backdrop. File this under “random pairings that turned out to be low-key genius.”

Katherine: We hadn’t even finished saying “we probably don’t need another drink” when Nap took a hard left into Carlos ‘n Charlie’s.

Kelsi: And suddenly… we were choosing margarita flavors like it was our last meal.

Lime. Mango. Raspberry. Strawberry.

It was like tequila-based Pokémon and we were determined to catch the right one.

Once armed with our drinks, we posted up at a picnic table with margaritas in hand, garden views in front of us, and a whole lot of personality packed into every corner—this place doesn’t do subtle, and we respect that.

Nap casually dropped the kind of backstory that should be a Netflix limited series.

The Flamingo opened in 1946, thanks to one Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel—a mobster with a vision and zero chill. His goal? Bring Hollywood-style luxury to the middle of the literal desert.

Bugsy poured millions into the project, wanted everything perfect, and—surprise!—the grand opening flopped.

People complained it wasn’t finished, the weather was terrible, and no one likes a half-built resort.

But despite the rocky start and the small detail of Bugsy getting dramatically murdered in 1947 (allegedly over Flamingo-related drama), the place eventually took off and became the blueprint for modern-day Vegas.

And with that, we toasted Bugsy—who may or may not have approved of fruity tequila drinks, but definitely would’ve appreciated the vibe.

Katherine: By this point, we were full. Like… blissfully full.

Kelsi: Like “text your mom and say you might never eat again” full.

So naturally, that’s when Nap hit us with: “Next stop—full BBQ meal.”

We waddled our way to Virgil’s Real BBQ on the LINQ Promenade, where the Southern hospitality was turned all the way up.

We’re talking trays of slow-smoked brisket, pulled pork, mac and cheese, cornbread, Carolina BBQ sauce (tangy and bossy), and just when we thought we couldn’t take another bite…
Banana. Freaking. Pudding.

Kelsi: At one point I whispered “I need help” and still kept eating.

Katherine: I briefly considered Googling ‘Can you overdose on pudding?’

The brisket was tender. The pulled pork had that perfect smoky edge. The mac and cheese was comfort in casserole form. But the banana pudding? Life-altering.

Kelsi: Like someone’s Southern grandma had a secret recipe and told no one.

Katherine: I would go back just for that pudding and call it a meal.

We sat at a long table like food tour royalty, slow-blinking through bites and wondering how we were still upright. It was rich, ridiculous, and a glorious final food boss battle we did not see coming.