Now that he has a steakhouse, a burger joint and a pub, everyone’s favorite Scottish chef is going full-on U.K. with his newest addition to the Strip, Gordon Ramsay Fish & Chips. Although the traditional English meal can already be had at his eponymous pub in Caesars Palace, his new spot—set to open in spring at the Linq—is a more casual experience, fashioned after takeaway spots you’d find across the pond. It’s also decidedly smaller at just 740-square feet. In addition to its namesake dish, the menu will feature all the greatest hits of British comfort food, including bangers and mash, chicken planks and seafood chowder. This kind of dining is meant to be a quick (and often post-drinking) nosh, but also works for a stroll down the Linq Promenade. The only thing that seems to be missing is deep-fried pizza, straight from Ramsay’s homeland.
Speaking of fried things, I had no idea fried chicken skin could ever be more than that which is unceremoniously peeled off a piece of chicken. Sure, I’ve had them as chicharrón, which is how Comme Ça (in the Cosmopolitan, 702-698-7910) treats them, with still a little bit of fat beneath the skin. It curls up when fried, forming a perfect scoop, which as it turns out is an ideal delivery method for the accompanying schmear of chicken liver mousse. But I’ve also found them as thin, crispy sheets, as they do at Carson Kitchen (124 S. Sixth St., 702-473-9523), where they’re served with smoked honey. At Yusho (in Monte Carlo, 702-730-7777), they’re beer-mustard glazed and togarashi dusted, the fat having been rendered so they crack like potato chips. They’re also crack-like in that you can’t stop eating them once you’ve started.
And staying with the food-as-crack theme: The crazy-spicy Tony’s Chicken with Three Chilies at Lao Sze Chuan (in the Palms, 702-942-6862) is a deep-fried (seeing a pattern here?), spicy and slightly sweet signature that has actually been called “Chicken Crack” in some Chicago circles, where the restaurant brand originates. But my fix goes deeper than that, so I go instead for the chef’s special dry-chili chicken. The difference is subtle, until you see the number of chilies that arrive with this version—and it’s more than three. In fact, it may even appear that there are more chilies than pieces of chicken, but don’t be discouraged. The heat is the earthy and slowly creeping kind that envelops your mouth, rather than punches it. And before you know it, the feel-good endorphins have kicked in and you can’t get enough. But for your sanity, I’d suggest you don’t actually eat the chilies.