At a glance: A swanky little bar in a little red dress. The Rojo Lounge offers a sexy and appealing watering hole that is a great escape from the casino floor, or the excesses of a Vegas vacation. Meet here, end here, or drop by for a drink. You won’t be disappointed.
- Palms Place Hotel and Spa
- Monday - Thursday: 2 pm to Midnight
Friday - Sunday: Noon to 2 am
- 702 942 7037
- Range Rover
- Chasing the Dragon
- Pushing Daisies
- Vertical Integration
- Otter Pop
- Tuned In
- O Captain! My Captain!
- Cruzan Along
In full: Let’s be clear, the best bar is the one that matches your mood. When we’re depressed, we retreat to the most down-market and dirty bar we can find to throw back swill and rut-got. When we are in a mood to party, we flock to generic chains to cruise for other sexy and fun-loving singles. When money is burning a hole in our pocket, we toast champagne and rare whiskeys at the elite bars, hoping to be seen and applauded for our wealth. Really, the bars we visit are an expression of ourselves, our innermost wants, desires, cravings and dreams.
And there is a real paucity of choice to reflect the rich diversity of the human condition. So it is with some joy I stumbled onto the Rojo Lounge.
The cynic might dismiss this bar as a throwaway. Located inside the Palms Casino Resort, it is a necessity of design and demand. It is a bar to fill a roll, and the theme is just a requirement. It could be anything so long as it served drinks. There is nothing special or real, or inspired, they might say. But they are wrong.
At once, the Rojo Lounge reveals itself in rich reds and blacks. The darkness is inviting, and easy on the eyes. It hides the blemishes of life, and invites us deeper into a warm embrace. It doesn’t judge, but coyly smiles, winks, and lightly pats an open seat at the bar.
As a people watcher, I was taken by a scene of young ladies dressed ready for the club. It wasn’t clear to me if they were a bachelorette party, or celebrating a 21st birthday. All I had to go by was a single ‘S’ shaped balloon one of them still carried, what I presumed was the remains of some token sign that declared their intentions for the night. They wore crass garlands, kitty-ear hairbands, and had the mood of conquerors. For this night, and this night only, Las Vegas was their city.
The bartender was preparing them something with flourish. He had a veteran’s gaze, focused on his craft as he mixed, shook, and tumbled some strange libation into a number of glasses. The liquid came out a savage neon, somewhat capturing the spirit of the city, and meeting with a chattering approval.
It was getting to be closing, so I ordered myself an espresso martini. For some, this was the end of the night, but for me a beginning. I received my drink shortly, and settled into a table, feeling a resounding comfort. Eyes over at the end of the bar met mine, and I smiled and nodded.
The Rojo Lounge was welcoming to me. It had no expectations. It knew itself, and that knowledge was power. For a brief respite as I nursed my drink, I was genuinely refreshed. This was a place to speak in hushed tone, to whisper secret words into an ear, and sit back with a coy smile. It was a mood in itself, the feel of two strangers meeting by chance, the brief look stolen, the little jokes and batting lashes. It smelled deeply of that rare delight, not love, or even lust, but the two combined.
I could contrast it sharply with the exhibition and energy of Unknown, a bar also at the Palms. Where it was spectacle, calling out to be seen, this little hideaway commanded a subtle attention without demand. It was for the confident, those needing nothing but themselves.