1970s When we were lurid
1950s Steer and stingers The ’50s has a set of neon bookends, with Vegas Vic going up in 1951 and the “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” sign arriving in 1959. In between, the Sahara, the Sands, the Stardust and a half-dozen other casinos swung open their doors. Still, nothing says old-school like a steakhouse, and no steakhouse is more oldschool than the Golden Steer. The Steer (308 W. Sahara Ave., 384-4470) has served kings from Sinatra to Elvis and maintains the classic red plush/dark wood machismo that’s so swell with a T-bone and an iceberg wedge. For cocktails, try a stinger, the brandy/Crème de Menthe drink favored by ladies from Jayne Mansfield to Peggy Olsen. The look of the era should be easy to come by: Banana Republic’s “Mad Men” collection has plenty of floral-print sheath dresses and narrow-lapeled gray suits. The Golden Steer is also open in the afternoon — go ahead, ask for Dean Martin’s booth, then slide right into that two-martini lunch. How did all of these people get in your room anyway?
1960s Bourbon comfort When they opened, both Caesars Palace and the Las Vegas Hilton were examples of over-the-top ’60s glamour at its finest, although both have been stripped virtually all of their swinging glory. But if your vision of the era is more John Cassavetes than James Bond, Decatur Liquors (46 S. Decatur Blvd., 870-2522) is in near-pristine, early-’60s condition, from woodgrain formica to groovy primary-colored fonts. It was a big time for White Russians, and this is the sort of comforting, off-the-path bar you could
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down a few in. Or order a bourbon, which Congress declared “America’s Native Spirit” and our national drink in 1964, punch up some Motown on the jukebox and see if the Munsters are on TV. Still not sufficiently bathed in authenticity? Step through the side door to the adjacent lunch counter, where there’s still floral vinyl on the booths and Swiss steak on the menu … or the drugstore, where rows of bull’s-eye greeting cards and pink foot pumices take on a pop art all their own — and try to tell me that packet of disposable rectal thermometer sheaths hasn’t been there since the Kennedy administration!
In Vegas, the ’70s seem as well-preserved as a showgirl who married well, with a number of spots firmly stuck in the Bailey’s and Quaaludes decade. Naturally, the Peppermill (2985 Las Vegas Blvd. S., 7354177) is at the top of the list: Burgundy plush, pink neon, fake trees and, of course, that bubbling fire pit and those waitresses in backless dresses. If it wasn’t for those infernal plasma screens, it’d be perfect — order yourself a Harvey Wallbanger off the extensive and lurid drink menu and try to ignore them. If not, hit the Las Vegas Hilton, where you can still imagine Elvis on the marquee and James Bond scaling the side to break into Willard Whyte’s penthouse. If you prefer something more serene, head for the Dispensary Lounge (2451 E. Tropicana Ave., 4586343) with its shag carpeting, shiny wood, hideous upholstery, waitresses in leotards — did I mention the giant mill wheel with real water and fake plants? Suck down a Long Island Iced Tea, peruse your copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and wonder where all the good times have gone if the places we had them in are still here.