Picasso

A waiter sets down a wide shallow bowl in front me. It holds a small pile of thimble-size Nantucket scallops crowned with a thatch of fried potato. Moments later, he carefully pours in a pale ivory soup parmentier until the scallops are flooded like an island sinking beneath the waves. As I bask in the dank earthy aroma of black truffles tucked beneath the scallops, the windows flash white, and outside a fog bank rolls in, throwing a cool light over the room. The potato strands, fine as thread, glitter like gold. The soup shines like satin. And the Picassos on the walls hum with color.

When the fog disperses, the lights of the Eiffel Tower glint from across the lake, and breaking the illusion, an electronic billboard flashes come-ons to the show playing next at Bally's. For a moment I'd forgotten where we were: Las Vegas and the mega-casino Bellagio.

Picasso, one of several high-profile restaurants in the casino, is built around a collection of Picasso paintings, gouaches and ceramics -- and the artistry of Spanish chef Julian Serrano. When the restaurant opened in 1998, it was part of a wave of fine-dining establishments from serious chefs that promised to put Las Vegas squarely on the culinary map. Everybody seemed to be coming or contemplating a restaurant there. French three-star Michelin chefs flew in on private jets to take meetings about possible restaurant ventures in the born-again gastronomic destination. But once the hype cleared and the entrepreneur-chefs tired of flying in to check on their Vegas restaurants, Serrano was the only big name chef to actually move to the desert.

And now that he's just signed on for five more years, he also may be the best-paid chef for hire in the country, reportedly earning nearly $500,000 a year. For that, he'll happily stay in his kitchen six nights a week. With no lunch, it has to be a dream job for a chef of his stature. Though his name may not be as familiar as Wolfgang Puck's or Jean-Georges Vongerichten's, Serrano always has been known as a chef's chef, renowned for his cooking at Masa's in San Francisco, where he worked for 15 years.

At 52, Serrano is at the top of his game and more than ready for the spotlight, yet unlike some younger cooks, he's confident enough to let the food speak for itself. Every night he's behind the stoves at Picasso turning out beautifully understated and delicious French-Mediterranean cuisine. Dining at Picasso is an experience unlike any in Los Angeles right now.

Admittedly, potato soup doesn't sound too exciting, but this one has an astonishing texture and flavor. Passed through the finest of sieves, the silken puree is suspended in a rich golden broth. The scallops are rare and sweet, and the whole soup is perfumed with black truffles. Its finish lingers in the mouth like a classy old Montrachet.

Four poached oysters arrive in their shells lined with a single spinach leaf and nestled in a white napkin. Just barely warm, they tremble in the mouth, bathed in a gossamer beurre blanc and topped with a spoonful of oscetra caviar. Serrano serves delicate flavorful Peekytoe crab in a splash of remarkable green apple-Champagne vinaigrette. Green apple was all the rage in Paris 10 years ago, so the idea isn't startlingly original, but this particular dish sings.

When it comes to balancing flavors, Serrano is blessed with the equivalent of perfect pitch. And he's particularly adept with fish. One of my favorite dishes is filet of St. Pierre, sauteed and set on a pale wash of saffron sauce, really a jus, and flanked with precise oval spoonfuls of cauliflower mousseline. It's a wonderful combination of tastes. But who would ever imagine that the humble cauliflower could reach this high? It's like a little bite of heaven.


Seafood in the desert

But if I had to pick one seafood dish it would be his boudin, a fat, handmade sausage of lobster, scallops and shrimp that bursts with juices and marries their flavors brilliantly. A stripe of subtle black olive tapenade races around the plate. It's a wonderful match with a Chablis or white Burgundy. Unfortunately, if you want to order a great one, it will take a big win at the tables. The wine prices are high, but no more than at most hotel restaurants.

The sommelier, however, is very knowledgeable and will work with you to find a wine at a price you can accept. He also offers the option of matching your menu with wines by the glass for $48 per person for the five-course menu, and $38 per person for four courses. This may be the way to go if you're not wine savvy.

You'll want a beautiful Burgundy though for Serrano's seriously fabulous roasted pigeon. Cut into four and arranged in a loose tepee flying a sprig of sage, the bird is rosy and deliciously gamy beneath a crust of honey and coarsely chopped nuts. At the table, a waiter spoons a little transparent pigeon jus over the top. I don't think I've ever had a better pigeon dish in this country. The sticky sweetness of the honey along with the slightly bitter bite of the walnuts and the milkiness of the almonds gives the pigeon a brilliant Moroccan inflection.

Lamb rôti from the more lavish five-course menu cloaks aged medallions of tender lamb in a crust of finely chopped black truffle. As the transparent lamb reduction is spooned over, some of the truffle flakes into the sauce, infusing it with its delicious musty scent. This is another great red wine dish.

For a restaurant that celebrates an artist of boundless creativity, Serrano staunchly sticks to his menu, which changes so minutely from visit to visit, even months apart, a meal at Picasso offers few surprises. I would love to see more of what this immensely gifted chef can do. As it is, going back to Picasso is a bit like rereading a beloved classic novel: You know exactly what's going to happen. Oh, the fish in saffron sauce might be Scottish salmon or black bass this week instead of St. Pierre, but the preparation is exactly the same.

There is an option. The sommelier told us the next time we came we should call ahead and say we've been to Picasso several times and would like to ask the chef to cook a special menu for us. He loves to do it, he assured me. So we did it, and though we had a wonderful meal, every dish, except one, was on the regular menu that night. Needless to say, we were disappointed. What gives? At this level, I would have expected a lot more. Certainly, in San Francisco, Serrano would have risen to the occasion.

Sweet sculpture

Desserts are not quite as strong as the rest of the menu, though there's a terrific-looking chocolate napoleon with thin sheaves of dark chocolate standing in for the pastry and a stunningly deep dark version of the ubiquitous molten chocolate is an inexplicable pastry crust cylinder filled with an odd jellied apple confection. Pastry chef Matt Fleisher's individual tarte tatin is a buttery round of puff pastry topped with gala apples with a ribbon of red wine reduction poured around it, mimicking the way Picasso painted an eye on some of the ceramics on view at the restaurant.

Service at Picasso is as professional as it gets, extremely attentive and attuned to each table. Unless you say something, though, the food tends to come out so quickly there's barely time to catch your breath between courses. Everyone from middle-aged conference attendees to suburban couples on a romantic weekend to young girls with belly-baring outfits and too much Champagne is treated like high rollers. The genius of Las Vegas is to make everyone feel like a VIP.

Against all odds, in Picasso Serrano has created a restaurant that makes Las Vegas worth visiting whether or not you're interested in gambling. On any night the restaurant's grand dining room is bubbling over with appreciative murmurs in French, Spanish, Japanese or Chinese from diners lucky enough to get a table. It says something that in the capital of illusion Julian Serrano's exquisitely poised cooking has become as much of a draw as white tigers and magic tricks.