Brunch at Bouchon: A Surprisingly Uneven Return Visit
Bouchon has always been our default “vacation‑mode” brunch: a swoon‑worthy blend of Parisian polish and pool‑deck daydreams, punctuated by a baguette so crisp it practically applauds when you break it. Whenever the itinerary drops us at The Venetian, we book that 11 a.m. table the way some travelers snag show tickets—non‑negotiable tradition. After a streak of A‑plus visits, we showed up confident the streak would hold. Spoiler: the vibe had other plans.
Bouchon channels classic French brasserie style without feeling like a movie set. Mosaic‑tiled floors, burnished brass railings, marble‑topped tables, and café chairs in a sea of soft blues give the room an effortless Left‑Bank elegance. French doors swing open to a palm‑framed patio overlooking the Garden Pool, so sunlight bounces off white linens while Edith Piaf hums overhead. Even when the service slips, the space itself keeps the fantasy alive.
We’d barely unfolded our napkins when a mug of hot chocolate—cheery swirl of whipped cream and all—landed in front of us. For a hot second, I figured Bouchon had rolled out a new “welcome sip.” Nope. Wrong table. Ten minutes ticked by before our server emerged, spotted the wayward cocoa, and with a tight smile that read, “This day…” She rallied, took our order— TAK Room Burger (Thomas Keller’s New York cameo) for me, Biscuit au Babeurre for Heidi (biscuits‑and‑gravy studying abroad), plus a nostalgia‑driven request for off‑menu French onion soup (its not on the brunch menu)—and promised the famous complimentary baguette.
The baguette arrived first, stealing the show as always: bronzed crust, cloud‑soft middle, salted butter that melts faster than a Vegas slot payout, strawberry jam tasting like July in a jar. We inhaled it, fully expecting the second baguette to follow on cue. Instead, service slipped into slow motion. A carafe of water appeared unannounced, lingered, then vanished—clearly dropped on the wrong table, just like the cocoa. Runners and servers traded tense glances, the kind of backstage friction you feel even if you can’t lip‑read.
Thirty‑plus minutes later, entrées finally touched down. The TAK Room Burger delivered on basics—thick patty, textbook char, melted cheddar—but didn’t register on the culinary Richter scale. Heidi’s Biscuit au Babeurre, though, was upscale comfort: peppery gravy, Hobbs bacon and sausage, Hook’s cheddar, and fresh Fresno chiles that snapped us awake. I enjoyed Heidi’s entry more than my burger. It was a nice twist to a southern classic. The French onion soup was a different story. one taste screamed “rancid”. I have no idea what was wrong with it, but we mentioned it to the waitress and she removed it from the bill.
Bouchon’s baguette still belongs in the Vegas Brunch Hall of Fame, and the room remains a postcard. But until front‑of‑house gets its choreography back, our French‑flavored mornings are migrating south —think Mon Ami Gabi or even a quick detour to Sadelle’s at Bellagio. We spoke to other guests at the Venetian who’s experience mirrored ours, so it wasn’t just us. We’ll keep an eye on Bouchon’s comeback tour, but for now, croissants elsewhere are calling.
Check out our review of Mott at The Venetian 32 here
