VIVA LAS VEGAS

We wade into the spectacle that was the reborn Las Vegas Grand Prix

- NICOLAS STECHER

The air is festive on the outdoor terrace of LPM, the swanky Mediterranean-vibed restaurant continents away from the ripe gold lemons and plump olives of the Côte d’Azur. At The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas's newest foodie destination, the Strip’s glowing football field-sized billboards blast a rainbow of colors onto our thinly sliced beef tartare and sizzling escargot; the place feels decidedly otherworldly.

Then comes the airstrike: the incoming screaming electrified V6 of a Formula One car at full gallop. Everyone dining pauses mid-bite as if a T-Rex smashed through the door, staring wide-eyed. What is that? A Mercedes-AMG powerplant coming? Perhaps the Honda-powered Red Bull Racing motor of Sergio ‘Checo’ Perez? Every table stands and runs to the balcony edge, and when the sound hits a fever pitch we see the black Alfa Romeo of one Valterri Bottas wrapping around a corner towards us. Of course, you think, hearing the famously high-pitched scream of Modena. It’s a Ferrari engine.