I Walked Into Pinky’s Fully Prepared to Hate It
That’s Not What Happened And That’s the Part Worth Talking About
This isn’t a review.
I’m not ranking cocktails.
I’m not telling you to sprint over here on your next Strip walk.
I’m not suddenly pretending I’m into reality-TV-themed cocktail lounges served in birdcages.
This is a “why did this work when it absolutely shouldn’t have?” story.
Because I walked into Pinky’s at Flamingo with every reason to roll my eyes, and somehow left not mad about it. And in Vegas, that alone is worth unpacking.
Let’s Be Honest About the Setup
I’ve never been shy about my feelings on Vanderpump spots.
The Caesars and Paris locations always felt off to me. Overpriced food, gimmicky drink presentations, drink smoke boxes that look like they were borrowed from a retired Criss Angel prop closet. None of it ever felt worth the price, or the hype.
It’s just not my scene.
But I also hate talking out of my ass. So when my wife wanted a drink at Pinky’s on Thanksgiving Day while we were walking the Strip, (ok she was shopping, I was drinking) I didn’t argue.
We had just passed on a $12 Liquid Death at the Linq Promenade, a sentence that should explain a lot about modern Vegas, so we ducked into Flamingo.
Immediately, we noticed the usual Caesars chaos. Long check-in lines. Loud complaints. That specific hum of frustration that only exists inside their properties. You know the one. I was setting myself up for a bad time already, Caesars lack of Customer Service makes me so mad I made the quick video above.
Then we walked over to Pinky’s and grabbed two seats at the bar.
First Impressions (a.k.a. “Why Does This… Kind of Work?”)
The décor is familiar but different. Similar bones to the Paris location, but warmer. More gold. More green. Less “Vegas nightclub,” more “Grandmaw Steampunk” and I mean that in the best way possible.
It actually fits Flamingo.
That matters more than people realize.
The bartender, I’m still pissed I didn’t catch his name, completely changed how this place landed for me. Friendly. Engaged. Holding real conversation, while working on a holiday. I did a double take just to confirm I was still in Flamingo.
My wife started with a Dirty Dog, swapping gin for vodka. Normally, I just ask bartenders to shake vodka and olive juice and call it a day. This one? She crushed it without hesitation, even with the vermouth and rosemary.
I ordered the Jailbird. Woodford Reserve with peach, served in a birdcage situation that I normally hate, but I’ll admit it: refreshing, balanced, and not trying to punch me in the mouth with sugar.
That’s where the theme started to emerge.
When Expectations Start Cracking
Next up was the Daddy Issues, a white peach 75, she ordered solely because cotton candy kept floating past the bar. My teeth hurt just looking at it, but judging by how fast those were flying out, I’m clearly not the target audience.
I went back to my staple: a rye Old Fashioned. I feel the need to test every bar I go to for some damn reason, what can I say, I know what I like. It was stirred properly. Clean. No gimmicks. No nonsense.
That’s the moment I realized what was happening here.
This place wasn’t trying to win me over.
It wasn’t screaming for attention.
It was just… executing.
And that caught me off guard.
About the Food (Because You’re Wondering)
The food menu looked exactly like what you’d expect.
Cheese and charcuterie in birdcages. “Upscale” pretzels. Slider bites. Overpriced salads. Desserts designed to cause cavities.
Nothing jumped out. Nothing made me want to order. And honestly? That tracks with every other Vanderpump location.
If you want some expensive light bites…maybe, for me, this isn’t a food redemption arc.
This is a bar that works better than it has any right to.
Why This One Landed (When Others Didn’t)
What surprised me wasn’t that Pinky’s had decent drinks.
It was that inside Flamingo, of all places, it didn’t feel like it was fighting the building.
That’s the real failure of most Strip concepts right now. They’re dropped into spaces they don’t belong in and expected to carry the vibe alone.
This one didn’t try to overpower Flamingo. It leaned into it.
The nearly 7,000-square-foot space uses muted greens, brass, blush pinks, Deco accents, and a covered terrace that somehow makes you feel like you’re in a retro-futuristic bird sanctuary.
And weirdly? That’s exactly what Flamingo should feel like.
Old school. Slightly ridiculous. Comfortable in its own skin.
So Where Do I Land?
I still won’t seek this place out.
I still won’t pretend Vanderpump venues are my scene.
And I still think Caesars is allergic to good customer experience.
But I’ll say this:
When a place you expect to disappoint doesn’t, that deserves acknowledgment.
Not hype.
Just honesty.
Inside Flamingo, Pinky’s works.
And that surprised the hell out of me.
-Jason
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