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Catching the Next Wave at Atlantic City

New Hotels and Restaurants are Transforming this
City-by-the-Sea

By Stephen Henderson

Fresh off the bus, I spot a dignified woman carrying a bed cushion, sheathed in a bright pink pillowcase.  The large tag on a rolling suitcase identifies her simply as “MOM.”  Then, three Goth-types walk by. The men both wear leather pants and trade swigs of hard liquor.  They pass the bottle to young woman whose eyes are encircled with black rings of make-up.  It is 1:00 p.m., and I’m not sure if it’s more disturbing that MOM is ready for bed, or that this trio of Draculas has been up all night.  Welcome to Atlantic City!

Officially touted as “America’s favorite playground,” Atlantic City (or “A.C.” as residents calls it) is equally famous for being America’s favorite freak show.  It is the day-tripper’s delight because no one is intimidated by the place and everyone feels loved just the way they are.  In fact, as the 25th anniversary of casinos arriving here was celebrated last year (Resorts International, the first, opened in 1978), if you have a dollar and a delusion, A.C. welcomes you with open arms. 

Or, are those open claws?  Tremendous changes are underway here, yet most involve ways to rake still more cash from your wallet.  Atlantic City has finally wised up to how money is minted by Las Vegas, its high-living cousin out west.  According to a recent study conducted by the Rutgers University School of Business, while both cities net just over four billion in annual “gaming revenues” – no one calls it gambling in these parts -- Las Vegas (where an average stay is three days), tops that off with an additional two billion in hotel bills, restaurant meals, and show tickets.  With the typical visit to Atlantic City lasting half as long, its non-gaming income languishes by comparison. 

So, to foster increased hospitality – and increased expenditures by guests -- casino hotels throughout Atlantic City are sprucing up and exploiting their seaside locales.   Tropicana is nearing completion of a $225 million expansion project to add more rooms, a spa and an entertainment complex.  Showboat and Resorts are also building massive new towers.  Just this summer, outdoor bars opened in front of Trump, Hilton and Caesar’s, where you can now get a drink on the beach.  With live music every evening, and celebrity drop-ins like Bruce Willis, it’s a happening scene at sunset.   

Rest assured, you can still buy funnel cake and salt water taffy.  Three-wheeled gondolas still roll on the Boardwalk and (despite lackluster support from the business community), the Miss America Pageant will return next September.  Yet, more change is inevitable.  The stakes have been raised, you see, by the just-opened Borgata Hotel and Spa, Atlantic City’s first new casino in thirteen years and, by far, the swankiest.  Sheathed in curving planes of golden glass, it shimmers on the city’s far horizon, looking like a tall pile of coins at the rainbow’s end. 

Some Like it Haute

“Would you like a Borgata Card?” The pretty receptionist asks when I checked in here a few weeks ago.  Behind her head is a silent waterfall, upon which plays a psychedelic light show: orange to red to purple to green.  “It keeps track of your winnings,” she explains. “The more you spend, the more you can earn to buy drinks and stuff.”

Confused by the circularity of this sales pitch – in a casino, “spending” means losing, right? -- I step onto the wrong elevator, which rockets upwards.  A video monitor installed in the elevator’s cabin is showing “Moulin Rouge,” with Nicole Kidman purring her way through “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend.”  A good tune for this joint, I think, as Borgata, with its flattering lighting, marble floors, rich drapes and carpeting is cleverly designed to confuse affection with acquisition. 

Once in my hotel room – which is opulently, if neutrally, decorated in white, cream and beige – I look out the window.  Nearby is Harrah’s, which has just added a new tower, and Trump’s Marina, which recently opened its Eden Lounge, an enormous bar with jumbo-sized furniture, wrought-iron trees, and bartenders who toss bottles about a là Tom Cruise in “Cocktail.”  Borgata is located in a part of Atlantic City once known as the Marina, but now grandiloquently dubbed Renaissance Point.  Presumably, this new name is meant to imply that the Boardwalk’s hotels, a mile or so away, are medieval in their comforts. 

Donald Trump, for one, welcomes the competition.  In a recent interview, he was quoted a saying, “A phenomenon is taking place in that the crowd is getting younger, so hotels need to change to meet demand.  The Borgata is a good thing for Atlantic City.”

With 43 floors and just over 2,000 rooms, Borgata is Atlantic City’s largest hotel – it’s also the tallest building in the state of New Jersey.   Circulating through its vast casino are cocktail waitresses dressed in sleek minidresses designed by Zac Posen, fashion’s couturier du jour.  These women are referred to as “Borgata Babes.” 

I’d heard that the casino boasted $1,000 a pop slot machines, so I asked one of the “babes” for directions.  In a half hour of standing outside a roped-off area where two scowling guys were at play, I didn’t see them – or anyone else, for that matter – win.  Or, so I thought.  Only later do I learn that Borgata is Atlantic City’s first “coinless” casino.  Winnings are noted on a bar-coded voucher, redeemable at the cashier’s office.

I wonder about this.  Though I’ve never gambled…uh, gamed…even a nickel in my life, I instinctively understand the appeal of money surging forth at my (Midas) touch.  Then, again, maybe I’d feel like a yokel hauling a plastic bucket of quarters past Dale Chihuly’s fantastic glass sculptures which hang everywhere.  Some look like enormous candies wrapped in clear cellophane; others resemble a writhing mass of phosphorescent snakes. 

No coin buckets, though, isn’t the half of it.  Since the hotel’s credo is that “high rollers and strollers don’t mix,” only hotel guests, not “day-trippers,” are allowed to enter with children who are younger than 16.  Management had hoped to also instate some sort of dress code at its 11 restaurants, but this proved unfeasible.   Anything remotely unfashionable apparently irks Robert L. Boughner, CEO of Borgata, who said he strived to create an ambiance that is “edgy, maybe even a little bit naughty.”

Being Spoiled, and Loving It

What Boughner means by “naughty” is obvious at Mixx, a restaurant that morphs into a discotheque late at night.  Entrees here are given risqué names like “Thai me Up,” Asian erotica hangs on the walls, and VIP rooms above the dance floor (yours for $1,000 a night) have suggestively dim lighting and deep couches.  At The Gypsy Bar, which boasts 70 types of tequila, a bartender brags about what a bacchanal the place is ‘round midnight: “Someone is always up on a table dancing, or has their head on the bar with a margarita  being dumped down their throat.”

I’m torn.  Though this sounds edifying, there’s a “Sexiest Couple and Wet T-shirt Contest” being held at an Atlantic City night spot called Club Tru ($2 cover with “European ID,” the ad proclaims.).  While weighing these possibilities, I visit the gym – which has row upon row of gleaming chrome dumbbells -- and Toccare, the sumptuous, 50,000 square-foot spa with a black marble sauna, steam and Jacuzzi area. 

Eileen Hughes, an aesthetician, first rubs me down with a pumice of grape seeds.  Next, I soak in a seaweed salt tub while my face is swabbed with a “detoxifying” paste made from green tea.  Following a massage with Rosemary extract, I feel so relaxed, I’m close to tears.  Are any of Atlantic City’s other hotel spas this nice, I ask, as she’d earlier told me she’d worked at Bally’s, Tropicana and Caesar’s.  “Not at all,” Hughes says, after snorting with laughter. “But, if they are going to survive, they’ll have to at least try.”

In my robe and slippers, I pad next door to Shaving Grace, a men’s grooming salon run by the four Sgarra brothers, from Philadelphia.  While Frank Sinatra croons about flying to the moon, Rich Sgarra offers more earthy advice while shaving my face with a gleaming, straight-edged razor.  “A really close shave keeps a man looking young,” he practically whispers, “’cause it slices off the dead skin.”   I’m in no position to argue.

That night, after a cocktail at Ombra, a cellar bar with 14,000 bottles of wine on display, I eat dinner at Suilan, where I allow my pleasantly efficient waitress, Patricia Chiu, who was born in Hong Kong, to dictate a menu and wine selections.  This includes something called “Chrysanthemum Shark Skin Soup,” Baby Lamb with eggplant, and an order of crab cakes.  These latter are perfect spheres, crispy as a French baguette, but moist and incredibly flavorful on the inside.   Dear readers, I know these are fighting words, but Suilan’s crab cakes are by far the best I’ve ever eaten. 

As I wipe my lip on a Frette napkin and sip Chan Yu, a 1997 Cabernet Sauvignon imported from China (who knew?), I imagine I could be many places – New York, Peking, Paris -- but not Atlantic City.

A Dip into the Past

After a run the next morning, I have lunch at Gardner’s Basin, a sleepy backwater at the end of New Hampshire Avenue where, starting in the 1850’s, Atlantic City’s first hotels were built. There are old “Rum Runners” houses built out over the water during the Prohibition era, so boats filled with cases of alcohol could secretly off-load underneath.  The Flying Cloud is a famous seafood restaurant here; The Back Bay Ale House, a newer addition.  At both, reggae music plays at a pleasantly mellow volume.  Clamming boats chug out of the harbor, headed forth in search of Quahog clams, and yachts-for-hire embark for “The Canyon,” a spot 95 miles offshore where America’s continental shelf drops into a deep sea fisher’s paradise. 

I wander about, squinting happily up at the sunny skies.  While it’s easy to forget the delicate ecosystem here, each year, Atlantic City witnesses the migration of snow geese, hawks, sand pipers and other shore birds.  They stop off here to feast on the hatched eggs of Horse Shoe crabs.  I’m procrastinating, paying rather more attention than necessary to the sweetly low-tech exhibits at The Ocean Life Center, because after being pampered at Borgata, I am about to subject myself in the Boardwalk’s bare knuckles.   At this moment, I recall my barber’s advice: to stay young, scrape your skin.  Well, alrighty then.  Off I go.

In “Atlantic City: 125 Years of Ocean Madness,” (1979, Ten Speed Press) historians Vicki Gold Levi and Lee Eisenberg describe the five stages between 1870 and 1896, during which the Boardwalk grew from a narrow wooden sidewalk, to the present size of forty feet wide and four miles long – the world’s biggest.   Their book is filled with priceless pictures of everything from the Heinz Pier, where free pickles were given away for decades, to the Steeplechase Pier, which featured oddities such as boxing matches between midgets, or the Hilton Sisters, Siamese-twin performers from the 1930’s.

These days, eccentric tastes are still indulged, but inside the air-conditioned casinos.  After I check in to the Tropicana Hotel, for instance, I meet Blanche the singing bartender, who belts out show tunes while serving up drinks.  Waitresses stomp about on stilts, one being a multi-pierced drag queen whose long nails are encrusted with rhinestones.  A live chicken housed in a glass box regularly beats all human opponents in a game of computerized Tic-Tac-Toe.  And, inside a clear sphere called The Fortune Dome, a man waves a net about, frantically trying to catch dollars bills that are whirling about him in a cyclone.

When it opens next March, the Tropicana’s Latin Quarter promises still more hilarity by recapturing the gaiety of pre-Castro Havana.  Part of the allure will be a stage show featuring topless women – old news perhaps in Las Vegas, but a first for Atlantic City.  “There’s something incredibly sexy about that era,” says Maureen Siman, a Tropicana spokesperson.  “Back then, in the 30’s and 40’s, people would dance salsa in the sand.” 

A Boogie Down the Boardwalk

Block to block (or state-by-state, as each thoroughfare intersecting the Boardwalk is named for one of the United States’ fifty), you can feel the convulsions between Atlantic City’s past and future, the chic and shabby.  Case in point: the famed Atlantic City Convention Hall, recently restored to its 1929 opening day splendor when it was the largest and grandest assembly hall on earth, is now home to the Boardwalk Bullies, an ice hockey team.

I enter Bally’s in search of The Blue Martini, a new circular bar, where one can choose from over 100 martini recipes while sitting at a counter made from smoking dry ice.  I order the eponymous elixir – made from Stoli Razberri, Blue Curacao and a twist of lemon – and feel heroically hip, if $9.00 poorer.

Outside again, I stroll past gift shops selling trinkets in gloriously bad taste (breast-shaped coffee mugs, anyone?), raw bars so dingy the oysters appear to be served with a side order of ptomaine, and dimly-lit storefronts where sullen women named Miss Liza or Teena lurk behind gold lame curtains, waiting to read palms.

 At Caesar’s new Temple Bar, a ceiling mural depicts suspiciously 21st century-looking “Romans” cavorting in an orgy of grapes and rose petals.  I overhear two young emperors-to-be debating the merits of a $200 half bottle of California Merlot.  “At the end of the day, it’s really just grapes,” one concludes with great solemnity.

Tempus Fugit.  Eventually, I end up at Opa Bar & Grille, the Boardwalk’s newest restaurant, at the corner of Indiana Avenue.  Its snazzy front rolls up like a huge garage door, and to my mind, the best seats are at a tall counter which faces the ocean.  While I eat excellent seafood pasta with “blistered tomatoes” and saffron broth, I watch the passersby.  A group of adolescent boys do a bang-up job playing empty containers of sheetrock compound.  Girls in bikinis amble along munching cotton candy with one hand, clutching packs of cigarettes and cell phones to their ear with the other.  An old, old lady carefully touches up the polish on her poodle’s toenails. 

It occurs to me that despite Atlantic City’s current attempts at sophistication, this frightful and fabulous parade will always be the town’s chief charm.

The Tide Rolls Out

I have an opportunity to reconsider this notion, though, when on my way out of town the following morning, I see a man asleep outside the bus station.  In one hand, he clutches both a bottle of Excedrin and a thick wad of cash.  Judging from the grime on his pants, it seemed obvious he’d slept right in this spot, rather than lavishing whatever he’d won (assuming he did win) on a King-sized bed -- not to mention grape seed massages or seafood pasta with blistered tomatoes.  Yet, nearly above the sleeping man’s head, construction derricks are swinging, and concrete gushes forth, laying the foundation for still more castles in the sand.

Herein lies the huge gamble Atlantic City is taking.  High rollers like the high life, so it’s the Borgata babes for them.  But, will all these new hotel rooms being built sit vacant if the town’s average visitor continues to be a day tripper who prefers to play penny ante?

I have an opportunity to reconsider this notion, though, when on my way out of town the next morning, I see a man asleep outside the bus station.  In one hand, he clutches a bottle of Excedrin and a thick wad of cash.  Judging from the grime on his clothes, it seems he'd spent the night at this spot, rather than lavishing his bankroll on a king-sized bed and a grape-seed massage.

Nearly above the slumbering man's head, construction derricks are swinging, and concrete gushes forth, laying the foundation for more castles in the sand.

And therein lies the high-stakes gamble for Atlantic City as it attempts to reinvent itself. Will the Borgata and all these new hotel rooms attract big numbers of big spenders, or will this town continue to be the preferred destination for bus-riding day-trippers who prefer penny ante?

When You Go

Getting There:  Atlantic City is a two and a half hour drive from Baltimore, via I-95 North, the New Jersey Turnpike North, and the Atlantic City Expressway East.  Greyhound busses (800-231-222) arrive from Baltimore at Michigan and Altantic Avenues in Atlantic City, and are $49 round-trip. 

Lodging:

Borgata Hotel Casino and Spa
1 Borgata Way, Atlantic City, NJ  08401
866-692-6742
www.theborgata.com

Atlantic City’s latest and greatest.  Deluxe décor, 11 restaurants, and “naughty” nightlife.  Rooms start at $179.

Tropicana Casino and Resort
Brighton and the Boardwalk
800-843-8767
www.tropicana.net

Oceans views, indoor and outdoor pools, tennis courts, health club, singing bartenders, and a tic-tac-toe playing chicken.  Squawk!  Rooms start at $150.

Dining:

Suilan
Borgata Hotel
866-692-6742
A fusion of traditional Asian fare with fine French cuisine.
Entrees start at $22.95

Back Bay Ale House
800 N. New Hampshire Avenue
609-449-0006
Seafood and steaks, cooked up in a “coastal simple” style.  Entrees start at $11.75

Opa Bar and Grille
1743 Boardwalk (at Indiana Avenue)
609-344-0094
Italian and Greek specialties, and prime Boardwalk gawking. 
Entrees start at $14.95

Activities:

Miss America Pageant, Saturday, September 20, Atlantic City’s Historic Boardwalk Hall. Tickets are $40, and are available at www.ticketmaster.com

Spa Toccare – Borgata Hotel, 609-317-7555
Soak, relax, rejuvenate.  Treatments start at $65.

The Comedy Stop –  Tropicana Hotel 609-340-4020

A.C.’s famed comedy club (where Rosie O’Donnell and Ray Romano got their start.)  Laugh till it hurts, at $50 per person

Steel Pier
Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk,
Family entertainment and rides for kids of all ages.
609-898-7645
www.steelpier.com

Absecon Light House
31 S. Rhode Island Avenues
609-449-1360
New Jersey’s tallest lighthouse is 145 years young.  Breathtaking views. 

B& K Bike Rentals
(available in front of the Resorts, Caesars’ and Hilton Hotels)
609-344-8008
From 6:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m. you can pedal the length of the Boardwalk

Suggested Reading:

The Last Good Time by Jonathan Van Meter (Crown, 2003).  An engrossing portrait of Skinny D’Amato, creator of the 500 Club, an infamous Atlantic City nightspot popular with “Rat Packers” Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra.  

A Perfect Day

9:00 a.m.:  Wake up, and wander down to the Borgata’s Spa Toccare. What’ll it be – a Shiatsu massage, or a “wine and roses” soak?

12:00 noon:  Lunch at the White House Sub Shop on Artic Avenue.  These sandwiches are world-famous, so go ahead, let your eyes be bigger than your stomach. 

2:00 p.m.:  Work off that extra provolone you just ate by climbing the 227 steps of the Absecon Lighthouse. 

3:30 p.m.: Wander up the Boardwalk… or have a strong teenager push you in a three-wheeled gondola.

5:00 p.m.:  Listen to live jazz at “Chicken Bone” beach, directly in front of Boardwalk Hall.

6:00 p.m.:  Drink a Frozen Mojito from The Beach Bar at Trump Plaza

8:00 p.m.:  Return to The Borgata, and have crab cakes at Sui Lan, or a $47 Kobe Beef hamburger at the Old Homestead Steak house.

10:00 p.m.:  Feeling lucky?  The BORGATA HAS 3,650 slot machines waiting for you.

Atlantic City Hotels on Yahoo Travel

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