My first trip to Las Vegas happened in my twenties and was defined by scrupulous adherence to that clichéd marketing maxim, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”. As a budding criminal defence lawyer at the time, I had the utmost respect for an entire city that seemed municipally committed to the sacrosanct principle of solicitor-client confidentiality. Fifteen years later, I return from my recent guys’ gathering in Sin City to law partners, a wife, two daughters, and a grudging realization that I am old. Or at least, not young.

Hence the impetus for this Gentleman’s Guide (or Gentlewoman’s Guide with very slight modification for ladies who don’t fancy a facial shave as you will read below). Ditch the office after a full day’s work, hop one of the many direct flights into LV, and seventy-two hours later you can be back at your desk with your legal reputation still intact.

I check into my room at the MGM Grand just before midnight local time.Tacking on the three-hour time change from my home in Toronto, my biological clock is coming up on 3:00am – a perfect time to enjoy a few spirits at a relaxed woody setting like the MGM’s Whiskey Down. Night turns to dawn with surprising alacrity when I find myself sipping from the aptly-named hangover cocktail menu at Mandalay Bay’s Fleur. Fortunately my cocktail is accompanied by a steaming coffee served in a soup bowl and is only the preface to a decadent à la carte “beer brunch” anchored by such delicacies as red velvet pancakes paired with a Firestone Walker pilsner or a brownie lollipop washed down with Kronenbourg 1664 pale lager.

Suitably caffeinated I make the short trip off the strip to the asphalt home of Exotics Racing. My rented Toyota Camry cowers in shame in the parking lot as I stroll past a line of Ferraris, Porsches, and Aston Martins arriving at a pack of wildly coloured Lamborghinis. The monstrous 700hp Aventador squats like an alpha male, exerting dominion over the newer lime-green Huracon as I get settled into a citrus-orange Gallardo. The professional driver seated beside me hails from Australia. He nonchalantly goes over a few of the Lambo’s quirks, “The paddle shifters are tiny pieces of crap jammed too close to your wiper stalk and the brakes bite like a dingo. Now let’s get this car moving fast!” Ok then. Not thirty seconds later I’m streaking into a banked corner. A Ferrari F450 is a red blur on my left and a Porsche 991 GT3 is a smudge of white on my right. Later, when I have the opportunity to review my performance through the phenomenal on-board video system, I learn this pass was made at 186kph. Afterwards I cool down by taking a passenger ride-along as a professional drift driver turns a set of Corvette Z06 performance tires into wet pasty tar sliding horizontally through turn after nauseating turn.

After a morning of Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, it seemed particularly fitting to settle into my booth at the MGM’s Shibuya for a feast of Japanese culinary creations. Plates of jalapeño hamachi and kanpachi sashimi coated in yuzu and black lava salt prepare the palate for broiled black cod and thinly sliced wagyu skirt steak in a black pepper teriyaki sauce. The pleasant warmth of Shibuya’s in-house Neo Tokyo sake accompanies me as I turn in for the night.

I wake the next morning with the clean smooth flavors of Shibuya’s creations lingering. Brushing my teeth feels like a culinary crime, but I have an appointment designed to make my profile match my palette. I settle into the barber’s chair at the Aria Spa and Salon. A hot lather with warm towel compresses, expertly handled straight-edged razor, followed by a tightening skin mask, leaves my face smoother than the felt on a blackjack table. Rubbing my palm against my baby-faced cheek I make a mental note to shave again in a month.

Feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, I travel just fifteen minutes from the density and insanity of the mega hotels, where Desert Pine Golf Club provides an opportunity to bet on skins and match play instead of cards and slots. Backdrops for every hole alternate between the dusky reds of the mountains and the multi-coloured glass and steel of The Strip. The compact course utilizes a mix of traditional sand traps and rocky waste bunkers to protect its greens and fairways. The solid undergrowth and arid desert conditions (even during my February round) make for concrete-hard fairways and unforgivingly fast greens.

Dinner transports me from desert fairway to Tuscan vineyard. Tucked into the back of the Mirage casino, Portofino provides an intimate respite from the dazzling lights and clanging bells of Las Vegas. Locally sourced organic herbs and vegetables are fused with imported Italian mainstays like bufala mozzarella to create rich creamy broths draped over made-to-order pastas. Don’t be afraid to request modifications to the menu. Chef Michael LaPlaca appears to relish the challenge of perfecting each diner’s customized order.

So there you have it. Three jam-packed days in Las Vegas – no censorship required.

Some travel support and assistance provided by MGM Resorts.