and for my sins, i got ruhlman.cution in just about every jurisdiction from his hometown cleveland to grand forks, wanted for bail jumping, usury, misuse of livestock, assault, grand theft auto, also the respected author of such food-related classics as "the french laundry cookbook" and "soul of a chef." he washed up in vegas at just the right time. vegas was always the most unlikely of dreams, the longest of long shots, in the middle of the desert. a real, but imaginary space that keeps expanding, creeping ever larger across the wasteland. back in the 40s, the 50s, it was a small town. 100,000 became 300,000, became 500,000. then a million. then two. but it doesn't matter it was 5 years ago or 50. the town has always ended like this -- an abrupt cut and the desert rats on the horizon. but there are comfortable, dark places too. where a man can have a drink, meet likeminded sophisticados of the open west. places like this. ♪ ♪ >> bartender: it's the good stuff. it's jameson black. >> bartender 2: yeah, that's gone.