Dance to a different beat at The Beat Coffeehouse

The Beat Coffeehouse & Records, an independent coffee shop and vinyl record store located on the corner of Fremont and Sixth in, offers up a decent mug of Joe, interesting eats and nice selection of beer and wine in an eclectic setting boarding on hip.

I came upon this place on my last holiday trip to Las Vegas, and instantly took a shine to the place, so utterly devoid of chain coffeehouse BS. The croissants though not made locally – the frozen dough is imported from France – is proofed, shaped and baked in town, and are crispy, flaky, and slightly sweet and chewy.

On my two visits this holiday season I opted for some simple breakfast fare, mainly to atone for the humongous breakfast I partook at Hash House A Go Go the morning prior [see blog post].

On the first day I spied the Slap & Tickle sandwich on the menu, with organic peanut butter, homemade strawberry jam, crispy bacon, pickled jalapeño slices and honey on Country White bread.

What stood out was the jalapeño. Packing a serious wallop, it drowns out the flavor of the bacon in the process. The homemade strawberry jam is a little runny and the organic peanut butter is a tad loose, so be mindful to hunch over your plate while eating.

A couple of mornings later I returned to snag a breakfast croissant sandwich. Along the way I passed a street person throwing some cards on to the pavement. Waiting for him to go off the radar, I grabbed up with turned out to be casino and credit cards. The name listed clearly didn’t match with the make and model of the now apparent thief. I tried calling the numbers listed on the cards to no avail.

Frustrated I related my story to the barista at the coffeehouse. On her suggestion I cut up the cards and tossed them in the trash. While waiting for my order there was a small commotion in a back room. One of the cleaning staff had their wallet pinched from their purse, and there had been a questionable character briefly in the shop only minutes earlier. I had, by chance, picked up the cards tossed aside from her purloined pocketbook.

Crestfallen that I had just chopped up her credit card, I went back out to look for other items, most importantly her drivers’ license. Finding nothing more I returned with the bad news, and finally settled into my sandwich.

The croissant was crisp and flaky, with a big fluffy oval of scrambled egg nestled within along with melted Swiss cheese and crispy bacon. It was fine and filling.