Today's food coma brought to you by Bellagio

Considering who I work for (an ad agency that has four major Strip properties), you'd think I was getting free food and shows all the time.

Nope. Not at all. We get nothing and like it.

So imagine my surprise when I (and a small group of co-workers) was tapped to go on a culinary tour of Bellagio. Bellagio, for heaven's sake. The flagship property of the MGM MIRAGE stable. The restaurants are legendary, because they were the first to bring real foodie food to Las Vegas. With all the other hotels upping the restaurant ante, Bellagio has kept up -- and then some.

Yesterday morning, I got the itinerary:

5:00 Prime
5:30 Olives
6:00 Picasso
6:30 Shintaro
7:00 Circo

Zowie. None of these places are lightweights. But none of them would be serving us a full meal, either. I expected that we'd go to each restaurant, the general manager would give us a tour, and we'd get a couple of nibbles before moving on.

Nope. Not at all. The night was an orgy of butter, wine and various things that would make a vegetarian faint. At each restaurant we were served a little sample of their signature dishes. More than nibbles, it was like eating mini-meals every time we sat down.

At Prime, we had beef that would have been perfect on its own, salted and peppered and melting off the fork -- but they added special sauces and condiments. I've never seen peppercorns used like this. I've never had a Bearnaise so light. And the Merlot was gorgeous.

At Olives, I had a tapenade on airy ciabatta while I chatted with the sommelier. She poured a creamy chardonnay from a small vineyard called Marimar. Then an Italian red that brought tears to my eyes. We each got a plate with three pasta dishes on it: a mint and English pea ravioli, a ricotta-tomato thingy, and OH MY GOLLY GOD -- the most incredible butternut squash tortelli. Light, fluffy, with so many distinct flavors in the most perfect balance I could imagine. Sage in the sauce, almond at the finish, and spicy squashy happiness in between. I'm going back, just for that.

Of course at this point we were all full and loopy, but there were three more stops.

Picasso is a joy. Classic French cuisine concocted by a classically-trained Spanish chef that talked our ears off. And well, there's also the artwork -- real Picassos on every wall. We were ushered outside to a patio table that overlooked the dancing fountains. There, we were plied with Spanish bubbly and a bright Sangiovese/Sauvignon Blanc/Something Amazing blend that went down easy. Too easy. Then, thank heaven, something small -- the most un-fishy, totally yummy scallop I've ever had, topped with fried leeks and perched on blanched asparagus with hollandaise. A classic, perfectly prepared. Which meant it only looked small. The taste and richness was huge. I cursed the French as I tried to stand.

By now, we were walking really slow. I entered Shintaro with something approaching dread. Dear Lord, I prayed, please let this one be small. Really small. Nope. Not at all. It was a bowl of crispy lobster in black bean sauce. At this point, you'd wonder why I didn't just have a taste and stop. Hel-LO! It was LOBSTER. Prepared by the ex-head chef of Nobu. Oh, hell, no. In for a penny, in for about five pounds on my hips.

We staggered to Circo and got wind of what they had in store: a three-course meal. As a group, we sagged, imagining the hell to come. The food in Circo is Tuscan, which means only one thing: holy shit, more pasta. We plopped into our chairs not just well fed, but well and truly fed up. And that was a shame, because Circo's food is a wonder. The appetizer, duck prosciutto and foie gras, was tiny but absolutely busting with flavor and texture. The pasta course (oh crap) was a sage-ricotta ravioli paired with a meaty, bold duck gnocchi. The wine, while marvelous, was something I (unfortuantely) could barely pay attention to. I took bites of everything, grudgingly so, and by then, I was cursing Bellagio. The look on my face must have been of pure horror when they put the peccorino cheese-crusted lamb chop in front of me.

I love lamb chops. This was a huge, tender Colorado lamb chop, exquisitely prepared and plated on a bed of peppery potatoes. And at that moment, lamb was my enemy. It mocked me. I looked around at the hopeful faces of our wait staff and realized that I had to take at least one bite.

For those of you familiar with Monty Python, it was like the "wafer-thin" piece of meat forced into Mr. Creosote's gullet in "The Meaning of Life." I could swear it didn't make it all the way down.

If they'd have fed us dessert, I would have exploded.

Driving was miserable -- I was so full of butter and salt and meat and all kinds of other high-calorie components that the wine was long gone. I was left, instead, feeling as if my little car couldn't support the extra weight. When I got home I showered, had a glass of water and fell into a leaden sleep.

And today, I'm in a food coma.

But I'm not regretting anything (except that I wish I'd paced myself a little better). It was all SO GOOD. Tonight, I'll play soccer and by tomorrow, I may just have an appetite again.

Maybe.