“Here I am, all alone in this luxurious suite with the king-size bed covered in fine, 500 thread-count Egyptian linens. Why, there’s even a telephone in the toilet. And a pencil. And paper. And a television too. I can watch “Pimp My Ride” on MTV while writing out the list of accessories I want added to my car; read the local newspaper and make a phone call to room service while I tend to business in the loo.”

Ooh, what a relief to be all alone, if even for just one night.

I have escaped the throngs of weary travelers plodding through the airport, ranting at underlings back in the home office through a cell phone permanently glued to their ear. How ridiculous they look and sound, berating the sales staff because they haven’t met their monthly quota of sales for plastic bread ties. Does anyone really care? Are we supposed to be impressed?

Tonight I am alone. No radio scripts to write for the daily show, no recipes to test, no veal stock to strain and simmer down for 8 hours, no deadlines for food stories. It is just me, all by myself, wrapped in a heavy terry cloth robe, treating myself to a ludicrously overpriced mini-bottle of Scotch and equally expensive can of Pringles. I’m indulging in a bit of pampering by the hotel staff. Living in the lap of luxury as they say.

When it comes to room service at a hotel, I picture myself like little Richie Rich. You know, the decadently rich kid of comic book fame, (and the 1994 bad Macaulay Culkin movie), dressed in leather shoes, white knee socks, a fine linen suit coat and shorts. There I sit on my throne with a platoon of waiters presenting silver-domed servers under which sit a feast of gourmet foods from which to choose: hand-tossed Waldorf Salad, Duckling a’la Orange and Baked Alaska -- and it’s mine. It’s all mine!

The anticipation of dining on such a feast while lounging in your pajamas builds up to that final crescendo when the waiter knocks on your door and announces, “Room service, Sir!”

For, as is often the case with true romance, so with room service. The build-up to a blind date frequently surpasses the outcome of that uncomfortable walk to the door and goodnight gesture. You think the evening is going to end with a sweet kiss, only to get a cold handshake and have the door swiftly shut in front of you. No phone numbers are exchanged.

Likewise, I place high expectations on that plate of “Veal Saltimboca” that has been ordered for delivery to room 716, only to be horrified when I remove the tin warmer off the plate to witness a ghastly shard of ashen ground veal smothered in mushroom gravy and garnished with stringy shriveled fingers of over-cooked asparagus.

I don’t see any sign of the prosciutto or sage called for in the recipe for this classic Italian dish. I thought maybe the spark was going to be there, something delicious delivered on my doorstep, but I was left hungry.

Sadly, many of today’s hotels don’t even have on-site dining rooms. The business model for most hotels requires that they get people in for one night then get them out the next morning. And you will see most of these places clustered around airports or business parks. Most of these hotels are franchised by a national chain, so the service varies by the owner and location. And usually food is on the bottom of the list of hotel amenities.

What you see on a television commercial running on network TV during halftime of the big game isn’t always what you may find when you stay at that hotel chain’s property in Biloxi, Mississippi.

All you can reasonably expect at these places is what they optimistically call “breakfast”. You’re given a cup of bad coffee and a cold cinnamon roll with your bill, along with a “complimentary” USA today. Don’t be fooled for a minute. None of this is “free,” it’s all figured into the price of the room. And coffee and stale pastries don’t cost the hotel anything anyway.

If “Sam’s Coffee” wants to get some good advertising, they stick up a sign at the local “Dream Inn” saying their coffee is featured on the morning buffet. So “Dream Inn” gets some free coffee to serve, while “Sam’s” gets the benefit of getting their name out to the public. And “Sam’s” puts the cost into their advertising and marketing budget.

What a far cry we have come from the days when most hotels still offered room service. Don’t get me wrong, many hotels that have on-site restaurants still provide room service. But there are a few “tricks of the trade” that seasoned travelers use when ordering room service. And you need to know those tricks should you choose to dine in your room tonight.

My first treat with room service was back circa 1973 in Portland, Oregon at the Red Lion Hotel at the Coliseum. The Portland Memorial coliseum was the first home of the NBA Portland Trailblazers (now poignantly known around town as the “Jailblazers” for the many indiscretions of the players). The billionaire owner of the Blazers, Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen, apparently hasn’t yet found a way to buy an NBA championship.

Anyway, my Father and I had traveled to Portland to attend a horse show at the coliseum. I was working as a groom to a horse trainer who was showing American Saddlebreds.

One evening my Father was bold enough to entrust me to stay alone in the hotel room and order whatever I wanted from the room service menu. Hint: it’s probably not a good idea to ever tell a 16 year-old teenage boy to charge anything to a hotel room.

If only I knew back then what I know now.

I can remember ordering a huge sirloin steak, fries and a banana split. It’s funny isn’t it, how you can actually remember meals that you ate nearly 30 years ago. I think it stands out in my mind because to a kid, ordering food from room service and having it delivered is really a big deal, a treat we don’t often get to enjoy. The usual nightly routine at our house would be for my mother to call us to the dinner table and tell me to eat my stuffed peppers, so this was really something special.

But I also learned something else on that night of my first room service meal -- be careful what you order, certain foods don’t hold up well to the rigors of room service.

First, consider that at most hotels the kitchen is in the main, central area just off the hotel lobby. The guestrooms can be as far as twenty stories above or across a large parking lot in another building of rooms. So your food is cooked and then transported through the halls lined with bad carpet designs, a long, long way away.

During that journey, your T-bone and turned mushroom caps can get cold. Even worse, think of what ice cream must endure on the journey from kitchen to guestroom.

Ice cream melts. Like my banana split that night. Instead of three distinct scoops of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, it turned into a sort of “spumoni” cream in which each flavor melted into the other. It ended up as ice cream soup with bananas and maraschino cherries floating through the muck.

And that brings up another point to consider when ordering room service. Are you going to order say, three courses -- soup, entrée and dessert? If so, will your soup arrive hot? Will the grilled pork chop still be hot and the baked potato steaming when you are done with your tomato bisque?

When ordering room service, you might want to steer away from dishes that must be served really, really hot. Like soup, or dishes that must be served really, really cold -- like ice cream.

But let’s back up a bit and talk about room service menus. Most room service menus are pretty limiting – a few sandwiches, appetizers, basic entrees like steak, pasta and chicken, concluding with a few desserts such as pie and cake. But take a trip downstairs and look at a posted menu for the hotel restaurant.

The difference will probably surprise you. What’s served in the dining room reads much tastier than what they bring to your room, and there are many more dishes on the restaurant menu. Why don’t they offer the same stuff for room service? Probably because they put the rookie sous chef on the room service grill station and he isn’t capable of dollying up a plate of seared foie gras with caramelized white peaches. Better for this beginner to flip pancakes and fry eggs.

But don’t be discouraged when you order room service. I’ll be sharing a story with you about my success in special ordering off a restaurant menu and having it delivered to my room.

Of course, room service doesn’t come cheap. All the more reason for you to expect to be able to make a special request for your meal.

All too often, the hotel adds an automatic 18% gratuity, PLUS a $4.00 delivery charge for room service. The Penne Pasta with Italian Sausage that costs $10.95 in the restaurant downstairs now costs you $16.95. And being the sympathetic sap that I am, I feel guilty for the waiter who delivers my little bowl of cold, sticky pasta, so I always hand him another $5.00 in cash to line his pocket.

Now I’m up to a total of $21.95 just to eat a limpid dish of pasta while I watch Tony Soprano on television eat the real thing with his gumbas in some hole in the wall Italian joint in Hoboken.

So if I am going to spend that kind of money, I want to be a little adventurous and order something special that isn’t on the regular room service menu. And why not?

In most hotels there is one main kitchen which serves as the base of operations for all the hotels food services -- dining room, banquets and rooms service. There should be no reason why you can’t order a menu item from the restaurant and have it delivered by room service.

But you may have to ask first to get something special delivered for room service, and please use a little kindness when the operator picks up the phone. Kill them with kindness so to speak. “This is Mr. Ross in room 1212 and I would like to order off the menu from the Steakhouse please and have it delivered to my room.”

Now you have to know precisely what you want for dinner. So when you take that little tour to scope out the babes by the hotel pool and peruse the restaurant menu, you write down exactly the dishes you want to order later for room service. If you dilly-dally around and say something like, “Don’t you have a big Porterhouse with Onion Rings?” The lady on the other end of the phone may get a little perturbed and tell you that you can have whatever Salisbury steak of the day is on the room service menu.

Now if you are staying at a top-level, 5-star luxury collection hotel, you shouldn’t have to worry about such inconveniences as the temperature of your dinner or the limitations of a printed room service menu. We’re talking Ritz-Carlton, Four Seasons or the Savoy in London at this price level.

I have the perfect example to explain this. But I am going to tempt you a bit more and end this story with a tale of a magnificent room service dinner served above the sparkling neon lights of the City of Entertainment.

But first, lets start our room service lesson with breakfast: the most often ordered, most maligned of all room service dishes.

You’ve all seen them, those room service breakfast menus cutely cut into the shape of a door hanger, gently sitting on your pillow. You first notice this curious little advertisement when you enter your room. You turn on the television and play with the remote, take your shoes off, and scope out the free shampoo in the bathroom. When you bounce on the mattress to test it’s lumbar supporting attributes, you find this curious little card of paper with the mouthwatering photographs of glistening oranges and creamy scrambled eggs on the front. Food stylists have a way with eggs, you know.

The Radisson Stapleton Plaza in Denver, Colorado, has to be the all-time award winner for the worst hotel breakfast delivered by room service. I don’t imagine things have changed much at the Radisson since I had the distinct displeasure of sampling their room service breakfast offering just a few weeks ago.

Since I wanted to catch every wink of precious sleep and not have to get up early to traipse into the dining room and wander around the breakfast buffet table, I decided to order breakfast in. I took out my complimentary Radisson pencil to jot down tomorrow morning’s breakfast order.

The one thing the Radisson did get right was the delivery time. They gave me the option of having breakfast delivered within a 15 minute window, and I chose the busy 7:00-7:15 time to put them to the test. At precisely 7:04 a.m., the knock on the door came. Maybe we are off to a good start this morning?

Alas, it wasn’t to be. I had ordered the “Stuffed French Toast,” billed on the menu as “raspberry preserves sandwiched between thick layers of sweet brioche.” What I got was a piece of white bread fried like French toast and then cut in half and sprinkled with powdered sugar. At least the white powdered sugar around the rim of the blue plate looked good. The raspberry preserves weren’t stuffed into the French toast but had morphed into raspberry jam served in a paper cup on the side.

The bacon was soggy not crisp, and it was stone cold (not even warm). That happens to bacon if it sits too long.

The orange slice used for a fruit garnish was the best part of the meal, swirled into the aforementioned powdered sugar then dipped in the maple syrup that was intended for the French toast.

And coffee. I don’t particularly like making coffee in hotel rooms using those silly little pots they put on the bathroom counter. The “pillow pack” pre-ground coffee filters that they give you with “complements of the house,” tastes like watered down Folger’s. So on this morning I paid another $6.00 for coffee delivered by room service.

After this Denver disaster, I pledged to myself that in the future I would forsake a couple of extra minutes of sleep and have breakfast in a real restaurant where the kitchen is within a few steps of my table.

And another insider’s tip about ordering room service breakfast: stick to juice, coffee, water, muffins and cold cereal. Anything that needs to be cooked, like creamy scrambled eggs, may turn into stone-cold concrete by the time it arrives.

But not all room service trips turn out to be culinary disasters. Just two weeks after the Armageddon at breakfast in Denver, I had what I must describe as the room service experience of a lifetime.

On a recent trip to Las Vegas, I decided to stay at the “Palace of the Gods” – Caesar’s Palace to be exact. The quintessential example of Roman excess in the American Southwest.

On the day I arrived in Las Vegas, (do not ever call it “Vegas”. That is sacrilegious and akin to calling San Francisco, “Frisco”), Sylvester Stallone landed in town on his private jet to reportedly scope out locations for his upcoming reality television show about prize-fighting called “The Contender.” And comedian Martin Short was reported to have been treated to a kitchen tour a few days earlier at Caesar’s new gourmet restaurant Bradley Ogden by the namesake chef himself.

Yet I am a humble and simple man, arriving by commercial jetliner with about 10,000 other tourists that day, and I didn’t get any special kitchen tours by a celebrity chef. I did, however, feel sort of special when the gentleman at the hotel reception desk upgraded my “Internet special” room to a suite in the tower overlooking the Strip and the fountains next door at Bellagio.

Nothing in Las Vegas is free, of course, and the extra amenity of watching a free water show across the street cost me an extra $50 bucks a night. All the more reason to seclude myself from the hordes of people in the casino downstairs betting on the NCAA Basketball Tournament and to enjoy some peace and quiet in my room with a little room service for dinner.

After a walk through the hotel to review the menus of six different fine dining establishments, I decided to try the authentic Cantonese offerings at The Empress Court.

Caesar’s Palace really wants to push you out of your room and take a seat at one of blackjack tables in the casino. But they also want you to spend big bucks at the dinner table. So they tempt you to go try one of their fine dining establishments with all sorts of subtle hints delicately placed throughout your guestroom.

There was a glossy little tent card placed precisely in front of the telephone on my writing desk. All four sides of the card had a mouth-watering photograph of Imperial Cantonese dishes like Crab Claws, Lobster Cantonese and Crispy Fried Squab.

Off to the lobby I went to test my theory about ordering room service off the menu of an exclusive temple of Imperial Cantonese cuisine.

My first thought was to stop and ask the concierge at Caesar’s Palace if in fact one could order room service from any of the hotel’s restaurants.

The first mistake I made, in the eyes of the snotty concierge, must have been in my appearance. I was wearing the standard Las Vegas tourist uniform -- sandals, shorts and open T-shirt. Why did he assume that I was some lowly out-of-towner asking for directions? Perhaps I was on my way to plunk down $20,000 on a one-time bet at the baccarat table.

So when I opened my mouth to ask, I almost anticipated his response: “No, Sir, we do not allow you to order room service off the menu of any of our fine dining restaurants. We do have a lovely room service menu with all sorts of gourmet dishes like rack of lamb.”

I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of the other tourists waiting for a hissy response, so I bit my tongue. I walked away wanting to remind him that I had checked his room service menu and there was no rack of lamb listed. So there.

The Empress Court is described by the hotel as “the Empress Court restaurant of Caesars Palace, named in USA Today among the top authentic Cantonese restaurants in the United States. Not merely an exotic epicurean attraction for a discriminating clientele, Empress Court also serves the freshest, most tantalizing Chinese cuisine for all tastes. The Empress Court boasts a culinary team that specializes in Hong Kong-style Cantonese cuisine and in adding the finest finishing touches to more traditional Chinese fare.”

Whatever that means. I think they are trying to tempt the American tourist to try unique Cantonese dishes, yet at the same time attract the Asian gamblers that financially support mega-casinos like Caesar’s Palace.

While I tend to not be wowed by restaurants that tout their awards from USA Today, I was impressed with the menu outside the lacquered entrance gates to The Empress Court.

After wading through the 12 pages of offerings of live seafood, sharks fin soups, and variations of barbecued ducks, I approached the Hostess to inquire about ordering room service. Her response was what I was waiting for, “Certainly sir, just call room service and tell them you would like to order dishes from the Empress Court. It will take a bit longer than regular room service, but order what you would like.”

Ah-ha! That is what I wanted to hear. By now I was pretty hungry and I didn’t want to wait any longer. I raced out of that casino as quick as a roulette dealer can say, “No more bets, no bets,” and I quickly took the elevator back to my oasis high above the clang and clatter of Las Vegas.

Chinese dishes are probably one of the best suited to room service. The ingredients are simple yet fresh and of high quality, like live seafood simply stir-fried with a few vegetables and a basic sauce. The food doesn’t need to be served piping hot, just warm enough so the flavors come through. And few Chinese dishes are served really cold, like desserts and ice cream – so no worries there. And most Chinese dinners end with fresh fruits or turnovers filled with say sweet red bean paste.

While I am on a business trip or vacation and I’m staying in a nice hotel, I want to treat myself a bit and order foods I normally wouldn’t when I’m at home. Things like deep-fried appetizers and lobster.

I took a deep breath and got the courage to pick up the phone and dial #101. Here we go. “Hello Mr. Ross, may I help you,” said the gracious voice on the other end of the line. Thank you I said, I would like to order three dishes off the menu from The Empress Court, will that be alright this evening? “Certainly Mr. Ross, what can we get for you tonight?” Is this a dream? Are the memories of that horrific breakfast in Denver going to be erased tonight. Can I finally get over the melted ice cream in Portland back in 1973?

“I would like the Crispy Crab Claws to start please, followed by the Aromatic Crispy Skin Squab and finally, the Lobster Cantonese please.” There, I did it.

Now just a few more stressful moments waiting for everything to make its way up to my suite, and those anxious bits of small-talk with the waiter while I sign the check. It will be here soon, very soon.

And then it came, the aforementioned knock on the door and announcement, “Room service.”

I opened the door and was greeted by a waiter in a crisp, black tuxedo pushing a huge table, clothed in white linen.

As he wheeled the table over to the windows, I thought something looked strange. All I could see was this large white table with a place setting of silverware, a glass of ice water and a vase with a fresh rose in it. Nothing else. No food, no dishes. Oh God, did he forget? Where was the dinner? Did I do something wrong here?

And then the ritual began. He discreetly bent down and flipped up one end of the tablecloth to reveal a large metal case just under the table. It was a portable case that held all the elements of the dinner, keeping everything at precisely the correct temperature during it’s journey from the kitchen below to my room overlooking the Las Vegas strip.

The waiter asked me to sit down at the table and then he began presenting the dishes. First up were the Crispy Crab Claws. He pulled the plate out and placed it on the table to the right of the water glass. Two large, puffy crab claws filled with stuffing made from crab and prawn meat and served with a sweet and sour dipping sauce.

Out of the warmer next was the Crispy Squab (pigeon to the uniformed). But this wasn’t any ordinary bird off the hotel roof. It was a whole squab that had been marinated with the scent of five-spice powder and soy sauce, then deep fried whole until the skin was crisp and the dark mahogany color of an antique grand piano. It was magnificent, chopped into bite-size pieces, including the bird’s head with its tiny beak, and served with a small saucer of salt and toasted Szechwan peppercorns.

Finally, the main dish of this lavish banquet was ceremoniously placed in front of me -- Lobster Cantonese.

I am usually disappointed when I order any type of lobster dish in a restaurant. It always seems that they are skimping on the amount of lobster meat, just using the words “lobster” as an excuse to jack up the price of your plate of fettucine.

But not tonight. I had forgotten that the menu from The Empress Court had said “Live Seafood” on the header above the lobster dishes. Certainly they wouldn’t have sacrificed one of those specimens for room service. Would they?

I was astounded at what I saw when the waiter uncovered the dome off the plate. And there it was. A gargantuan crustacean that had been plucked live from the salt-water tank in the restaurant, nearly three pounds total.

The lobster was prepared classically with bits of minced pork and a simple brown sauce accented with soy sauce and egg. The fragrance of the South China Sea filled the room.

At this point I was in heaven, ready to tuck into this feast while looking out upon the “Garden of the Gods,” (aka, Caesar’s pool garden), below.

Just one last detail. I had to send the waiter off with his check.

Now mind you, lobster served at “market price,” is always an indication that things are going to be expensive. Add to that the fact that this spiny shellfish had recently been swimming with his pals in a tank of gurgling water and that adds even more to the price on your bill.

When I leaned over to sign my initials I had to hold back the gasp that came to my lips. There at the bottom of the check was the price for the glorious lobster-$115.00! That’s right, 100 smackeroo’s for the big daddy.

I held my composure and signed the check for the waiter. I then slipped him a $10.00 bill and thanked him for his service. I honestly think he sensed I was shocked by the sticker price of dinner, but he never let on that he perceived my pain.

He said goodbye, adding, “Have a nice dinner Mr. Ross,” and off he went. Back downstairs. Back to delivering plates of cold spaghetti and meatballs.

And there I was. Sitting in front of a floor to ceiling wall of glass, gazing up at the stars and looking down at the neon panorama of the Las Vegas strip, dipping a bit of Crispy Squab, noshing on a Crab Claw, nibbling on a nugget of Lobster Cantonese.