Yesterday, Donald Trump threw one of his Twitter temper tantrums after reading Vanity Fair‘s hilariously acidic review of Trump Grill, succinctly titled “Trump Grill Could Be The Worst Restaurant In America.”
Writing for VanityFair.com, Tina Nguyen claims the restaurant — which teems with tourists and people proposing to their SO.’s — feels like “a cheap version of rich.”
The menu is “chock-full of steakhouse classics doused with unnecessarily high-end ingredients.”
The dumplings come with soy sauce topped with truffle oil, and the crostini is served with both hummus and ricotta, two exotic ingredients that should still never be combined.
If you wind up there one night, you’ll probably want to avoid the hamburger altogether:
Renowned butcher Pat LaFrieda once dared me to eat an eyeball that he himself popped out of the skull of a roasted pig. That eyeball tasted better than the Trump Grill’s (Grille’s) Gold Label Burger, a Pat LaFrieda–branded short-rib burger blend molded into a sad little meat thing, sitting in the center of a massive, rapidly staling brioche bun, hiding its shame under a slice of melted orange cheese. It came with overcooked woody batons called “fries”—how can someone mess up fries?—and ketchup masquerading as Heinz. If the cheeseburger is a quintessential part of America’s identity, Trump’s pledge to “make America great again” suddenly appeared not very promising. (Presumably, Trump’s Great America tastes like an M.S.G.-flavored kitchen sponge lodged between two other sponges.)
And if you think alcohol can save you from the indignities of Trump Grill, think again:
The one thing required to save the meal—booze—turned into its greatest disappointment. Trump himself does not drink alcohol, a possible explanation for why the cocktails seemed to be concocted by a college freshman experimenting in their dorm room. The Tower was a tall glass filled with three types of rum and several types of fruit concentrate. (One person named it “The Cancun,” and slowly nursed the spring-break-colored drink over the next two hours like morphine.) The You’re Fired, an oversized Bloody Mary, appeared to be a chunky shrimp-cocktail sauce, heavy on the horseradish, mixed with ice and a lot of vodka. The Fifth Avenue—Grey Goose with Cointreau and a “splash of cranberry”—tasted like vodka mixed with Crystal Light, the ultimate drink for an 18-year-old pledging a sorority. The alternative to these cocktails—which we could not bring ourselves to finish over the course of two hours—was Trump’s own branded Trump Wine, which came with one red option and one white option.
Apparently, the notorious Taco Bowl isn’t quite as delicious as we’ve been led to believe. Nguyen ventures to say that NASA may as well have served the guacamole “in a tube labeled ‘TACO FILLING’ in the early days of the space program.”
— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) May 5, 2016
Oh, and one more thing worthy of note: it evidently didn’t take too long for Vanity Fair to turn Trump’s tweet into an advertisement:
This article originally appeared on Queerty
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