Change Of Pace - Restaurant Review Of Trump Grille In Trump Tower
Tina Nguyen, of Vanity Fair, went to Trump Grill(e) in Trump Tower. She, uh, did not like it .
Donald Trump is “a poor person’s idea of a rich person,” Fran Lebowitz recently observed at The Vanity Fair New Establishment Summit.
No, not really. He’s a dumb person’s idea of a rich person.
“They see him. They think, ‘If I were rich, I’d have a fabulous tie like that.’” Nowhere, perhaps, does this reflection appear more accurate than at Trump Grill (which is occasionally spelled Grille on various pieces of signage). On one level, the Grill (or Grille), suggests the heights of plutocratic splendor—a steakhouse built into the basement of one’s own skyscraper.
Ah, the anachronistic “e” of classiness! I am solde!
On another level, Trump Grill falls somewhat short of that lofty goal. The restaurant features a stingy number of French-ish paintings that look as though they were bought from Home Goods.
Ya know, I’m not Trump or a Trump employee but I felt that one like a punch in the gut. Fucking OUCH, Tina!
The allure of Trump’s restaurant, like the candidate, is that it seems like a cheap version of rich. The inconsistent menus—literally, my menu was missing dishes that I found on my dining partners’—were chock-full of steakhouse classics doused with unnecessarily high-end ingredients. The dumplings, for instance, 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. The menu itself would like to impress diners with how important it is, randomly capitalizing fancy words like “Prosciutto” and “Julienned” (and, strangely, ”House Salad”).
The menu is yooge and classy. Don’t hate.
Our table nevertheless ordered the Ivanka’s Salad, a chopped approximation of a Greek salad, smothered in melting goat cheese and dressing and missing the promised olives, that seemed unlikely to appetize a SoulCycle-obsessed, smoothie-guzzling heiress. (Instead, it looked like a salad made by someone who believes that rich women only eat vegetables.) But the cuboid plant matter ended up being the perfect place to hide several uneaten Szechuan dumplings.
The steak came out overcooked and mealy, with an ugly strain of pure fat running through it, crying out for A.1. sauce (it was missing the promised demi-glace, too). The plate must have tilted during its journey from the kitchen to the table, as the steak slumped to the side over the potatoes like a dead body inside a T-boned minivan.
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.
Is it possible to feel physical pain while reading a restaurant review? Am I just cringing so hard I’m hurting myself?
“This is on me,” said our waiter, who must have noticed that we sent barely touched plates back to the kitchen, as he slipped us a tiny chocolate cake buried under whipped cream and anxious drizzles of caramel with our check, and my heart broke. It’s not his fault that he has to run garbage food back and forth, from a slammed kitchen behind a door marked “TRUMP EMPLOYEES ONLY,” to a table waiting an agonizing half hour just to close the check. It’s not his fault that the only way he can make it up to us is with a free cake, still frozen in the center, that tastes like Tums.
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Only 20 bucks for a hamburger there. That would be a nice splurging night out for a lot of trump voters.
The 8 oz. steak mentioned in the article which comes with some mashed potatoes and a piece of steamed broccoli is 31 dollars.
That salad looks like it came pre-eaten. I have vomited similar looking specimens.
Nice little hit piece from someone with an agenda. Noted some journalistic inconsistencies, but then again, look at what we're dealing with and then there's the three stooges following on. As if you've ever eaten in a high end restaurant. Harry Carey's place doesn't count, John.
So, I'm guessing you don't like Trump. Just say it and then you can vacation for the next 4-8 years without continuing to spam all day, every day.
High end? A high end restaurant makes sure to spell its name correctly, has menus without mistakes on them, and serves food that is, well, high end. Maybe you should change things up a bit and substitute a fine dining experience for your usual night out at the Golden Corral.
I seeded the article because it was funny. The only thing I require of my food is that it tastes good.
I agree with that.
Actually, I thought the salad looked pretty good... I don't need olives on it, but if they advertise it, they should put them on the salad.
We eat at so many restaurants, that I've come to be rather picky about what I order. I don't necessarily need 'fancy'-- just something that tastes good, the ingredients having the expected taste and texture, etc. Personally, I like Cracker Barrel, a lot. Bob Evans isn't bad-- nor is Cheddar's, although I was disappointed in their baked fish with Mango Salsa-- the fish was dry as a bone and there was about 1 tbsp of mango salsa on it, not enough to moisten it even a little. We've all had disappointing meals at places... And I don't think those prices are out of line for New York.
Remember too, that food critics are notoriously crabby. Most reviews aren't that good... To me, the important review is the Health Department inspection.
Dear Friend Dowser: Did they ever have Lum's in Louisville?
Hot dogs steamed in beer.
Yum!
Was big in Lexington, KY in mid to late 1960's.
Enoch.
My husband hasn't heard of it, nor have I! I love Brats! My favorite place to get them, in the summer, is Captain's Quarters, down on Harrod's Creek... It's ok in the spring and fall, but best in warm weather!