Despite living in New York City, I’ve never been to Trump Grill.
And nowadays, given the absolute security nightmare and chaos that is the area surrounding Trump Tower, I don’t think I ever will.
Pity. I really did want to try that taco bowl.
A food critic from Vanity Fair, however, did score a table and a chance to dine there.
The review was anything but positive:
The restaurant features a stingy number of French-ish paintings that look as though they were bought from Home Goods. Wall-sized mirrors serve to make the place look much bigger than it actually is. The bathrooms transport diners to the experience of desperately searching for toilet paper at a Venezuelan grocery store. And like all exclusive bastions of haute cuisine, there is a sandwich board in front advertising two great prix fixe deals. 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 review did not get better from here:
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.
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.)
This review deserves a monument. It makes the notorious takedown of Guy Fieri’s Guy’s All-American Grill look tame by comparison.
In a move that surprised nobody, Donald Trump took to Twitter to let Vanity Fair exactly what he thought of both them and their pedestrian take-down of his fine dining establishment.
But little did he know that this was all an elaborate trolling effort from the editor of Vanity Fair, Graydon Carter.
Vanity Fair has updated their website's masthead to proudly designate themselves as "The Magazine Trump Doesn't Want You To Read," while driving people to subscribe. The Twitter account for the publication is also tweeting out critical articles about the President-Elect at a rapid pace.
Sorry to say, Mr. Trump... but you just got trolled.
H/T: Uproxx, Vanity Fair