Why Vanity Fair is "the magazine Donald Trump doesn't want you to read"

Screen capture, Dec. 16, 2016
Vanity Fair's has dubbed itself 'The Magazine Trump Doesn't Want You to Read' Screen capture, Dec. 16, 2016

Vanity Fair‘s scathing critique of Donald Trump’s new restaurant, Trump Grill, has set a new bar for negative reviews. Predictably, this angered the U.S. President-elect on social media.

In response to the magazine’s review of Trump Grill — food critic Tina Nguyen described their burgers as “sad little meat” things and its fries as “overcooked woody batons” — Donald Trump criticized the magazine’s circulation figures and attacked the talent of its marquee, Toronto-born editor Graydon Carter.

    Screen capture

Trump clearly took the bait: Vanity Fair has now re-branded its website as “The Magazine Trump Doesn’t Want You To Read.”

In 2012, The New York Times memorably eviscerated celebrity chef Guy Fieri’s restaurant in Times Square — that review is quaint compared to some of the prose Vanity Fair‘s Nguyen used to describe Trump Grill:

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”).

It goes on:

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.)

There’s much more, but I’m sure you get the point.

Vanity Fair suggests you don’t eat at the Trump Grill.

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