Monday, February 22, 2021

For the Record: Miscellany

 

Called a "Tomahawk" because it can be used as a weapon. No longer on the menu at Trump's BLT Prime in Washington, where the largest steak is now the 36-ounce Porterhouse at $102 and advertised as shareable.


Then there was the Times gangbang salute on the passing of Rush Limbaugh, inspiring double-edged idiocy from Frank Bruni and Ben Shapiro:

Ill, but not screechy

I loved this reminiscence, retailed by the former Business Insider, now Insider, of old Two-Scoops, now known as The Former Guy (Biden's expression) at his own restaurant throwing a fit because he thought his guest got a bigger steak than he did:

President Donald Trump once complained that a steak he was served at his Washington, DC, hotel restaurant was smaller than the one given to his table companion, the steak house's former executive chef told The Washingtonian. 

Bill Williamson, then the chef of BLT Prime at the Trump International Hotel, said the two steaks were virtually identical. 

"It was the same steak. Both well done. Maybe it was a half ounce bigger or something, I don't know," Williamson said to The Washingtonian. 

But after Trump's complaint, Williamson switched from serving the president a filet mignon or bone-in rib eye to a 40-ounce tomahawk, which is larger than all the other steaks offered on the restaurant's menu. The restaurant also ordered special extra-large shrimp for Trump's appetizer dish, The Washingtonian reported.

That's two and a half pounds, well done if The Former Guy is eating it, and not, evidently shared.  Plus double popovers, and snacks:

A tray of junk food needed to be available for every Trump visit: Lay’s potato chips (specifically, sour cream and onion), Milky Way, Snickers, Nature Valley Granola Bars, Tic Tacs, gummy bears, Chips Ahoy, Oreos, Nutter Butters, Tootsie Rolls, chocolate-covered raisins, and Pop-Secret.

It's as if Van Halen were so paranoid they could only eat in their own restaurant and still didn't trust it.

I also liked the story that The Former Lady had once sent a $64 Dover sole back to the kitchen because some insensitive soul back there had decked it with parsley and chives. But the best in the Washingtonian story was the Diet Coke ritual:

As soon as Trump was seated, the server had to “discreetly present” a mini bottle of Purell hand sanitizer. (This applied long before Covid, mind you.) Next, cue dialogue: “Good (time of day) Mr. President. Would you like your Diet Coke with or without ice?” the server was instructed to recite. A polished tray with chilled bottles and highball glasses was already prepared for either response. Directions for pouring the soda were detailed in a process no fewer than seven steps long—and illustrated with four photo exhibits. The beverage had to be opened in front of the germophobe commander in chief, “never beforehand.” The server was to hold a longneck-bottle opener by the lower third of the handle in one hand and the Diet Coke, also by the lower third, in the other. Once poured, the drink had to be placed at the President’s right-hand side. “Repeat until POTUS departs.”

In other news, Dinesh D'Souza has become a Pajama Boy:

A rare visit with Maureen Dowd—

And, lastly.

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