It’s in Toronto’s Trump hotel, main courses are $45, and it sounds fucking awful.
(America? Fuck no)
The female bar staff here wear the shortest uniforms I’ve ever seen in a restaurant, anywhere. (The male staff wear regular clothing.) One of them stops every few minutes to yank her skirt bottom down, so it more completely covers her. It’s not sexy. It’s degrading. Her face is blank and white.
America’s management calls its bottle-service staff “our team of stunning ‘America girls.’” Young, leering men and old leering suits pour into America in the evenings. If you build it, creeps will come.
There are bouncers, naturally: bored, wide faces chewing gum aggressively. The bathroom attendant in the men’s room has an old face. He doesn’t seem to speak a lot of English. He crinkles a handful of foil gum packets and palms a cologne bottle. He is competent, at least – he turns the taps on and off like a champion. I give him a five for my guilt, for his empty servitude. He is far more competent than many of the wait staff out in the dining room. There is servitude everywhere at America, but good service is remarkably hard to find.
America at the Trump hotel: The food is amazing – but you shouldn’t eat here, ever [Chris Nuttall-Smith/Globe and Mail]
(via Naked Capitalism]