From the Washingtonian:
* [Trump once] questioned why his dining companion had a bigger steak. "It was the same steak. Both well done. Maybe it was a half ounce bigger or something, I don’t know," says former executive chef Bill Williamson. After Steakgate, he switched to a 40-ounce tomahawk. Trump would never again gripe that he didn’t have the greatest, hugest, most beautiful steak.
* Garnishes were a no-no. Melania Trump once sent back a Dover sole because it was dressed with parsley and chives.
* Tiffany [Trump] made occasional appearances for a mimosa-fueled brunch or a study break with Georgetown Law friends. Often, though, she was a no-show. "She made many reservations and didn’t show up for them for dinner," a former manager says. "It was a pain."
* The kitchen took forever with Hope Hicks’s order. She pulled the don’t-you-know-who-I-am card, letting the general manager know she was in fact Hope Hicks—you know, from the White House. The manager … remembers apologizing profusely—then sending out a "dessert storm," including a crepe soufflé and a cheesecake lollipop tree.
* Regulars such as Florida congressman Matt Gaetz and MyPillow CEO Mike Lindell were always around the lobby taking selfies with fans… The place to be was a table along the balcony rail on the mezzanine, overlooking the lobby and its soaring ceilings. That’s where you might spot [CoS Mark] Meadows, or American Conservative Union chairman Matt Schlapp, or then–Georgia senator Kelly Loeffler. Though if you didn’t have political pull, looks could get you there, too. "I was told to just put the pretty people on the rails one time," says a former employee.
* "The biggest pain in my butt was Giuliani," says the former manager who dealt with an annoyed Hicks.... "He was constantly in the restaurant. And I complained about it. The guy would come in, expect a table for ten at a moment’s notice at, like, 2 pm, when we’re not fully functioning. We don’t have the staff."
***
I can't say with any precision just how long it would have taken me to dump a platter of steaming pasta alfredo, with parsley and chives, on the Donald or Rudy's head. But I've little doubt that time would have come. I won't tolerate finicky fussbudgets at meals, especially when "lesser humans" busted their butts to cook them. For Donald, I might have added a right upper cut.