Some jerk ate dinner at a place called DiFrabo Ristorante Italiano near the Dominion Friday, and now we have to hear about “Trump’s America”.
Apparently this prize wrote his restaurant review right on the receipt (ever hear of Yelp?) and while he lapped up the food and service, he announced that he would not be returning to the eatery because the owner is Mexican.
If this really happened, and is not unmasked as a hoax or stunt, it’s pathetic. I went to the DiFrabo website, and it appears to be a nice-looking place with a savory menu.
I can’t wait to try it.
But spare me this “Trump’s America” mishegas. Is it “Obama’s America” when Milo Yiannowhateverhisnameis can’t speak on a college campus? Was Ferguson “Obama’s America”? Baltimore?
First there was America. Then came Barack Obama. Then came Donald Trump. Still America. Always America. The president is not America. What are we, in pre-K? Do you have any idea how few people actually vote for whoever is president?
And are you telling me that we didn’t have racist twerps before January 20th? Or cranky restaurant patrons?
I’ve been hosting the “Dish” segment of our show regularly since 2002, and sporadically since 1989, and I can assure you, we’ve heard every possible excuse for not leaving a tip, or just refusing to be satisfied. Even if this loser who wrote the poison pen letter thinks Trump hung the moon, there’s nothing new here under the sun.
Truly, I sympathize with the owner and whatever employee had to read this junk. And I will be glad to give them a try and show my support. If I meet the owner, I’ll tell him what I think of his food, to his face, because only cowards leave a note and hit the door.
Just a tip, though: you can have my sympathy, and my business, if you don’t take one idiot’s actions and project them on me. You don’t like people assuming things because you’re Mexican? I understand. I don’t like people assuming things because I’m conservative.
By the way, anyone can cook great Italian food. It’s easy. My mother, who is French-Canadian, learned to cook my dad’s family recipes better than my dad’s own two sisters—and she was told that by none other than her mother-in-law, who was Sicilian and thus incapable of not telling you exactly what she thought of you.
Now, let’s eat. Together.