This One Strange Fact About Donald Trump Disqualifies Him From the Presidency

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There’s really only one appropriate way to order a good steak in a nice restaurant: medium rare.

OK, I can make an allowance for rare. Not my cup of tea, usually; that being said, at least that doesn’t kill the flavor. But medium rare is how God intended for you to eat steak. That’s just science. A nice char on the outside with delicious, soft, slightly warm dark red meat on the inside. If you don’t believe me, look at these brave chefs literally risking imprisonment and impoverishment (in Britain) to serve you, the consumer, meat cooked to the right temperature:

Richard Turner, head chef of Hawksmoor, the steak restaurants in central London, said: “Westminster Council have told us we can no longer serve our burgers rare, which is possibly right.

“But for meats that aren’t played around with, as long as it is from a good source, it is ridiculous to say you cannot eat it rare. To say we could not cook duck medium rare would be ridiculous — we have been doing it for 20 years now.

“If they tried to tell us we could not serve steak rare we would probably have to go to court — we would lose our business.”

If you go to a restaurant and you order a fine cut of beef well done—burnt, through and through, so it turns grey and clammy, and all the life runs out of it and all the taste flees—you deserve to be named and shamed and possibly put in the stocks.

Guess how Donald Trump eats his steaks?

Few people here can anticipate Mr. Trump’s demands and desires better than Mr. Senecal, 74, who has worked at the property for nearly 60 years, and for Mr. Trump for nearly 30 of them.

He understands Mr. Trump’s sleeping patterns and how he likes his steak (“It would rock on the plate, it was so well done”), and how Mr. Trump insists — despite the hair salon on the premises — on doing his own hair.

I don’t know why I keep being surprised by how awful Donald Trump is. But he’s almost certainly the sort of fellow that would go into your local steak house, order it burnt, and ask for a bottle of ketchup so he could remoisten it and choke down the once-beautiful slab of beef he has brought shame upon.

What a horrible man.

On the bright side, I’m pretty sure this disqualifies Donald Trump from the presidency. Check the Constitution. The Federalist Papers are quite clear on this point, if I remember correctly. Publius goes on—at length—about this somewhere near the back of Federalist 86.