Those odd wired seats are pure 70s - people squeezed their big American butts into those things and grinned in pain throughout the meal, knowing their flesh was going to look as if they’d slept on an egg slicer. The table was stolen from the set of Star Trek; the glasses have the bottom flarepopular in the mid 70s; the walls are sheathed, God help us, with shiny gold foil wallpaper, and the light fixture looks like someone glued 125 Anchor Hocking Highball glasses to ceiling. In Donald Trump’s most innermost soul, this is where he dines. This is where he first thought: wow. This is classy. And I’m here. So I must be classy myself.