read.

the Terrace at Trump

Yes, it’s a Trump venture. Yes, it’s associated with a name that conjures thoughts of ostentation, if not downright gaudiness. Yes, yes, yes, it’s bound to be exorbitant.

That said, reasons why you should go to the Terrace:
1) The view is spectacular.
2) The food is enjoyable, if incongruous with the space.
3) Who really cares about the food? Have you seen the effing view?
Oh, and 4) If you want your date to drop trou, the Terrace’ll do it.

On number one, I have this to say: OH. MY. GOD. And, I mean, literally – my date and I are not a step-and-a-half on to the Terrace when we stop in our tracks, mouths agape and utter the words breathily, nearly in unison: “oh my God.” Decked out with chic woven furniture (I know, it’s like the impossible achieved), the space is spotted with mini fountains and lush greenery, an angled bar overlooking the city below. At once modern and elegant, the Terrace just about grazes aesthetic heaven, until you realize the scattered candles are mostly faux (ugh, tack factor). But then again, there’s more important eye candy on which to focus. Perched virtually atop the Chicago river, the Terrace affords you a view straight down the waterway, the inimitable city skyscrapers flanking it on either side and the muted blue of Lake Michigan in the distance. It is unobstructed, unabashed visual indulgence, and unparalleled in that make-you-swell-with-gobs-of-civic-pride kind of way. The Terrace offers the best rooftop vista in the city. Unambiguously.

But the menu is muddled. Attached to the luxurious Trump hotel, just beyond the confines of fine-dining dynamo Sixteen, on a veranda that is positively exquisite, I anticipated representatively refined fare. What I got instead were offerings that, while predominantly well executed, were jarringly casual. If you’re expecting Sixteen redux, think again.
If you can wrap your palate around the space-sustenance disconnect, however, you can, by all means, have a pleasant meal. The Cuban plantain nachos (with black beans, chorizo, manchego and avocado mousse) are playful and creative, the starchy banana-like slices playing substitute for tortilla chips. The burger, too, is a high point, its minimal adornment an apt vehicle to showcase exec chef Frank Brunacci’s perfectly medium-rare meat. In a world of overdone burgers, I respect a cook who is confident keeping his sirloin simple; there’s no hiding behind fried egg or foie on this number.

The summer gnocchi, on the other hand, suffers a case of false advertising; listed as being served with fresh corn, jumbo lump crab and spinach, the dish is also sprinkled with chunks of pork belly so salty they completely overwhelm the dish. Arguably the focal point, the meat isn’t even included in the description. And sure, the app was fine – good even – but again, it was a shocker. Execution notwithstanding, the food – described as modern American comfort – is so vast a departure from the environment that you can’t help but feel it doesn’t belong. It’s tasty, but unsophisticated. The vittles don’t live up to the view.

The nautical-themed cocktail list is more in sync, however, including some inventive winners like the Starboard, a complex libation that’s all strawberry at the top, hits you like a bulldozer with cachaça and finishes with the acidic essence of balsamic. For a simpler selection, try the Anchors Aweigh – with its cucumber/watermelon fusion, the drink is like sipping summer distilled. Two pours from the extensive Rosé list – one still, one sparkling – paired surprisingly well with our burger and dessert, respectively, as well. On its menu, the Terrace declares Rosé the new black, and while I’m certainly not ready to part with my Pinot, I think they’re on to something. It did seem to go with everything.

Dessert threw me for a last-minute loop, as I quickly realized the sweet stuff offered is indubitably borrowed from none other than sib Sixteen. Rather than contemplate the rationale behind going haute on the final course, however, I was compelled to just order and let it go. It was past 9pm at this point and our initially sunny spectacle had faded to a twinkling panorama of the city that I was just dying to relish. And therein lies number three: the scene is too breathtaking to care about much else.

So go – not for the sustenance or spirits, specifically – but to savor the sheer extravagance of the sights. With almost nothing under 15 bucks a pop, it will cost you, but I argue it’s worth it. And after all, it is the Terrace at Trump. The Donald does what he wants.

-S. Brahney