Produced by: Manoj Kumar
Donald Trump’s go-to meal—two Big Macs, two Filet-O-Fish, and a chocolate shake—once cost under $15. But for him, it’s more than fast food—it’s branding, ritual, and power on a tray.
Trump’s open disdain for vegetables is not just taste—it’s a culinary rebellion. His meals mock health trends, favoring meat, ketchup, and tradition over kale and quinoa.
In the White House, he had a literal red button for Diet Coke. Up to 12 cans a day. It wasn’t just caffeine—it was control, comfort, and a fizzy show of power in a silver can.
Everyone gets one scoop. Trump gets two. From Oreos to Vienna Fingers, his dessert habits aren't random—they signal abundance, hierarchy, and a sweet-toothed dominance.
Trump sees McDonald’s as safer than fine dining. Why? Predictable, sterile, untouched. For a germaphobe with control issues, the drive-thru is a fortress of food safety.
His steak? Always well-done, always with ketchup. It’s culinary blasphemy to some, but to Trump, it’s a power play: unapologetic, specific, and fiercely unyielding.
He doesn’t drink alcohol, tea, or coffee. Not one sip. The abstention isn’t moral—it’s strategic, rooted in control, legacy, and a vow made after watching his brother’s downfall.
He often skips breakfast or just grabs bacon and eggs. There’s no morning ritual—only a chaotic, instinct-driven appetite that mirrors his governing style.
Trump’s food choices aren’t careless—they’re curated. Burgers, fries, and Diet Coke frame him as relatable, grounded, even defiant in the face of elite food snobbery.