Kanye West's retro lunch with Donald Trump was a boring slice of American white bread

People much more familiar than me in the Ye-nivers of Kanye West have tried to explain the rapper's affection for President Trump, a man elected to the highest office in the country with only 8% of African-American votes. Some have suggested that the few couples share a love for public attention, no matter how negative. West (now called "Ye") noted that he and Trump both had "dragon energy," a term that, in my opinion, does not refer to an approach to burnt life on Earth.

But maybe their relationship is related to something more fundamental than politics. Both men have a long relationship of love with junk food. Trump's fondness for diet coke, tacos and Big Macs is well-documented, perhaps second only to West's large number of Paeans to the Processed Life. A few years ago, the rapper and his wife, reality TV star Kim Kardashian West, were caught red-handed buying enough sweets to secure the Kindergarten Vote for Trump vote. West even wrote a poem to the glory of McDonald's fries, which he said "had a plan."

To make America fat again? It's hard to say. West did not really explain his plan.

[The world is Trump’s oyster, but he prefers Filet-O-Fish]

It's unfortunate that the pair did not use UberEats today for Quarter Pounders, Diet Cokes and a jumble of fries as far as the eye can see. The retro junk food approach would be well aligned with a White House that has already canceled the calendar to adopt coal and minimize climate change. They could have delivered Mickey D's into a Humvee, rummaging through the White House garden, Michelle Obama's legacy, Kid Rock's soundtrack being reduced to 11. The video would have broken Internet, just like many times Kardashian did it.

In this case, the White House backtracked for Trump and West's lunch. According to Kate Bennett, CNN reporter for the White House, Trump's kitchen prepared a meal straight out of the 1980s: an out-of-doors Caprese salad with balsamic glaze (probably more like little droplets around from the plate) and a roasted chicken entre with sweet potatoes and sautéed asparagus. Certainly, an ambrosia of fruit salad was waiting for men for dessert, right?

The menu seemed to sound Waldorf Astoria, about the time when Fred Trump taught his young son protected the prestige of New York society. If Trump wanted to mark his attachment for a period prior to #MeToo and #BlackLivesMatter, he could not have chosen a better meal. It was a luncheon to instil the West into the fold, as if the rapper's trip was over: he had gone from a critic to the voice of George W. Bush after Hurricane Katrina to a sincere supporter of Donald Trump .

Even before sitting down for lunch with Trump, West wore a MAGA cap and explained to the assembled media why he supported the president. It looked like West was looking for a father figure.

"That hat gives me power in a way," said West, explaining that his parents were separated when he was young. "I did not have a lot of masculine energy at home."

[Trump hotel managers say food writers are giving the place the cold shoulder]

"There was something about when I put this hat on, it made me feel like Superman," he continued. Superman, noted West, is his favorite superhero, a telling fact in itself. West does not identify with, for example, Black Panther, a superhero whose hit movie this year was seen as a resistance to "a regressive cultural and political moment fueled in part by the White-nativist movement" , according to a writer. (It should be mentioned that West's own father was a member of the Black Panther Party.)

No, West is associating with Superman, an alien from planet Krypton. An outsider who has fallen in the middle of America's white bread.

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