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Sitting at my desk on Friday afternoon, like so many others also glued to the live stream of Trump's inauguration, I feel physically sick. As he blurts out his ominous address to the nation, I wretch a little. When it gets to 6 PM, I realise I've been so transfixed by the shit-show that I haven't eaten anything all day.Now, when an email landed in my inbox earlier in the week, inviting me to "feast like Donald Trump" at a swanky hotel bar in Kensington on the evening of his inauguration, I'd ignored it. What else could I do? "Come down to enjoy Trump's favourite snacks for the campaign trail," it continued, "in true 'go big or go home' Donald Trump spirit." It all seemed rather grotesque.But with Trump well and truly President, an empty bank January account, and some serious hunger to grapple with, I decide to head along for the occasion. A Trump-themed dinner in an upmarket West London bar is way out of my comfort zone, but I'm told that living in echo chambers is what caused this mess in the first place. This will be a kind of outreach.Read the rest of this article on Munchies.