Would it possible to just order a grilled cheese?

The girls and I stayed at a hotel in Dallas that worked over and above to attest to its worth. Said worth defined by trendy and neon. At first it seems alluring. An invitation to a world you watch from the outside, impenetrable by your t-shirt and jeans that are not nice enough to be rich, nor shabby enough to be trendy. The chaises were covered in cow hide. The rooms navy with stainless and mirrors. The pool on the rooftop had no edge. The club on floor 30. On 17 a spa. And a complementary kaleidoscope in each room labeled Wish. Still, after the initial wonder, things begin to seem different when not blinded by the shine. The idea of having a glossary to define what the terms stood for because no one can be expected to associate Wet with pool or Sweat with gym. The Whatever/Whenever service being a person at a computer, trendy enough to have piercings and blatant disdain. In search for dinner, we decided to eat at the hotel's restaurant thinking it convenient and spying an item on the lunch menu that seemed to settle my craving. Upon being seated, we were given the dinner menu and I, laughably it seems, asked if I could have something from the lunch menu to eat. We were then told that lunch and dinner were prepared in entirely separate kitchens and in fact, lunch not at all on Saturdays when it was only brunch and dinner. Okay, so are their specials? The entire menu is special as it is drawn up each night based on the chef's fancy. Right. Never before have I felt so out-moneyed. The menu was a la carte, in that you pay for your meat and your side items separately and the meat alone was priced from $40 to $50. If I can't understand half the words in your description, I am not interested in paying $50 to eat it. By now the waiters had begun to stare, whispering among each other, surely moments away from bringing attention to the table of three, not high class enough to want to eat Rocky Mountain Elk in a unpronounceable sauce that comes in a single portion but set in the middle of the table so all can have a taste. Family dining without the actual concept of family dining. It is decided. We would leave. Still, as we figured out a game plan, it felt embarrassing and weird. Surrounded by people I would never see again, it shouldn't have mattered but I felt like a tourist. A crass American eating at a fine restaurant in France. Everything about that restaurant was laughable. Even the table settings self worthy. But there was a restaurant full of people who bought into the ambiance, relishing the feel of a world that I decidedly have no desire to be a part of. When we did escape, we walked to House of Blues for a burger and a coke. There I ate fries and a desert consisting mostly of brownie. I bought a red t-shirt with black guitars on it and Heather a sign that says "Be nice or leave". We laughed with our waiter and watched the playoff game. We sang along with the stellar playlist of rock and didn't bask in a single neon light. I still refuse to stay in hotels with flowered bedspreads if on a vacation and am never adverse to spending money on your fleeting chances to get away, but I'd rather spend it on fun than proving I have money to spend.