Wednesday, November 6

Party Politics

"No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach."

William Cowper Brann, "The Iconoclast"

As I write this, I have no idea who is winning at the polls, whether Maryland's next governor will be a Democrat or a Republican, or which party might control the houses of Congress next year. I do know, however, that politics and food are inextricably connected. You can't have a fundraiser without food, and you can't elect a politician that doesn't have a favorite dish.

Everyone knows that Thomas Jefferson was a great epicure – America's first gourmet. He introduced ice cream to America at state dinners. He brought the first pasta mold in America home from Italy, and his daughter used it to make the first version of macaroni and cheese. And he experimented with many different kinds of grapes for wine, none of which did too well in the Virginia weather. (To counter his inability to make decent homegrown, President Jefferson spent about ten percent of his yearly salary on wine while in office.)

While Jefferson might be the most famously hungry politician, he is by no means the only one. It is said that Abraham Lincoln had a hollow leg and was never full no matter how much he ate. It is also said that he fell in love with Mary Todd after he tasted her white cake with almonds at a party. While president, Lincoln created the United States Department of Agriculture (in 1862) and declared the fourth Thursday in November a permanent holiday called Thanksgiving (in 1863).

Sometimes presidents become identified with one of their favorite foods while in office. Ronald Reagan loved jelly beans, so schoolchildren from all over the nation sent them to the Oval Office. Richard Nixon ate cottage cheese with ketchup for breakfast. Jimmy Carter will forever be known as the peanut farmer. George Bush's dislike of broccoli became a national issue.

Local politicians enjoy their eats, too. Huey "Kingfish" Long, governor and then senator of Louisiana, met his wife in an unusual fashion: he threw a cake-baking contest and judged her cake the winner. They married soon after. The Tammany Hall machine that ran New York City for seventy years liked to throw what they called "beefsteaks": all-male events that featured all-you-could-eat steaks, all-you-could-drink beer, and no utensils of any sort. The participants were encouraged to eat and drink to excess and to use their shirts as napkins. Then they marched their hangovers right out to the polls the next day to vote for Boss Tweed.

Every politician's war chest is filled with food – at fundraisers, that is. Here in Maryland, the bull roast, oyster roast, and/or crab feast is an easy way to get supporters to give twenty-five or fifty dollars to the cause. In Texas, they have barbecues and chili cookoffs; in Massachusetts, they have clambakes; in California, they have wine dinners featuring local wines. There's a lot of bad food at political events, but there's also good regional home cooking that reflects the candidate's background.

Then there's election night. Since we're close enough here to be called a suburb of the Federal City, people are obsessed with politics. So what if it's a Tuesday? Local bars and restaurants fill with citizens watching the returns as they come in. You don't have to be affiliated with any particular candidate or party to partake, though things might be a little rowdier if your guy wins and a little more subdued if she loses. The beer flows either way.

As for me, my election night celebration will be more subdued – it will involve a late night in front of the television. That doesn't mean I won't eat, though. Tonight's meal is all from the recipe book of Lady Bird Johnson, a real lady if ever there was one: long-cooked pork tacos, guacamole, and spiced iced tea. The recipe to the right of your screen might not be Mrs. Johnson's exactly, but it's pretty close. It's a Texan politician's favorite, delicious hot for Christmastime or cold during the summer – in other words, good for campaigning any time of year.