Tomorrow is the official kick-off of the 2024 election season during which American voters are entrusted to learn about the issues facing the electorate. Then they analyze the political process before casting a ballot that selects a favorite based solely on personality. How our fragile democracy survives this process dumbfounds many of us.
It all begins in Iowa.
Iowa is a pleasant enough state whose 3.2 million, overwhelmingly white residents plant windfarms and corn atop its mostly flat terrain. The women wear house frocks and spend much of every week baking rhubarb pies and casseroles that involve a host of Campbell’s soups. It’s where the funeral potatoes hotdish was created to take to funerals. The dish became so favored by the Iowans that the elderly were frequently off-ed just so the survivors could devour that baked dish of hash browns, cheese and corn flakes.
The menfolk all wear bib overalls and carry pitchforks. They spend a good amount of time kicking the dirt, even when it’s covered in two feet of snow. They each drink a pot of boiled Folger’s coffee every morning before going to the local café for rhubarb pie and coffee. They speak deliberately about the welfare class without ever mentioning farm subsidies. Which, in itself, is a nifty trick.
Every four years the good people of Iowa gather in small groups in church basements to determine who might become the next president. Nobody really understands this process, but that doesn’t stop them from gathering to eat rhubarb pie and drink coffee. The Iowa Caucus (or, for the sake of argument, Caucuses) marks the end of a campaign that began last summer at the Iowa State Fair where candidates ate corn dogs, corn-on-the-cob, loose-meat sandwiches, and cotton candy.
Spies from both parties try to get photographs of candidates actually eating the food and then throwing up behind a carnival game tent. There’s nothing as rewarding as capturing that moment when a presidential candidate bends over and hurls lunch.
I’m writing this morning’s essay with any of my Florida readers in mind. I don’t want to use any words whose definition isn’t known. Why? Well, Ron DeSantis, the rather reactionary governor of Florida who wants to carry the Republican torch to the White House, signed into law yet another effort to undermine intelligent thought by banning dictionaries.
This is particularly disturbing and weird. The fact is that just because to look up a word in the dictionary you have to know the word. I am having trouble imaging a sixth grader thumbing through Webster’s in hopes of stumbling upon something of a prurient nature.
Somebody should remind Governor Ron that most school children have electronic devices that will deliver no end of prurient stuff. That nobody has mentioned this is because nobody wants to engage the highly unlikeable guv in conversation, let alone in debate.
Speaking of debate…
DeSantis, running a distant third in Iowa straw polls, and the distant-second Nikki Haley, took time from their campaigns last Monday to participate in a debate. Since neither of them has much of any substance to say, they chose to yell at and interrupt each other, much like the commentators on ESPN. The last time there was a serious political debate was in 1960. At that debate, Jack Kennedy showed himself to be both handsome and well-spoken. Dick Nixon, neither handsome nor well-spoken, used an entire set of Regal Egyptian bath towels to mop up the sweat pouring from his brow.
And who can forget Lloyd Bentsen addressing Dan Quale in a 1988 vice presidential debate: “Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you’re no Jack Kennedy.”
That is remindful of that debate moment when Chris Christie chided Vivek Ramaswamy: “You’re no Mike Pence.”
The next primary is in New Hampshire on January 23. Nikki Haley is gaining ground on Trump, which is like saying that Vinny Testaverde is gaining on Tom Brady. So no matter what happens in the Granite State, we have almost six weeks to wait for Super Tuesday. At close of day on March 5 we’ll know for sure who will be running against President Joe Biden.
With any luck, it will be a candidate with 91 felony counts, countless civil suits, the intelligence of a sloth and the manners of a boar. If Trump’s base recognizes these traits, they might just vote against him.
And then we’ll never have to hear his name again.
Photo illustration by Courtney A. Liska
Iowa Loose Meat Sandwich
Like a Sloppy Joe (Untidy Joseph) without the tomato sauce, the Loose-Meat or Tavern sandwich is a fairground specialty. Enjoy with no regrets. Serves eight.
2 pounds ground beef
2 Tbs. butter
½ yellow onion (diced)
2 cups beef broth
2 Tbs. Worcestershire
2 Tbs. apple cider vinegar
1 Tbs. brown sugar
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp ground black pepper
Dill pickles, yellow mustard
8 hamburger buns
Melt butter in sauté pan over medium heat and add ground beef.
Cook the beef until it browns and is no longer pink, breaking it up into small crumbles as it cooks.
Drain fat from the pan and add onions, beef broth, Worcestershire, vinegar, brown sugar, salt, and pepper. Bring to a simmer and cook until all liquid has evaporated.
Use a slotted spoon to serve onto hamburger buns with dill pickles and mustard.