One of the best early indicators of success on Election Day is someone walking into campaign headquarters with a box of Dunkin Donut Munchkins. Not the full-size donuts, mind you. That’s the wrong vibe. It has to be the munchkins. You can basically draw a straight line from the box of munchkins to the swearing-in ceremony.
Political campaigns are replete with superstitions. Personally, I’m partial to the soft plastic yard signs. Not the corrugated ones. Those are bulky and awkward—you can’t fit more than 15 in an average-size trunk. And they act like sails in the wind. Not to mention the stakes. The time spent trying to fish the metal prongs into the tiny little plastic openings shaves probably a point and a half off your results. Cardboard signs are no better. One heavy rain and a month of field operations are reduced to wet recycling. But the soft plastic signs—the soft plastic signs are perfect. They come in a roll of a hundred or more, easily on one spool. They assemble in flash. No fishing around for little holes. And they’re resilient. Not even a determined downpour can lessen their resolve.
Food is no different. There are foods that fuel victory, and foods that spell defeat. A box of Joe from Dunkin’ Donuts and you’re halfway to your win number. If you opt for a latte from Starbucks, you might as well start drafting your concession speech now. Dunkin’ Donuts is coffee for working. You’re here for the long hours, and Dunkin’ is here for you. It’s unfussy. It’s a partner in the fight for democracy. Starbucks is like a campaign run by high-dollar donors, obnoxious kids, and McKinsey consultants. It’s a caramel foam slide deck when you need boots on the ground.
I once met with a candidate running for Congress who wanted to have our initial meeting in a Chinese restaurant. I like Chinese food as much as the next person—and as far as takeout in the campaign HQ, it works—but a kickoff meeting at a sit-down Chinese restaurant—the whole campaign was doomed before they brought the fortune cookies.
Aside from coffee, pizza is probably the single greatest campaign trail food there is. First off, it’s easy. It brings people together. It’s inexpensive. And it’s unpretentious. Crafting a campaign strategy, or making Election Day packets, supported by a stack of pizza boxes is as close to campaign food perfection as you can get. Pizza is the food victory is made of. Pizza, beer, and coffee—these are your allies on the campaign trail.
On the other hand, there are foods that spell doom for your electoral prospects. Like salads. Keeping healthy on the campaign trail is tough. Admittedly, an endless diet of coffee, donuts, pizza, and beer, combined with long days and extreme levels of stress, is not a lifestyle conducive to physical well-being. But salads are not the answer. There’s a reason “Quinoa Bowl” sounds like “concession speech.” What you need to remain physically intact until election day can be found in little orange packets of Emergen-C vitamin C powder. A couple of those a day will stave off most cases of campaign flu.
Then there’s restaurants. Diners are your best bet. You need somewhere you can spread out, roll up your sleeves, and linger. Fine dining is okay for courting donors, but no real work gets done there. Fast casual places don’t work either—don’t ask me why, they just don’t. Coffee shops are good, but nothing too fancy. And for God’s sake, no Starbucks.
If you successfully navigate your way through the culinary minefield of an election campaign, you’ll have the opportunity for the final epicurean decision point of the cycle: election night.
I actually don’t think bars should play a big role on the campaign trail. You’re too busy drinking coffee and cycling between Tums and the foods that necessitate Tums to deal with a hangover. But election night is different. Win or lose, on election night you’re either drinking, or you’re drinking. The joy of victory and the agony of defeat. With any luck, especially if you’ve stayed away from Starbucks and salads, you’ll be celebrating. Maybe it’s because I cut my teeth on campaigns in northern New Jersey, but for me there’s no better place to watch results come in than a good Irish bar. A little sticky, definitely noisy, and the faint smell of victory.
Henry de Koninck is a principal at Flashpoint Strategies, a political consulting and public affairs firm.
