Every four years, candidates in both counties organize Iowa and make a case that they care about the state and citizens before leaving immediately after the grounds are over, many will not return. “It's the same as Olympic politics,” Shaw saidn Sebastian, a local activist, has told me, a worrying and pervasive view of where the money is pouring in but ultimately leaving the political infrastructure worse than before.
For months, elections have been on the ballot for state voters, a process often involved Iowa's most delightful devouring of Coleon. On Tuesday, the day after the allegations, the Democrats' results are still unknown because of the perfectionism, and in all probability, a whirlwind of human inefficiency coupled with a surprisingly technical failure, I decided to eat much of Iowa's popular food because in human terms it is possible, because why not? I was feeling dead inside! "Your work will strike a fine balance between dying whole and immortal," said my editor and deputy Alexis Sobel-Fitts. I have selected three centers for the Des Moines conceptual building, accepting the challenge.
9:15 a.m.
My first stop was the iconic Waveland Cafe, one of those full-size tchtchke restaurants that scream “authenticity” and has for years been one of the many stops for cyclists as they travel the region. Signatures of politicians and candidates for presidential elections, who have shown how popular they are, one block wrapped in pancakes at a time, decorating one wall. I watched Steve Bullock's name up. (RIP, Steve.) Actress Jason Momoa, who grew up in Norwalk, Iowa, is also a follower, until the dinner is named after him.
I considered ordering “Momoa,” which is a complete hash the browns are then topped with biscuits and grvy, accompanied by two eggs and what I think is a whole hog batch. I asked the attendant behind the counter, a kind-hearted woman of some years in the Kansas City Chiefs jersey, how much she ate, and showed me her hands. It is, as you can imagine, a whole lot of food, so I decided to order what was actually "half Momoa," which I felt was a good wish.
I asked my minister if he would agree. (No.) What was the relief this morning at the cafe? “A lot of people said they would never do this again,” he told me. He also added, "I have been waiting for one woman for 22 years, and she has not spoken until today."
The food came in two plates, and I dug it. So far, it's pretty good – the fried hashbrowns, the right notes between chewy and cream, soft biscuits and rich liqueur.
A young woman sat in a chair next to me and lowered a glass of water as if it were a shot of whiskey. I understood — we were all hearing some kind of Caucus-related hangover. He told me his name was Jenna, that he was 25 and a carpenter, and that he was a lover of Pete Buttigieg. What do you think of every fuckery election night?
"I think it's a shit load. I think they have consequences, and just, I don't know. It's Iowa," he said.
Jenna was reading a letter sent by her friends in an attempt to dissuade Buttigieg from eating, who warned of how "national security mandarin" "emboldened" Buttigieg to fight for the President. "The only worry about him is that he is obviously a CIA plant," he said. She saw my look. “I know, I know,” she said, laughing. Anyway, he went back to reading the article, and came back to eat. I was only finishing half of Momoa, and left full of happiness.
11:07 a.m.
I went to the Smitty & # 39; s Tenderloin Shop, feeling good, feeling confident. Smitty & # 39; s a typical brick-and-mortar restaurant with a stage near Des Moines airport and, unfortunately, the offices of the Iowa Democratic Party. It is famous for its king loin sandwich-Crafted a slice of pork eaten inside a hamburger bun, and like the Waverly Cafe, which is known as a hangout for journalists and selections every four years. The ribs are just new good for business to Smitty & # 39; s. This year, Bill de Blasio was still standing; On Monday, the CNN labor force collapsed inside.
Depending on the menu, I may choose between a “big” or a “small” shoe, in the spirit of this program, accompanied by a “big one.”
It was much larger than I expected, when the pig weight was easily measured bun size:
The waitress, who is also a kind middle-aged woman, now named Jo ,, must have heard my confusion about how to eat a “sandwich.” “Do you want a knife and fork?” She asked me. Reluctantly, I resolved to eat this bread-flavored monstrosity with my hands but wasn't sure how to eat it. The sandwich itself is a gateway to culture, Jo Jo told me. "His grandfather started it with the wrong bun," he said, referring to the current owner of Smitty, and it's been that way for decades.
I told him I was in town for a reason. Jo Jo had read about the Monday issue night effects, or lack thereof, from Today show that morning. “How embarrassing is Iowa. How stupid, ”Jo Jo said. “But I don't know. They still don't know it, do they? ”
When I sat next to me there was a man named Don, a carpet shooter. "Obviously, the plan they had here was to guide everything," he said, laughing. "Back to the drawing board." He was not a follower of cacao procedures, he felt he was not diagnosed. "It's weird," she said.
By now, I had passed one-third of the king, thinking that I would have enjoyed it if I had not eaten one-fourth of Momoa in just two hours. Was it enough, if it was a great cartoon? Yes. Was it passing? No. I was beginning to feel hopeful. Having finished the part of the king with it, I doubt whether I can proceed. So much blood was now pumping into my stomach and intestines that I began to feel dizzy.
12:16 p.m.
For a week I had been in Des Moines, having heard about something called "taco pizza," a the sweetness of the place created, so the story goes, in 1974 by a white man who went by the name of Happy Joe Whitty. My last stop would be at Casey & # 39; s, a regular supermarket and gas station known for its taco pizzas.
“I can have a little taco pizza,” I said weakly as I entered. As soon as I said those words, I had to be depressed, a wave of nausea beating me when I was thinking of putting something in my mouth.
As I waited for my taco pizza from my one-inch floor, I realized that the customer had problems with a credit card reader. "This is what happens when you rely on technology," the cashier disappeared. Ouch. Not today!!!
My pizza arrived, and I looked completely. To my knowledge, it has been a standard sausage pizza with lettuce, tomatoes, and Doritos on top, as well as “taco sauce” in the packaging, much like what I think would be the result if Taco Bell had a baby and baby pizza Hut.
I took one bite, and felt like I couldn't go any further. I was determined to eat at least once a lump. Each bite was somehow paralyzed and very salty. As I thought of the rest of the pizza, my body and mind finally cried out, "NOOOOOOOOOO."
Iowa had won me over. I've played them, like the Iowa Democratic Party. Fortunately for me, this year's show it is possible for the last time.
