In late 2007, before the GOP presidential nominee had been chosen, I ordered Mitt Romney at Mr. Bartley’s Gourmet Burgers in Cambridge, MA. It was a Swiss cheese burger with onions and came with a pile of onion rings that spilled off the plate and couldn’t be finished even with the help of my six table-mates.
If Al Franken had been on the menu then, I may have ordered him — though more in support of his sense of humor than of the concept of a veggie burger with pineapple on it.
Wishing I had another Mitt Romney to feast on this week, I began to wonder: What if our Connecticut politicians had sandwiches named after them?
A President Obama burger would be pretty easy — a regular, all-American burger delivered by electric car over an improved highway system, probably with a side salad. The burger might come with a note indicating that its creation had been partly subsidized by federal intervention and had helped to maintain almost 4 million jobs.
If you asked if you could substitute fries for the salad, or add mushrooms or pepper jack cheese to the Obama burger, the waitress might be required to reply "yes, you can." But she would almost certainly charge you for the extras.
A Sen. Christopher Dodd burger wouldn’t likely be a beef burger at all; thanks to his emphasis on our coastline conservation and defense, his sandwich would be grilled tuna. Paying in cash would lead to a relatively uneventful meal, but if you used your credit card, you’d be treated to a free copy of Dodd’s credit card protections strengthening bill and offered the chance to sign it along with your receipt, becoming a co-sponsor.
It wouldn’t matter what the menu description of a Sen. Joseph Lieberman burger was. Whatever it appeared to be when you ordered it, the waiter would bring something entirely different to the table and insist that you eat it anyway.
A John Rowland would be a pulled pork sandwich with steak fries, but halfway through the meal, your server would remove your plate and replace it with a small garden salad — no bacon bits allowed.
A Gov. M. Jodi Rell, on the other hand, would be a box of instant store-brand macaroni and cheese, mixed up in a large bowl and served family-style, possibly with a side of canned peas.
"Like many families in Connecticut," your server would announce, "we have to cut back on extras." Then he would hand you each a spoon and ask that you bus your own table when you’re finished.
A Rep. Chris Murphy burger would be served by Murphy himself, and though you’d have to call in the order to his Washington, D.C. office, you could ask for anything you wanted on it.
If Murphy’s office didn’t have what you were looking for, at least he would explain how he’d fought for your right to a coleslaw side dish and would continue that fight until coleslaw was made available to the people of the fifth district.
A Rep. John Larson burger would be typical beef, but when you paid, you’d receive a notice that Congress would soon be looking into the question of how burgers got to be so expensive. (The burger would be taxed twice to cover the cost of investigating.)
As for state senators and representatives, city and town council members, I’m betting that if you contacted your local representives, they’d meet you in your favorite local restaurant to shoot the breeze and hear your concerns — and you could ask them yourself what kind of sandwiches they’d be.
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