Washington Babylon — January 21, 2008, 10:26 am

Steak vs. Organic Chicken: The Clinton-Obama fault line?

In dissecting the Democratic presidential primaries so far, Hillary Clinton seems to be attracting a higher share of working class and older voters, while Obama polls higher with higher-income and better educated. Clinton is the “beer-track” candidate who appeals to blue collar Democrats and retirees; Obama is a “wine-track” candidate beloved by yuppies, students and professors.

This surely reflects style more than substance since there aren’t huge policy differences between the two candidates. But maybe the two camps’ relative success at reaching out to certain constituencies is also reflected in internal campaign demographics.

The Las Vegas Review-Journal has reported on competing carry-out orders placed minutes apart by the Obama and Clinton camps last Friday during campaigning for the Nevada caucuses. Both sides ordered from N9NE Steakhouse at the Palms.
The restaurant delivered more than $1,500 worth of food to the Clinton team, including orders for steak, chicken, salmon and scallops. Pricey food but definitely more beer-track than wine-track, other than for an order of sashimi (and perhaps the lobster pappardelle, which probably falls in between). Food delivered to the Obama side included “two Kobe burgers, two organic chicken sandwiches, and one order of Dover sole.”

Case closed.

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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