Nearly two dozen presidential candidates descend on Iowa

Chicken wings, butter sculptures and American retail politics at its sweatiest

APERSON would have to be dead inside not to not love the Iowa State Fair: 11 days of agriculture contests, carnival rides and inventive fried food. On opening morning, a line slowly snaked past Cookie Monster and Big Bird carved out of butter. A sudden rainstorm produced a larger-than-expected crowd for an indoor cow-judging contest (“That first place heifer is just a little more feminine than the second-place heifer”). For lunch your correspondent passed on the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped Cheddar on a stick, opting instead for a thick slab of brown-sugar-cured pork belly on a stick, followed immediately by cubes of pork belly not on a stick, an abiding sense of guilt and a greasy notebook.

In election years, the fair has another draw: politics. Presidential

candidates head to Des Moines en masse to woo the state’s voters. Iowa’s caucuses kick off the primary season, and a weak showing in a crowded field can end a campaign. Each White House hopeful gets 20 minutes on the soapbox to speak and take questions, and all take a stroll through the fairgrounds to prove their person-of-the-people bonafides.

Some fail the latter test. In 2003, John Kerry, the eventual Democratic nominee, managed to avoid every stall selling Iowa’s mouthwatering pork, funnel cakes, glistening sausages and local craft beer. Mr Kerry instead found the one stall where he could get a fresh fruit smoothie. His press secretary, Robert Gibbs, was not amused. Mr Gibbs called campaign staffers: “Somebody get a fucking corn dog in his hand—now!”

Thursday’s speakers, Joe Biden and Steve Bullock, avoided any

such gaffes. Mr Biden, who holds a comfortable if shrinking lead in most polls, was by far the bigger draw. The former vice-president began by announcing that he was running “to restore the soul of this country”. Restoration has emerged as Mr Biden’s main campaign theme—as it was, in a different and more malevolent way, for Donald Trump in 2016. But where Mr Trump wanted to return America to the 1950s, Mr Biden offers a briefer rewind. He simply wants to put things back the way they were before Mr Trump took office. He does not offer change so much as an experienced hand on the tiller. “I know how to deal with these world leaders,” Mr Biden said, as he discussed rejoining the Paris climate accord. “I know mostly every one of them”.

Of course, with experience comes age. Mr Biden would take office at 78. That would make him not just the oldest president to be inaugurated, but the oldest ever to serve. It may not matter. Mr Biden certainly looks lithe and physically fit. He paced the stage energetically and spoke tirelessly. During the press scrum after the speech, he scrapped vigorously with a Breitbart editor who accused him of misquoting Mr Trump.

But Mr Biden’s speech was rambling and unfocused, more a laundry list of mainstream Democratic positions than a coherent narrative. Perhaps that was because he is the front-runner, and thinks he needs to do little more than tread water. Perhaps he sees himself as a known quantity, and feels he does not need to make the case for himself as strongly as his rivals, all of whom are newer to the national stage. He has always been somewhat discursive. Yet at times he sounded lost, and broke off on several bizarre tangents.

A Monmouth poll of Iowa voters released Thursday showed him comfortably atop the field at 28%. But that is nearly identical to his level of support four months ago. Elizabeth Warren, by contrast, has risen from 7% to 19%, and Kamala Harris from 7% to 11%. Mr Biden still feels like a weak front-runner, his support driven less by genuine enthusiasm than by voters’ belief that he is best positioned to beat Mr Trump.