More food, in an unexpected location

Rico says that Jennifer Steinhauer has an article in The New York Times about food from home, sort of:

The majority of people who come through Representative Jason Altmire’s office are not in search of a cookie. But, before they settle in for their meeting on hazardous materials transport, federal grants, or other matters of import to the people of the Fourth District of Pennsylvania (Representative Altmire’s constituency) they are treated to a sugar cookie decorated with a frosted smiley face, made by Eat’n Park, a chain based in Homestead, Pennsylvania, in the Democrat’s district.
In the reception area of Representative Devin Nunes, a Republican from California, the snacking is decidedly less festive: a small basket filled with individually wrapped prunes.
All member of Congress use their reception areas to show off their district’s best assets: there are flags, photo books, tchotchkes, and oversize headwear emblazoned with the names of local teams. And, in many offices, that local pride extends to food from the district, whether packaged snack foods produced by giant employers, potato chips unknown outside the region, or the occasional agricultural jewel.
Some products are obvious: Florida members have orange and grapefruit juices. Hawaii’s members serve up macadamia nuts. A few offerings are downright artisanal, like the peach salsa doled out by Representative Mick Mulvaney, a Republican from South Carolina.
Then, there is the occasional bipartisan, deeply admired home run, the sort that sends staff members from other offices streaming in with phony business and an appetite.
In the office of Representative Charlie Dent, a Republican from Pennsylvania, a large model of the United States Capitol is constructed from boxes of the famous yellow chick-shaped marshmallows. “We like to think that people enjoy Peeps,” said Collin Long, a spokesman for Mr. Dent. “The best part is, you can take them home, put toothpicks in them, and stick them in the microwave. That makes them blow up, and they look like they are sword fighting.”
Congressional office snacks serve up a trifecta: they make constituents visiting from out of town feel at home, introduce nonresidents to local products, and give office staff members a little caloric boost during the long days and nights of floor fights, press conferences, and votes. “We feel our pecans are a morale booster,” said Hunter Lipscomb, a spokesman for Representative Steven Palazzo, a Republican from Mississippi, referring to their honey-roasted pecans. (That office also gives out pocket Constitutions, should you be in need.)
Office snacks are “more a sign of personal pride than an effort to market a particular product,” said Scott Faber, vice president for federal affairs at the Grocery Manufacturers Association. “It’s a charming way for legislators to connect with visitors from their states.” If there is some interoffice snacking, Mr. Faber conceded, “There are more visitors to offices with Little Debbies than those with uncooked rice.”
Serving up local snacks is a long tradition in Congress. During the first half of the past century, members loved doling out samples of local peaches, onions, and even fish, according to an oral history program maintained by the website of the House of Representatives. There, Benjamin C. West, the former superintendent of the House Press Gallery, recalled how the press gallery was often the recipient of treats:

“There’d be a couple of bushel baskets of freshly picked peaches,” Mr. West told historians. “You know, not the stuff in the supermarket that was picked last year. And reporters, they would come into the gallery, and they would have a big brown paper box of something, sockeye salmon from Alaska, perhaps.”

Now the food tends to be more packaged and, perhaps, more prosaic. Like Golden Flake potato chips, a Birmingham, Alabama favorite that can be found in the office of Representative Terri A. Sewell, a Democrat. Representative Chuck Fleischmann, a Republican from Tennessee, has the Little Debbie goods, which means frosted cupcakes and some weird little caramel bar that is unattractively packaged, yet freakishly delicious.
Sometimes a company or trade association provides the snack to the member, or the members buy the items themselves. Representative Jeff Landry, a Republican from Louisiana, gives out tiny bottles of Tabasco from Avery Island, Louisiana, and gave all his incoming fellow freshmen bottles with their names printed on the back during orientation week. “We call that lagniappe,” said his spokesman, Millard Mulé, which is French for “a little extra.”
For members who have no snacks to share, there is a bit of wistfulness for what could have been, and, if a reporter happens to wander in on Friday during recess, a debate over what food item would best represent a district.
Several staff members in the office of Representative Jason Chaffetz, a Republican from Utah, agreed that saltwater taffy would be a nice addition, but lamented that some of that candy that turned up in an official’s Salt Lake City office was from New Jersey. The conversation then turned to something called fry sauce, a mix of ketchup and mayonnaise that is a staple in Utah burger joints. It was agreed that no matter how fantastic fry sauce was, it was probably not practical to serve in the reception area.
Down the hall from Mr. Chaffetz’s office in the Longworth House Office Building, Representative Candice Miller, a Republican from Michigan, was also bereft of treats, but the gentleman answering the phone there did give a short and informative lecture on the importance of the district’s sugar beets.
Nuts are big in Southern states, and there is a great rivalry among them. After listening to staff members from several offices representing the South proclaim their nutty superiority, a blind taste test was administered involving a reporter (and accomplished baker) from The Washington Times, who probably should have been watching a debate on an appropriations bill instead.
Peanuts were laid upon a desk: a four-way match among Georgia, Oklahoma, Alabama, and Virginia. It was not even a close call. The Virginia nuts, culled from the office of Representative Scott Rigell, a Republican, were far larger than the other three, pale in color and succulent, triumphant in every way. “It has great peanut flavor,” the tester said. “There is just the right amount of saltiness. It’s really perfect.” Then he went back to watching C-Span.
While many senators offer state goods in their offices, too, they have an official candy drawer, in the back of the Senate chamber, on the Republican side. The tradition, according to the Senate historian’s office, dates from 1965, when Republican Senator George Murphy from California, who had a sweet tooth, began stocking the drawer with goodies to get him through the afternoon.
The tradition was picked up by sixteen successive senators (including the Republicans John McCain from Arizona and Rick Santorum from Pennsylvania). It was continued by Senator Mark Kirk, a freshman Republican from Illinois, who stuffs the candy drawer with Snickers, Starbursts, Three Musketeers, and other goodies, for members of all parties. He once supplied Lemonheads and Atomic Fireballs, but has since been told that they were too sour and spicy respectively, said Greg Lemon, a spokesman for the Mr. Kirk. “We have to stock it fairly often,” he said. “Because somebody is going in there a lot.”

Rico says who knew that Congress were such sugar junkies? But click the map to see who likes what...