Christmas Dinner 2026: Main Course, Family Table, At-Large

Elected Experience

Christmas Dinner, every year since 1843, unopposed until recently; Easter Dinner, ex officio; Chair, Committee for Leftover Sandwiches, December 26 through January 9

Other Professional Experience

Centerpiece; Glazed; Spiral-sliced under protest; Holder of the Pineapple Rings; 34 years in the cold storage industry

Education

Smokehouse, honors; Brown Sugar and Clove Institute; Self-taught in the Constitution

Community Service

Founder, Moms for Ham; Life Member, National Hock Association; Adopt-a-Highway (Highway 395, the Ham Belt); Annual Ham Drive, First Baptist Fellowship Hall

Statement

I'm going to say what nobody else in this race has the courage to say: Christmas dinner is ham. It has always been ham. Your grandparents ate ham. Their grandparents ate ham. Somewhere along the way, a small but very loud group of people decided that wasn't good enough for them anymore.

Look at what's on this ballot. A soup. A soup! And a pan of something from Los Angeles that its own family admits is "not traditional." They're not even hiding it anymore. This is the radical tortilla agenda, and it's coming for your table.

Every year it's the same thing. First they say "Happy Holidays." Then it's "Happy Holiday Meal." Next thing you know, your children are being taught in our schools that beans are a protein. I didn't fight my way out of a smokehouse to watch the American Christmas be served in a bowl.

My opponents will tell you they're "what the kids prefer." Since when do we let the kids decide? The kids would vote for cereal. I trust parents, I trust the cook, and I trust a 9-pound bone-in ham that has been in the oven since 6 a.m., the way God and Grandma intended. Well, other grandmas. Not these woke, bean-pushing casserole grannies on the ballot.

And to the Never Onions voters: you have been ignored by the onion establishment for too long. Both of my opponents are loaded with onions. They don't want you to know that. I am the only candidate in this race who is 100 percent onion-free, and I will never apologize for it.

I will protect the honey glaze. I will defend the pineapple ring. I will never apologize for the clove. And on day one I will sign an executive order making leftover ham sandwiches mandatory through Epiphany.

Make Christmas Ham Again. Vote Ham.

Elected Experience

Christmas Dinner, Brault household, re-elected every year since the kids staged a peaceful transfer of power; Southern California Delegation (emeritus)

Other Professional Experience

Casserole; 9-by-13 pan (the good one); Cheese Management Consultant; Formerly Ham's Running Mate (it didn't work out)

Education

Grew up around a lot of really great food in Los Angeles; Transferred to Washington State; Graduate, Grandma Brault Academy of Making It Exactly the Same Way Every Year Since 1961

Community Service

Bringing people back for seconds, thirds, and the scraping-the-corner-of-the-pan round; Volunteer, Make-Too-Much Foundation

Statement

First, let me address the name. Yes, I'm Enchiladas & Chile Rellenos. No, I can't really speak to that. My family moved up to Washington from Los Angeles, and we grew up around a lot of wonderful Mexican food, and I think it rubbed off. But I want to be honest with voters: I was made in a pan, in Washington, by a grandmother named Brault.

A lot of voters come up to me at events and say "you're not what I expected." I hear that. A traditional relleno is one pepper, stuffed, battered, fried. I'm more of a casserole. I come in a 9-by-13. I am, frankly, layered. Some people call that inauthentic. I call it feeding fourteen people at once.

Here's how I got into this race. Every Christmas, Grandma Brault made ham. And every Christmas, the kids asked for enchiladas. Eventually she listened. She put her own spin on me exactly once, around 1961, and she has not changed one thing since. Not the pan. Not the cheese. Not the order of the layers. If you are thinking about suggesting an improvement, I would encourage you not to.

I'm proud of my record. Under my leadership, Christmas dinner leftovers have increased 300 percent, nobody has had to carve anything, and there is always enough cheese. My opponent likes to call this "the radical tortilla agenda." I'd just call it dinner.

Now, I want to speak directly to the Never Onions community. I see you. I hear you. I respect you. There are onions in me, and there always will be, because the recipe says so and the recipe is not up for discussion. But I'm listening.

I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not. I'm not from a little town in Jalisco. I'm from a pan. But I think that's what America is about: taking something wonderful you grew up around, getting it a little bit wrong, and then making it exactly that same way for sixty-five years.

Vote Enchiladas & Chile Rellenos. Serves the whole family. Gracias. (Sorry. I'm working on it.)

Elected Experience

Christmas Dinner, Boucher family, many terms; Head of the Chuck Line, Boucher Family Reunion

Other Professional Experience

Raised on a cattle ranch outside Colorado Springs, where it got colder'n snort and a hot bowl of something was the only reason to come in; Ranch hand, coal bucket division; Stood by on a lot of long days measuring rivers for the U.S. Geological Survey out of Pasco, and never once fell in the pot

Education

Engineering, Colorado A&M, which mostly taught me how water moves, and soup is mostly water

Community Service

Sunday dinners, church kitchens, and anyplace somebody needs feeding; Christmas visits to the folks in the Tri-Cities jails, where you'd be surprised how far a pot of beans goes; Loaned out my ladle more times than I can count and got it back about half of those

Statement

Howdy. I'll keep this short, because the soup's on.

I came to the Tri-Cities by way of Gramma and Grampa Boucher, who brought me to the table after a long day of chasing the Columbia River around with a measuring stick. Now, I start out simple: black beans, a whole lot of onion, some garlic, a little cumin. That's where the simple part ends. In this family, folks put all kinds of things in me. Rice. Eggs. Sausage. Chiles. Peppers. Some years, a little Ham, if you can believe it. I'm a big tent. Every Christmas somebody shows up with a new idea, and nobody has ever once said no.

Grampa told Gramma when they were courting that they ought to have "just gobs of fun." Gramma heard "just gobs of stuff," and that's been my platform ever since.

If you ever asked Gramma how much of something to put in, she'd tell you "about as much as you think." That's still the recipe. It's also my position on cheese. Some of my strongest supporters take their soup about half cheese. I respect that. At that point it's more of a cheese with a bean problem, but a vote's a vote.

Now, my opponents have run spirited campaigns, and I've got nothing against either of them. Ham's a good fella. A little loud. Somebody ought to check on him. And the Enchiladas are about the best thing that ever came out of a pan, and I'd shake their hand if I had one.

To my friends in the Never Onions movement: for cryin' in a bucket, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm mostly onion. But I'm the only candidate on this ballot who'll let you pile so much other stuff on top that you can't find 'em.

I believe it was Saint Francis who said, "Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use soup." I'd rather just feed you than talk about it.

So come on in. Wipe your boots. Grab a bowl and put in about as much as you think. And if you get a minute on the way out, I'd sure appreciate your vote.