Earlier this week, Pete Buttigieg dared to weigh in on one of the great culture-war lightning rods of the past decade: Chick-fil-A. “I do not approve of their politics, but I kind of approve of their chicken,” the South Bend mayor said, referring to the fast-food chain’s historical support for groups that oppose same-sex marriage. Then, perhaps less seriously, he added, “Maybe if nothing else, I can build that bridge. Maybe I’ll become in a position to broker that peace deal.” These remarks counted as newsworthy not only because Buttigieg is a Democratic presidential candidate; he first gained national attention in 2015 for coming out as gay amid the fight against Indiana’s anti-LGBTQ “religious freedom” law (signed by then–Governor Mike Pence).

But Buttigieg has an uncanny sense of public opinion—or he’s done his research. As Slate’s Ruth Graham noted earlier this month, many on the left have “uncanceled” the chain since swearing it off at the height of the controversy in 2012. “[O]ver the years, the furor has faded, and many progressives have slunk back through the restaurant’s doors,” she wrote, adding that progressives “seem increasingly comfortable eating at Chick-fil-A” because the chain is “not as egregious as it used to be, and the product is irresistible.” Buttigieg’s remarks, then, may well represent the center of Democratic opinion on this critical issue: It’s OK to eat Chick-fil-A, but not without a little guilt.



It’s this kind of casual political cunning that has propelled Buttigieg, the 37-year-old mayor of a city of just 100,000, to as high as fifth place in the Democratic primary polls. On the campaign trail and in his recent memoir, Shortest Way Home, Buttigieg studiously avoids taking sides in the political and cultural battles that have defined American politics for the past three decades, instead arguing that he’s the one who can bridge the divide between coastal states and fly-over states, between the party’s left wing and its center, between an anti-LGBT—but delicious—chicken chain and everyone else.



In a Democratic primary still haunted by the ghosts of 2016, Buttigieg stands out in part because he can’t be slotted into the familiar narratives. His unique profile is unlike any other presidential candidate, ever: He’s a married gay man, a devout Episcopalian, a Harvard graduate, a McKinsey alumnus, a Rhodes Scholar, a skilled pianist, and a Navy veteran who took a six-month leave of absence as mayor to serve in Afghanistan. He’s also hard to pin down politically. He wants to abolish the Electoral College and is even open to the idea of packing the Supreme Court. He’s a supporter of Medicare for All, though not for abolishing private insurance. An advocate of “democratic capitalism” and thoroughly earnest, he sometimes seems like a mix between Elizabeth Warren and former Newark Mayor Cory Booker. Except he’s not; he’s sui generis.



This is not to say that Buttigieg’s politics are revolutionary in any way. More often than not, he splits the difference between the party’s extremes. In a recent Vox interview about the ongoing Democratic debate over capitalism and socialism, he said, “You have one generation that grew up associating socialism with communism like they’re the same thing, and therefore also assuming that capitalism and democracy were inseparable. I’ve grown up in a time when you can pretty much tell that there’s tension between capitalism and democracy, and negotiating that tension is probably the biggest challenge for America right now.”

