Part A of a two-part look at the 2025 governor’s races in New Jersey and Virginia.

You can’t win in New Jersey if you don’t speak Jersey.

That might sound like common sense, but every few years someone proves the point in spectacular fashion. Last week, it was Congresswoman Mikie Sherrill — the Democratic frontrunner for governor — who decided to say, out loud, that “nobody eats pork roll.”

If you’re not from New Jersey, that might sound harmless. But if you are from New Jersey, you just cringed. Because no matter what you call it — pork roll or Taylor ham — you eat it. And you love it.

Central Jersey calls it pork roll. North Jersey calls it Taylor ham. And South Jersey? They’d rather have scrapple.

So when Sherrill tossed off her remark, she didn’t just sound out of touch — she sounded not from here. In politics, that’s a dangerous label, especially in a state where authenticity is currency and attitude is everything. You can have a polished résumé and a West Point background, but if you flinch at a diner order, you’ve lost half the state before you’ve finished your coffee.

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Every gubernatorial race there is a referendum on two things: how the sitting governor is doing, and whether the challenger feels like they get New Jersey.

Right now, Governor Phil Murphy’s approval ratings are worse than Donald Trump’s in his own state — and voters are in no mood for elitist vibes. Add to that a local economy that feels overtaxed and underdelivered, and Sherrill’s comment landed like a lead balloon.

It’s not really about pork roll. It’s about belonging. And that’s where New Jersey campaigns are won or lost — on the sense that you’re one of us, not above us.

Republicans will seize on this for the rest of the season. Expect diner tours, breakfast photo ops, and a steady drumbeat of “she doesn’t get us” messaging. It’s political small ball, sure — but small ball wins in a state where everyone’s neighborhood pride runs deep.

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For as long as I can remember, New Jersey voters have punished politicians who forget where they’re standing. Jim Florio daring to tax toilet paper? Chris Christie only persists because he understands the language of the boardwalk and the bleachers. Even Phil Murphy — for all his Goldman Sachs polish — learned to say “Jersey” like he meant it.

The pork roll flap exposes a vulnerability for Sherrill: she’s built her brand as a pragmatic, national Democrat, but she hasn’t yet proven she can talk local. When New Jerseyans feel like you’re running for Washington, they’ll remind you this is Trenton.

The smart play would be to lean into it — laugh it off, grab a pork roll, egg, and cheese, and own the moment. That’s how you turn a gaffe into a grin. The worst thing she can do is pretend it didn’t happen or double down on “nobody eats that stuff.” Because everybody does.

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There’s a bigger lesson here — one both parties keep forgetting: you can’t import a national message and expect it to land in a local race.

New Jersey voters are fiercely independent. They don’t care what the national mood is; they care if their property taxes went up, if their commute got worse, and if their governor seems more focused on cable hits than local headlines.

Sherrill has plenty of advantages — discipline, credentials, a strong following — but she’s walking into a political climate that punishes detachment. And with Murphy fatigue already setting in, every little slip becomes magnified.

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It’s worth noting that Sherrill is part of a historic cycle: for the first time in memory, both major gubernatorial races — New Jersey and Virginia — feature women at the top of the ticket. That’s an important milestone, but it doesn’t inoculate her from local scrutiny. In fact, it might raise the stakes.

Voters expect authenticity from everyone, but women candidates often get graded on tone. A small misread gets called “arrogant.” A dry joke turns into “dismissive.” That’s unfair, but it’s real — and it’s another reason this pork roll comment will stick longer than it should.

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Politics in New Jersey isn’t polite. It’s personal. New Jerseyans want to know you’ve walked their streets, eaten their food, paid their tolls, and gotten stuck in their traffic. You can’t fake that.

So as silly as it might sound, the pork roll moment tells us a lot about how this race will unfold. It’s not about breakfast — it’s about belonging. And if Mikie Sherrill doesn’t figure out how to sound a little more Jersey, she’s going to find out just how quickly a slip of the tongue can turn into a slippery slope.

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Next up: Part B — Virginia, where Democrats are so confident in Abigail Spanberger’s lead, they’re going to over index on what it means on a national level.

Pork Roll or Taylor Ham?