Rep. Russ Carnahan (D-Mo.), a freshman lawmaker who represents St. Louis and the suburban and rural areas to the south, is not flashy.

Dressed in the Washington uniform, a crisp, button-down white shirt, a standard Brooks Brothers tie with blue and yellow stripes, khakis and a blue sport jacket, he is miraculously punctual for a congressman. He arrives at the Dubliner, which is packed with more tourists than congressional insiders, on a steamy Thursday at 12:45 p.m. with his press secretary, Shannon O’Brien, in tow.

During the hour-long lunch at the Dubliner (his staff says it’s the Dubliner, an Irish restaurant and bar catty-corner from Union Station, or nothing), he is refreshingly polite for a busy lawmaker; he rarely checks his cell phone or BlackBerry. When he does, it is to sneak a glance to see if his 17-year-old son, Austin, who has been hiking on the Ozark Trail with friends in the wake of a horrific storm, has called to update his mom and dad on his whereabouts.

His concern is well-founded: Carnahan learned that afternoon that his wife, Debra, drove three hours southeast of St. Louis to pick up Austin and his friends. An intense summer storm shut down electricity across St. Louis, so Carnhanan’s family had to spend the night in a hotel.

Carnahan is very much a freshman lawmaker — friendly but conservative and guarded. His meal is also guarded and typical. He orders the usual: the Guinness burger, ground sirloin marinated in Guinness beer served on a potato pancake with Welsh cheese sauce, with onion straws and spinach on the side. He also orders an iced tea.

But if Carnahan appears to be risk-averse with his lunch choices, those qualities don’t carry over to his political career; he comes from a long line of Carnahans who have held public office. His grandfather A.S.J. Carnahan served in Congress in the mid-1940s and again from 1949 to 1961, losing that time in a primary. President Kennedy then appointed him as the first U.S. ambassador to Sierra Leone.

Carnahan’s father, the late two-term Gov. Mel Carnahan, was a legend in Missouri politics. In 2000, while campaigning for the Senate, Mel Carnahan and his eldest son, Randy, were killed in a plane crash.

Even so, the popular Carnahan posthumously went on to defeat former Sen. John Ashcroft (R-Mo.); the late governor’s wife, Jean, was appointed to the Senate in his place. She lost to Sen. Jim Talent (R-Mo.) in 2002.

Four years later, Missourians sent Russ to Congress and his sister, Robin, succeeded GOP Majority Whip Roy Blunt’s son, Matt, as secretary of state. Tom Carnahan, the youngest child, is a lawyer who hasn’t made the leap into politics — yet.

Asked whether he or Robin is the better politician in the family and how they differ, Carnahan deftly replies with a very politically correct answer. He doesn’t respond to the question and instead simply says they were raised in politics.

“My first memory of a campaign is from 1966, when I was 8 years old and my mom organized the family around a Pontiac station wagon called Carnahan’s caravan,” he says. “When I graduated from college, my first job was as my father’s driver in his 1980 campaign for state treasurer. We visited every county in the state. You don’t do that unless you’re a politician or traveling salesman.”

Despite the cruel fortune of his father’s and brother’s untimely deaths, Carnahan has led a charmed life and political career; he went to law school, set up a law practice and then went on to two terms as a state legislator. Carnahan succeeded former House Democratic leader and failed presidential candidate Dick Gephardt in Congress.

While waiting for the food to arrive, Carnahan does not fidget or play with the silverware. He drinks a single glass of iced tea. He behaves professionally with the waiter, but there is no schmoozing. He talks about some of the surprises in his first term, such as how one can accomplish more in Congress’s minority than in the majority and the comity that exists within the Missouri delegation.

“In the first month, I was figuring out how to structure $42 million in transportation projects,” he says.

Asked if the Missouri delegation works well together, Carnahan says Blunt began inviting the delegation to his office to discuss local issues in order to find common ground.

When the food arrives, Carnahan continues to talk up pet projects and issues, how much he enjoys his work on the International Affairs Committee (where he initially did not win a seat) and how the political environment has changed since Democrats were routed in the 2004 election.

There is an earnest efficiency to Carnahan’s manner, in his appetite and table manners. He attacks his Guinness burger with great precision with a knife and fork but does not shovel food into his mouth or eat too fast.

“He’s clean and mannerable,” said Rep. Lacy Clay (D-Mo.), who shared a dinner of filet mignon and potatoes at Clay’s 50th birthday party and fundraiser at the Ritz-Carlton in St. Louis. “He’s cordial, and I’ve never seen him raise his voice, but if he wants you to see something his way he can talk you to death.”

Carnahan’s spokeswoman is also a perfectly clean eater. She says next to nothing during the meal, allowing her boss to do the talking. The aide, with her curly hair perfectly in place, quietly picks at a salmon salad that she doesn’t finish.

But Carnahan’s efficiency is best displayed at the end of the meal. Without fanfare or emotion, he wipes his plate clean.