Been a minute since we posted about ground-breaking food innovation/disgusting culinary adventurism. That one tipped the scale of intrigued to explosive vomit well towards the latter. This week, though, as I wandered into my local Giant in search of coffee grounds near closing time (because you wouldn't like me in the morning without caffeine), I saw a sign advertising this:
I love Banh Mi sandwiches. Even crappy Banh Mi tastes good. The best of it will transport a soul to French Vietnam, minus all the inconvenient colonialism and such. I had a sublime version from a food truck in the District back in the day, and it's hard to beat the stuff you can get in and around Eden Center in Falls Church. (Note to self: been a minute since we went to Eden Center - maybe should work on that.)
I also love sushi, barbecue, and Jack Daniels (hard to tell by the picture, but the roll includes Jack Daniels' pulled pork). I really don't see how this can miss.
Usually, we'd assign this to The Marls, our Director of Culinary Extremism. But I don't have anything better to do, and I'm willing to take one for the benefit of the Family Gheorghe.
People like to debate greatness. Greatest boxer of all time, greatest basketball player of all time, golf, tennis, and so on. The same names come up over and over. I think people strangely forget about Kareem (dominated at all levels, 5 rings, 6 MVPs, most professional points ever) and Americans don't care about Formula 1 or Lewis Hamilton (most titles (7), most wins (98), most pole positions (100), most podium finishes (171)). The Federer/Nadal/Djokovic debate carries on but everyone forgets about Rod Laver. Someday I'll remedy that with a post. But not today.
Instead, I'm here to sing the glory of fat men and their gluttony. Joey Chestnut won his 14th Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest on July 4th taking down 76 hot dogs and buns (or "HDB" as the cognoscenti say) in 10 minutes. That's one HDB every 7.89 seconds. Insane.
Even more insane are his statistics. Click on that link and tell me it doesn't make you gag. Here are a few of my favorites:
30 8-oz Gyros 10 Minutes
12 lbs 8.75 oz Deep Fried Asparagus Spears 10 minutes
81 4oz Mutton Sandwiches 10 minutes
165 Pierogi 8 minutes
141 Hard Boiled Eggs 8 Minutes
It took Paul Newman an hour to eat 50 hard boiled eggs and it almost killed him!
What Chestnut does is as physically difficult, and possibly harmful, as almost anything any other athlete tries to do. He even eats in hail storms.
I won't embed his record-setting gyro performance because it's painful to watch but here's the link. He's in second place behind Matt Stonie (a badass in his own right who only weighs 130 pounds?!) for much of the competition but he kicks it into a higher gear around the 10 minute mark of the video. It's stunning. Also stunning: two young women finished in the top six with 13.6 and 18 gyros.
I realize this is wildly different from traditional sports but you have to agree that it's much more physically taxing than darts or bowling or curling or archery. And yet no one mentions Chestnut when discussing great athletes.
It wasn't always this way. Fat men were celebrated 100 years ago. Perhaps the best thing I've read online this year was a New York Times article from 1885 describing a baseball game between the Brooklyn Fat Men's Club and the Fat Men's Club of Flushing. Click on the little "CONTINUE READING: PDF" link on the left to see it larger. Here are a few of my favorite gems if you're too lazy to click around:
They were all baseball men of the days of the Mutuals and Eckfords, since grown obese on beer and politics, but they were a lusty set of athletes, and they declared that they could run their own bases and only wanted two small boys to assist the catcher.
His general appearance, which he claimed was the result of good nature pure and simple, was that of the man in the moon in the gibbous state.
A full-blown Dickens's fat boy rested indolently on third base.
The Brooklynites were highly indignant and so were the spectators, and their rage was with difficulty modified by frequent potations of the amber flood, but the great match of the season was postponed.
Philetus Dorlon would not be happy without clams, and no self-respecting clam swims to the bottom of the [Long Island] Sound that would not die happy and sing triumphantly while he steamed his young life away if he knew he were to be sepulchered in Philetus Dorlon .... Mr. Dorlon is huge, he is ponderous, his obesity borders on the infinite; and the most hardened lean man cannot gaze upon his magnificent proportions without being unconsciously made purer and holier.
Magnificent prose. Texas had a Fat Men's Club too, of course. "The clubs’ purpose? According to an address by the president of the budding Fat Men’s Association of Texas, W.A, Disborough, the goal was 'to draw the fat men into closer fraternal relations.'" A frat for fat guys, or fat guy frat guys, if you will.
Gluttons were feted all over the country. The Mineola Monitor ran an op-ed in 1899 about why women should like fat men: "It may be observed, without intentional offence [sic] to any young lady who might be enamored of some skeleton-like young man that, as a rule, fat men, besides being the most jolly and convivial of the male species, are also apt to be the most considerate of and charitable to others .... The fact still remains that seven out of ten fat men make excellent husbands."
The German Fat Men's Club made friends with the New York Fat Men's Club and then they shared a clambake. Five thousand people attended fat men's footraces. Fat men held eating contests emceed by the man I assume founded White Manna. Many police were fat men--some things will never change. Fat men were lauded for being honest, good surety risks, and graceful dancers. The turn of the 20th century was peak phatness for fatness.
It wasn't all fun and games though, as you can see from this blurb in the Brownwood Bulletin in 1909:
The point of this rant? Every once in a while you need to indulge your inner glutton. It will make you happy and jolly and generally fun to be around. Whether you are preparing to hunker down in a surf shack with 15-20 other guys to suck down caseloads of yellow beer with platefuls of conch fritters and coco loco chicken, or just looking forward to pizza night with a dozen buffalo wings, I encourage you to go forth and eat. With gusto.
We know what you're thinking, and you're right: man, health food branding really has taken a turn towards irony.
The Indigestometer is a nice touch, but this pic needs more thumb
The Defibrillator is an angus beef burger served between two grilled cheese sandwiches. It includes cheese curds, deep fried bacon, deep fried pickles, and - because no burger is complete without (more) cheese - cheddar cheese. According to Syracuse University dietitian Jane Burrell Uzcategui,
"The Defibrillator (is) clearly a calorie powerhouse, topping the scale about 1,605 calories or three quarters of the recommended daily intake. Not only are the calories outrageous, the fat hits 74 grams (9 grams more than what is recommended per day) and the artery clogging, saturated fat, is a whopping 44 grams per day (double the recommended). ... Don't fool yourself -- you aren't burning that many calories walking around at the Fair. To use the calories consumed in this meal you would have to walk the Midway end-to-end 32 times."
[This post was sent to me at 3:58pm yesterday afternoon. G:TB Special Correspondent Marls, for reasons only known to him and his imam, chose to sacrifice his body for the greater good and eat a KFC Double Down sandwich. His tale is below.]
By the grace of God and my convoluted work schedule, today was the perfect day to try the mythical bunless wonder. After getting to the office at 5:30 this morning in order to get some work done, around 11 I journeyed up to the House that Jeter Built for a client event. After several morning/early afternoon beers at Stans and a random discussion with the Z-Man's sister, it was time to head to Penn station for my 3 pm train to DC. I arrived several minutes early, just in time to grab a quick bite. But what to get? Then, like a beacon in the night, the Tim Hortons/Taco Bell/KFC combo counter called out to me. After waiting in line for 15 min, I was awarded my prize. Two pieces of the Harland Sanders' chicken sandwiching two strips of bacon, a slice of jack cheese, and KFC special sauce. I not have been more let down since realizing that Mrs. Paci did not actually make those beans. Here is why...
1. Appearance: Not that fast food ever does, but this thing doesn't look like the sandwich in the commercial at all. The chicken is irregular shaped and the fixins are squishing out all over. Basically, it looks like a pile of crap. A pile of crap that you are expected to eat. Not a good start.
2. Taste: This is where I expected the DD to shine. Released from the shackles of the bun, I expected the chicken, the cheese, the bacon, the sauce, and the 11 herbs and spices to shine through, to explode into one's mouth Peter North style. Nope. Tastes like some chicken with bacon and cheese. The sauce is ok, but the whole thing was still rather dry. The Col. found a way to make bones almost edible and popcorn style chicken, but somehow they can't keep this pile of fat and goo moist. I just don't understand.
3. Eatability: Trying to eat this thing is a flat out shitshow. The neat little package shown on TV becomes an oozing, greasy mess in reality. It turns out that the Earl of Sandwich really knew what the fuck he was talking about when he put meat et al. between two slices of bread. The bun serves a purpose folks. It allows us to eat messy foods while not looking like half starved Neanderthals. In this one moment I realized what a perfect and under appreciated delivery system the bun is. The little paper condom that KFC gives you to hold this thing is useless. In the end, you are left holding the greasy, half eaten remains of a chicken cutlet. Not good times.
Clearly, you can see I am not a fan. However, this may need to be something every man & Shlara experience for themselves. Just remember, bread is not the enemy, it is a long overlooked friend that may be full of calories, but is around when you need them...kinda like Swint.
Some of you may remember I had a pretty fun time at the fair last year, so I figured this time around I'd chronicle my gastronomical conquests in picture form for our loyal readers (right now rob is sobbing in his office, realizing this is the post that pushes his LeBron extravaganza down the page). No more intro required, let the gluttony begin...
12:15pm Arrive at the fair It's 95 degrees and humid as shit. I'm a moron and didn't wear a t-shirt. Land war in Asia...now this blunder. Tough start to day.
12:29pm Regular corn dog, small diet Pepsi I mean, it's the fair. You've got to start with a corn dog. And you have to be careful in your corn dog selections - they need to be fresh out of the fryer or else they're not worth it. If you go to a stand that only has corn dogs rotating on a rack, move on. It's not like you're limited in corn dog stand choices.
12:46pm Pick up free Blow Pop from Better Business Bureau of Indiana at ridiculous Expo Hall The BBB slogan? "Don't Be a Sucker". Seriously folks, the team of monkeys you had working around the clock couldn't come up with something better? [Note: Blow Pop was eaten as "dessert" exactly 12 hours later]
12:53pm Sample Shoup's new hogburger It's freakin' delicious. Went back through the line two more times.
1:59pm Photo op with Indiana state hero Veal Armstrong...and a talking goat Stepping into the different animal barns at the fair is like walking through a portal into another dimension. A dimension of denim and poor dental hygiene. Hard to describe, but entertaining as all hell.
2:16pm
Pulled pork BBQ sandwich from the Indiana Pork Association, another diet Pepsi You like how I keep getting the diet sodas, as if that's gonna make a difference?
2:21pm Snack on other people's absurd World Famous King Taters What exactly are they, you say? Take a look.
3:33pm Fish fry (jackson pollock white fish), yet another small diet Pepsi The fish fry stand had zero shade around it. I almost passed out waiting for this item.
5:00pm Ribeye steak sandwich at Indiana Beef Association tent, a Lemonade Starting to develop some serious stomach issues at this point, had to stop halfway through this sandwich as I had the meat sweats. Genuine concern is starting to show on the folks I am at the fair with. Burgess Meredith urges me on.
6:09pm Deep fried pizza, more diet Pepsi In six hours I've developed diabetes and have surely clogged three arteries. And a big middle finger to deep fried pizza. What a disappointment. I assumed we would take a slice of pie, dip it in a fryer, and then hand it to me. Nope - the dough is simply fried and then lathered with marinara sauce and some cheese. Of course I still ate the whole damn thing.
7:05pm Deep fried cookie dough Anyone had a portable defibrillator?
8:45pm One chicken tender, one fry, one ping only By now we are at the Keith Urban concert at the fair (I would never be called a country music fan by any stretch, but I have now seen this guy twice, and he puts on a damn good show). Apparently, if you are a female going to a Keith Urban concert, you wear daisy dukes so short the pockets show and cowboy boots that make you like like an Amarillo whore. And you wear that no matter what shape or size you are. I was partially blinded by some of the sartorial choices.
11:48pm Exit fair.
Victory pose. Note corndog stick in right hand.
Obviously, I have no choice but to go back next year. However, I need your help in deciding how I'll entertain myself in Year 3, without ended up in the ICU of St. Vincent's.
Posts
