Nathans Qualifier 09

      This contest was like picking out the biggest Christmas present and opening to find it filled with progressively smaller boxes and the engagement ring box filled with a rabbit turd.  My expectations were high going in but my hopes were crushed after tearing off all the natural casing wrapping paper.  I had set a goal/ birthday present to myself that I would eat 50 hot dogs on my birthday then go out and celebrate taking in all the fruity fishbowl cocktails Minneapolis had to offer.  I knew after practice that I was good for at least 50 but it would depend on the day and the dogs.  Preparation and abilities may be peaking but if you wake up feeling groggy and unmotivated and eat leathery encased steaks there’s really not much you can do.  A true competitor will eat at his top level no matter the circumstances.  Until recently I didn’t quite understand this.  Also, practice is useless if you can’t motivate yourself to carry over lessons and skills learned.  Anyone can look good in batting practice off of a 46 year old lobbing in rainbows.  I’ve hit Cecil Fielder-esqe home runs in practice but does anyone really want to hear me talk about that after I fail in competition?  My outlook on practice now is you practice so that on bad days you still produce and have a good showing.  And on a good day you can do extraordinary things.  You may even surprise yourself on a good day and wonder if a feat could ever be recreated by yourself or another.  One should never bank on having a good day to carry you over the threshold.  I’ve done that in the past but too many things are up in the air, it’s a game of hot dog roulette with a ¾ full pack of hot dogs in the chamber. 

            The only thing in the air on June 6^th 2009 was a chilling rain and an air temperature hovering below 50 degrees.  Not to mention a lingering smell of nitrates and rancid garlic.  Hot and not humid are my preferred temperature because room temperature at 90 degrees is better than room temperature at 55.  Plus frigid weather puts a damper on the loosening up and circulation in the body.  I started out slow and progressed to a tortoise crawl.  I wouldn’t have caught the napping hare at that pace.  It could possibly have been the worst eating performance of my career; I hit the wall harder than a rookie and have nothing special to show for it.  Qualifiers are the perfect practice and should not be taken lightly; I go into all with the intent of kicking some smoked pork butt.  I don’t have the gene to half ass it, it’s all of nothing.  You are eating the food that will be before you on a larger/ national stage at a later date and it’s best to take it serious and go all out.  Talk of this qualifier sickens me, getting over zealous and suggesting the sponsors assure all the dogs are warm and fresh led to a complete meltdown of dog quality.  They sat in the warmer for hours rendering the skin inedible; I have no one to blame but myself.

                 Aside from the dogs I had a pleasant night out on the town, hitting up the bars in Minneapolis that serve fish bowls and have members of my favorite band(what I listen to during contests); Dillinger four as employees or owners.   A lot is owed to my better half for setting it up.  And thanks are due for all that braved the elements and the rotten noxious odors that crop dusted and encompassed all areas around me for the remainder of the night.  Hot dogs are the never-ending gift.    Make sure to check out espn at noon eastern this July 4^th for all the coverage of the Nathans famous contest. 

 

Chow

-pddb

Deepdisheats.com

Calamar in deeetroit

                             It’s funny where competitive eating has taken me in the four years I have been active.  Prague, Minot North Dakota, Hot Springs Arkansas, and now for a second time Detroit Michigan.  For an outsider it might seem like contest food has nothing to do with the regionality and local culinary offerings.  Matzo balls in Houston, Ny pizza in Florida, and gyros in Houston. To me these towns have a good track record of supplying the best celebratory cervaces post contest and a great network of friends.  For most it may not make sense why big apple pizza in Fort Pierce Florida would hold a pizza eating contest.  For me it doesn’t have to make sense, if a dog food company in Lebanon held a bacon begging strips contest I would be the first to sign up.  Does anything have to make sense when devouring inhuman amounts of food is the median?  I already feel like a robber wearing black face paint carrying a sack with dollar signs, whenever I cash a prize money check anyways.   

                        Moving on to more important matters; it’s been over a week and my jaws still cringe when thinking about the punishment from the calamari and the mere smell of a deep fat fryer still makes me a little queasy(well a little bit exited too).    My preparations were not the best for this contest.  On Friday I fell asleep at 9 pm and awoke at 1:30am staying awake till my flight.  Choosing to watch episodes of police squad to get back to sleep was a poor choice; no one can resist the charm and wit of Leslie Neilson in this 80’s classic.  All the prescription sleeping pills are rendered useless when this captain of bone dry humor is involved.  Perhaps the air force should screen naked gun in cockpits instead of handing out amphetamines.

                          I am procrastinating doing a hot dog practice as we speak so maybe I should put the feathered keyboard to monitor.  Mallies is a gem in the rough, 15 minutes outside of downtown Detroit and a sports bar/ grill that served good food and almost struggles to keep up with its popularity.  On contest day it was packed to the rafters, or to put it in frat boy terms nuts to butts.  And they got a bobbing for lobster claw machine too! (just imagine Garth Algar saying it and it may be funny)  We had a chance to taste the squid pre contest and it was quite tasty, fresh and tender with a hint of a chew, cut into strips and not the usual rings.  That was how it was in the contest too and it was quite obvious that they used fresh oil.  Some foods taste of being fried in oil left over from the Johnson’s fish fry last August.  As tender as anything tastes by itself an entire mouthful of something naturally chewy turns into a rubber band eating contest.  The nature of squid assures that no matter how perfectly cooked it will always be slightly al dente.  I finished the pound plate fast (likely 40-45 sec) and in the lead.  I slowed down exponentially after each following pound.  Each mouthful required a nip of hot liquid.  The calamari did not want me to eat a whole fish nets worth of its kin and was fighting my advances.  It was a struggle throughout, I was lucky to get an early lead because sonya and bob were on my ass the entire contest.  I finished with 6 lbs 10 oz in ten minutes.  My brother, Joe thin crust Bertoletti put up an impressive 1 lb 9 oz.   

                            My body is fickle in the sense that sometimes my best performance come after no sleep and binge eating a bunch of jalapeno popper Doritos the night before.  Whenever I bank on a preparation method it inherently turns sour and I end up not performing up to my best.  It’s almost like baseball players not changing there underwear or shaving when they are in a good hitting streak.  And when it fails you struggle to tread water and hot dog detritus, and are left with a patchy lumberjack beard questioning how to get back to elite form.  I have always been a below average competitor and perhaps is my nature to take solace in shooting for the top and getting lazy, quickly lapping up the rainbow special Olympics participation ribbon.    

            When I feel on during a contest I don’t think there is an eater in the world that can beat me.  It pisses me off when I have a great day and someone has a shit performance and excuses to warrant the loss.  When I won chicken wings and turkey on spike tv I was in the best zone of my life.  I would put down all my savings in Vegas that I would have beat a healthy Koby or even a bear on that day.  Having those questions only furthers my drive to be the best.  I want people to question me because I like to surprise.  A journeyman dark horse can always surprise yet has none of the pressures.  I kind of enjoy being the David Wells of competitive eating.  Although I’ve never dominated an eating contest with an 8 Busch light buzz, it’s kind of nice be able to pull out a big upset.

                         I realized at those spike contests that I could be the best but there is no competitive eating for dummies.  Like a blind man at an orgy I’ve had to feel my way through it.  I go into ever contest expecting to conquer and take that giant ass check through airport security.  Having to explain that I didn’t win big at keno or am the recipient of a scholarship to the local community college makes me laugh diabolically.  It’s also fun wearing the oversized wrestling belt under your clothes and to repeatedly set off the metal detectors pretending you forgot you had it on.  It kind of puts a spinal tap/ cucumber wrapped in foil in the pants spin onto competitive eating and there’s nothing wrong with that.   

                               The most difficult part is after 4+ years I still have no idea how to assure I have the best day and am in the best zone for every prize eating event.  For every good contest 2-3 are sub par and I have to muscle my way through the foods with no finesse or zone to speak of.  Hopefully someday I will find out and that Joey and Koby are still eating so I can know what it’s like to be at the top and to have decent odds in Vegas.  Not to mention getting some sweet Pete Rose side action.

Chow,

pddb

 

Top 5 and 10 pizza places

Top 10 Pizza                                                  Top 5 “Me” Pizza

1.)    Aurelios                                                                       1.) Giordano’s

2.)    Frank Pepe’s                                                               2.) Peaquod’s

3.)    Otto Enoteco                                                              3.) Lou Malnati’s       

4.)    Vito and nicks                                                             4.) Art of Pizza

5.)    Difara’s                                                                       5.) Burts Place

6.)    Punch

7.)    Pat’s Pizza

8.)    Coal Fire

9.)    Spaca Napoli

10.) Grimaldi’s    

 

 

This rating idea came about when someone suggested I do a top 10 list of celebrity women I found attractive.  I would rather rank my favorite places because I can’t pull off a top 10 list like the great Steve Dahl can.  With that said rating pizza is a difficult task.  I am a firm believer that there is the best pizza and your favorite pizza, your favorite may not be the best.  That prick Steve Dolinsky (on air food personality) once told me that your favorite pizza is usually the pizza you grew up with, and it’s the only thing he’s ever said I agree with.  A favorite place is a taste and environment that is branded into your past, present and future.  You won’t know why eating that pizza makes you tremble with excitement but it does.  Something about going in with your dad and waiting for the carryout, that smell, those noxious and satisfying odors were better than inhaling whipit’s or airplane glue.  Getting that pizza when you are back at your parent’s house can turn a dysfunctional family into the Cleavers.  My pizza roots stem from growing up on Aurelio’s and Giordano’s, overindulging in both led to the planted seeds for an obsessive compulsive flavor chubster.  It’s a typical case of nurture vs. nature.  4 years ago this passion and obsession forced me on an expedition as a lone pizza journeyman.  I would pump chefs, friends, and family for info on the best places, take to go menu’s banded to my neighbor’s doors, and keep a log/ uber nerd journal on flavors and ratings.  I would try out a new leads and mid bite would wonder if the tipster was on crack when they ate this pizza.  But I learned that it was likely a case of it tied to a distant food memory that made it there favorite.  I know people will look at my 2 favorite places and dismiss them the same way.  Palates also vary; it’s why I can carefully slave over a dish and have the diner shrug there shoulders and deem it just ok.  It took me a while to not take offense with these acts and question my tastes and skills.  Some people are not passionate about food and have the golden arches as there go to stop.  Applebee’s is a back up when the drive through line is too long.   I have cooked for these people and had a horrible experience with one.  These people are usually more passionate about themselves than anything else.  I would just as soon serve them dog food to see if they could even tell the difference.

 

            All kidding and narcissists aside I am a serial pizza eater.  I have devised a 10

point scale to rate and analyze pizza.  It’s a 1-10 scale with 10 marking the perfect pie. 

0-      domino’s pizza, empty calories, an insult to pizza every where

 

4- Typical imitation pizza has all the looks but none of the taste

 

5- May pass as acceptable when drunk or hungover, when that pizza urge happens and that local shop is the only one open at 4 am

 

6- Is ok but lacks flavor, quality ingredients, texture, not the worst pizza, is pleasantly mediocre.  In a pinch this will work

 

7- Has decent flavor and texture, it may be fresh and tasty but is lacking that edge that

separates good from great and is a case where better ingredients and technique would improve it. A swift kick in the ass to nudge it over the above average experience would help.

 

8- A destination pizza, one that you’ll drive to get and recommend to your foodie pizza snobs. The flavors and texture is spot on having slightly better ingredients and perfecting technique would make it the perfect meal.  Borderline perfect just needing a little help

 

9- One to request for your last meal before the guillotine.  It’s not very often you come across one of these so cherish it.  A pizza you want to climb to the top of a mountain and shout about.  It won’t be easy to restrain from inserting the name of one of these places into any conversation that focuses on pizza or food.  The pizza is the main attraction; the décor is an afterthought but usually charming.  I will likely remember eating these places like I will the birth of future children.  I remember the exact time my first Frank Pepe’s white clam pie arrived at the table.

 

10-? Is anything ever perfect in life?  Thomas Keller said that perfection is unachievable; once you think you’ve found it other problems will surface.  Besides, perfect is a fickle statement.  The 9+ rated places approach perfection; I have not had a repeat 10 pizza.  The perfect pizza is fleeting; everything has to be just right, mood, time, company, food, charm of the underage waitress, and proper amount of gin and tonics.  Like the perfect eating contest, I can’t ever predict when all of these factors will fall into place.  Some meals/ contests/ everything is in place for perfection.  These perfect experiences are what drive me to continue searching and competing.

 

chow

-pddb

attempting 12″ pizza in under 2 min 15 sec

This happened in fort pierce florida at big apple pizza. We are attempting to break the guinness world record that stood at roughly 2 min and 15 seconds. My favorite part is when I stick my tongue out to show I’m done and a piece of crust falls out.  I am going to try my best and update this blog more often.  There are no contests but food is always on my mind and something I enjoy writing about.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abHOuDPt2T4&eurl=http://www.yardbarker.com/eating/articles/Trying_to_break_the_12_pizza_guinness_world_record/390707&feature=player_embedded

-pat deep dish bertoletti

across the pond and back, long live the republic of czech

Time is a great thing when reflection is concerned. There are reflections of past travels, how far competitive eating has taken me and changed a once fickle, shy, and chubster kid into a promising young glutton that will one day be able to call himself a man.  Hopefully being able to grow some decent facial hair and not need to use just for men formula to color it. As well as top the 50 hot dog and 100 Krystal barrier.

I owe a lot to eating, a slight boost in my bank roll and having little responsibilities to name. It’s kind of messed up being able to live the dream of being a professional eater. The amount wasted on partying and eating out is more than most people should spend. I will have no gripes or bad memories to name when I’m on my death bed and competitive eating is discussed.  When asked what I’ll do with the winnings I may take the high road and claim it’s going towards my pizza place, Baptista’s(after my Italian grandfather). In all honesty I will likely spend it on travels around the world eating at the best restaurants.  There are some that find comfort in expensive furnishings, toys, property, and bmw convertibles (Joey Chestnut has one sweet ass ride)/ mid life crisis mobiles/ penis extenders. For me, experiences are what they will go towards; making a detour to the uk to eat at some restaurants is not anything I would think twice about. Knowing no stone or continent went unturned and that a solid effort in making a dent in the world’s delicacies is a feat I aspire to accomplish.

Out of all senses my taste is the most deeply embedded into my dna and forces an unhealthy and voracious obsession. Food memories go back to as a kid cooking pancakes in my underwear and trying out new omelet fillings(my favorite, a 6 egg omelet stuffed with a can of chef boy rd beef ravioli. Finish it in the oven so it’s not cold in the middle and to curb the faint botulistic flavors).

Moving on to my trip to the Czech Republic, is there anything more ludicrous than a music festival wanting to fly you out to Europe to eat in a couple competitions? I refused to believe that this trip was taking place as me getting exited about prospects leads to distress. I.e., getting all riled up for a Jeff Foxworthy game show and it goes down in flames. So when I settled into my lot airlines seat headed to Warsaw it was an acme anvil lifted from my cranium and consciousness. This meant that the one they call patricio el drunko pina colada el diablo pollo loce tengo muy intoxicato deep dish black out bertoletti may be kind of a draw when it comes to eating contests. (Don’t try and copy that name I’m in the process of getting it trademarked and changing my birth certificate). It would also mean that people in another country would enjoy my bad taxi driver, sex pistols, used to be hip but is now reserved for Mexicans, the trendy, and white trash but will be cool again in 3 years haircut. Did I mention a majority of hiptrendster d bags from Los Angeles too? They actually wanted me to show off my skills, does life get any better than this? What suckers? I celebrated this realization with 3 Tylenol pm. I wanted to enjoy this new found appreciation in as groggy a state as possible. It put me on my ass, 7.5 hours later and 20 pages past the last dog eared pages I awoke and dug into some toffee coated peanuts. I hate airplane conversations. It’s like getting stuck talking to your close talking great uncle or getting caught conversing with the principal after he’s had too many hurricanes and saltine crackers( doesn’t he know he should hand out safety glasses when we locks in for a close talk)? But I had no other options, a 7 hour layover in Warsaw and not a damn clue. A naughty and nice length list of restaurants, foods, weird things a gringo has no fing clue about. Currency, taxis, taxis that wont kidnap me and bring me to a court where charges of making too many pollock jokes in America are finally brought against me. Insert Tony Clifton quote here; “Those dumb pollocks have gone through enough” My neighbor answered all questions without commenting on my sunken eyes thanks in part to over the counter narcotics.

I set off to kill 7 hours the only way I know how, by eating. When one restaurant was closed the most logical thing was to kill 30 minutes by eating next door. Check out all my pictures in the nuveo 8/12 album for descriptions of the food as well as more photos from this trip. I will post them all in a newer blog bums

Warsaw was rebuilt after Hitler destroyed it in dubay dubay 2 and was rebuilt from old drawings/ paintings. It has a fake old and tarnished feel. Like furniture granny spent a bundle on thinking it was antique but is crushed to find it’s fake taking it to the antique road show; Prague on the other had is gilded, gothic, and has an overabundance of earthy/monochromatic figures, churches, and vertical construction. It’s the city of gold or that hideous packer yellow is you ask me. My arrival was accompanied by calls of “Cheap sex” in a sleazy Slavic accent, cheese schnitzel sandwiches with mayo (smazey syre), and pilsners galore. I was put up in a downtown hotel where the door keys were actual keys hooked up to obnoxious baseball sized weights to reduce theft. It looked and smelled like Abraham Lincoln was assassinated there.

The following morning was market with the fried delicious cheese still clinging to my olfactories and fighting to keep a noticeable flavor on my taste buds. Andrej and I then set out to do some radio spots. Saying I stood there with aliens would do justice in describing how little I understood what they were saying. I’m pretty sure they said I had a small one and the gluttonous bastard from the USA cannot hold a candle to their countrymen when the national fruit (plum) is involved (in an eating contest). I just nodded and smiled a lot, and ate 10 dry Czech donuts in a minute.

The next day marked Halla Hunta Hoover’s arrival as well as some late night drinking of the original Budweiser and some other choice pilsen beers. Budweisers turned into the dawn of the contest nad would mark our first competition which was voted on by fans. The foods would be a large pizza, 30 pickles, and a liter of ice cream. Or foods based on a pregnant woman’s maternity repertoire. I was pushing for watermelon with cool ranch Doritos crumbled on top and garnished with garlic dill cheese curds.

The following morning was pleasant; thank god the Czech Budweiser doesn’t produce that same dreaded bud mud that the domestic brand is famous for. That would have caused some problems riding the limo to the trinkobrani music fest. For some reason we were served champagne and Hall, Andrej and I split a bottle. Be it cockiness, ignorance or needing a Ferdinand Point pick me up but we coated our stomachs with the bubbly and were temporarilly more fluent in the local tongue.

The eating took place in front of a massive crowd of teens and young twenty something’s. Multi round/food contests are my favorite because forcing the food to settles easiest when your brain knows you don’t have to eat the same dreaded foods. Forgetting you just ate is easy when you can switch focus to a new and fresh food/flavor. For that reason the Spike TV St. Me Day chow down was my favorite contest and performance of my career. The pizza was no joking matter as its diameter easily outstretched 20 inches and weighted 6-8 lbs. The corn, ham and mushrooms made for an interesting combination to stomach and palate. Apparently my request for bacon, onions, and green olives was lost in translation. The crust was the most difficult part, it was insoluble in water and back like cardboard. But the middle was warm, soft and wet so it balanced out the pie and made it somewhat quick once the crust was painstakingly forced down risking esophageal and oral damage. I never got out to a fast pace so I took the leisurely route and paced myself. With half the pizza down I concentrated on all the crust and used mass amounts of liquid not seeing any reason to dunk it. The remaining interior was no problem and I finished the pizza in 12-14 minutes. I then got to enjoy the venue, crowd and watch Hall and Kamil finish. Hall dominated Kamil and that Slavic Italian favorite using Bertoletti/ Janus amounts of liquid to get it down.

They cleaned the table and brought the pickles, I could not resist them pre contest and ate a few. I knew they’d be tasty with a hint of sweetness a mild sour finish that would require lots of molar action. Besides this I hadn’t a clue on eating pickles competitively. The pizza was a good warm and I felt all my senses relaxing, my legs, stomach, and throat all work in harmony clearing the pickles. The 30 pickles (2ounces each) took me 4-5 minutes to consume. I mimicked my hot dog eating style by stuffing in 2 at a time using lots of water to force the soured cucumbers into my digestion tract. Once the pickle table was cleared I felt another wave of adrenaline pass with another nipping at its heels. By this point I was zoned in and glared into the liter of the floral Czech dessert and listened to the countdown from ten in Czech. It would take roughly the same amount of time as the count down for me to raise my spoon in victory. Hall was a few seconds behind. Seeing Kamil put his innards on display directly after was an amusing sight. 3 rounds of mild foods is a cake walk in comparison to the hellacious premise of eating dumplings for an hour.

The post contest festivities included talks with fans and former Czech eating greats and a sampling of the locally distilled slivovice (plum vodka). Luckily there was a chef preparing local specialties and we we sampled, caramelized sausage with a perfectly balanced sweet Dijon sauce, curried and garlic marinated chicken and pork, goulash, and starborno beer. The many Czech punk bands performing supplied a steady and stomach settling background.

The following day marked a fresh but intestinally clogged day. Having half assed researching the plum dumpling did not leave me with a good feeling about the contest. An hour with no expectations or clue about technique and massacring numerous of the national delicacy was a hard prilosec to swallow. Not only did we have to eat for an hour but no drinks were allowed while condiments could include melted butter, powdered sugar, and coconut. We were brought over to break the standing record of 191 dumplings; I told reporters 200-250 was my goal basing it on a whim and faith in my stomach capacity.

The thought did cross my mind that we were getting set up by coming in for this. Never in my life have I prepared for something like this, neither mentally or physically. The only ways to eat were all out or pace, I settled into a medium- fast pace. I took my time and let my ipod do its work drowning out the crowd and my bodies disgust with this sour concoction of whole plums stuffed in dough, boiled, then cooked in butter. It would take 3 dillinger four albums to get me through. I stood as the others sat clearing my first 30 ahead of all. The dumplings were each filled with pits and the crowd/ eaters could keep track of the numbers by gazing at a mammoth chalk board that had all the current counts. The dumplings were kept in warming boxes and arrived at perfect temperature consistantly during the contest.

I watched the former champ for tricks but found him to eat them with a spoon and was doing so at a tortoises crawl. He would periodically hold up his stopwatch as if to say there’s no way you can keep that pace up. It’s too bad I only learned how to say cheers and fried cheese schnitzel in Czech because a curse word would have sufficed.

Upon hitting the 200 mark in under 35 minutes I sat down and felt a rush of fructose and pigments into my face. At this point a meth addict’s need for a fix was the strength of my desire to have a glass of water. A refocusing of efforts was necessary.At this point I didn’t want any dumplings to cross my palate or field of vision.This was where the powdered sugar came in. I played with my food like randy from a Christmas story pushing it around in disgust. To get the last plate of 30 down I pulverized them in my mouth with little passing into digestion. My saliva enzymes were rendered useless. I would de pit 10 at a time and then shove them all into my mouth and repeat. With the 30 down I asked for 5 more. All the while I was told to relax and not puke as I figured everyone wanted me to make a nice plum deposit onto the stage and into a bass drum. The announcer kept informing me of the remaining time pleading with me to hold on and not blow it. I finished a winner cramming 233(just over an ounce each) of the dumplings down in 1 hour. A severe case of cotton mouth and a stained face worse than anything wylers light has thrown my way. The color returned to my face and I stopped looking like uncle fester with pigments and energy reconfiguring within. Along with the grand for winning an obnoxious amount of alcohol was given out in prizes. Slivovice and starborno was the only thing getting forced down my gullet that night.

We spent time in the crowd taking pictures with fans and talking to our newly acquired friends. I was offered a mysterious drink in a kofola bottle. Refusing at first led the girl to inform me that it contained plum vodka. It was the same trick I used to pull from high school, and so I took a huge gulp. It brought a smile to my face to know the language is the only thing that separates us. It’s odd to know young people everywhere are sneaking alcohol into musical venues. I once had a hobo buy me an 18 pack for a friend and I to share before and during a dillinger four show. Drinking that high life in a door less stall made me feel like a king. We were then barraged with constant jokes about our over consumption as people would shield their food from us as we approached. It’s kind of like the “wouldn’t like to get stuck behind him in a buffet” that we get at home but better. I will forever remember the fans we met backstage and the conversations in broken English.I couldn’t of been happier to supply them with English curse words to text into the festivals computer that would display them on the jumbotron in a scrolling marquis. It was yet another case of the same people but different language. There are visual memories that cannot be captured in print so I strongly suggest a visit to the Republic of Czech. If you wont be making the trek any time soon check out the pictures of all my meals and sightseeing.

I flew to England 20 kilos overweight thanks in part to the alcoholic prizes in my checked luggage. I did manage to consume about 45 dollars worth of cheese, diet cokes, champagne, and treats in the lounge to offset all overage charges. My goal on this detour was to visit St. John restaurant, eat an English breakfast, see big Ben, and flick off the guards at the royal palace. The dinner at St. John was well worth the detour, I ordered everything I wanted and ate like my date with the electric chair was fast approaching. I sat mesmerized and overtly stuffed from this meal that rose to the top of my list for meals I’ve consumed thus far. Being able to take a simple dish of roast beef bone marrow a mere meat butter and turning it into something magical. While simplicity has its limitations, limitations don’t exist for this perfectly executed and simple dish.

I enjoyed every minute of this trip and to my outward quest to conquer the world over in competitive eating.Hopefully it’s not my last overseas and on someone elses dime.

chow

pddb

deepdisheats.com