The binge to end all binges was slated to culminate on November 11th surrounding the bhut pepper wing contest. Crazy legs, Joey, Erik the red, n Allison were all on the binge list. The launch would begin at the start of competitive eating/ birth of all of our eating careers; the Nathans hot dog factory. If there is no Nathans hot dog contest there is no competitive eating, therefore if there is no Nathans hot dog factory there is no Patrick deep dish Bertoletti (I think that was in my sat English section). I’d simply by Patrick, “I’m chunky, acne’d, have no life outside of chefing, and uncomfortable introverted” Bertoletti Spending any time in a competitive eater’s hotel room or bathroom is far more frightening than touring the factory. This quiet, hygienic, and clean facility was a long way from anything in Upton Sinclair’s days.
With the noxious odors clinging to us and a quick Mexican lunch we headed back to Pilsen, picking up a sampling of the soon to be illegal four loco drinks. An Aurelio’s pizza delivery was timed perfectly for a 2nd lunch. One pizza style that often gets overlooked by the world is bar style, it’s super thin, a tad greasy, seasoned generously, highly flavored sauce, and cut into squares. It’s been my go to pizza and trumps New York and Neapolitan when cravings call. It’s evocative of pizza before it was sent to a Neapolitan finishing school. The chef/owners devise the flavors/ textures and don’t follow any pizza rules (a lot like if Patrick Swayze from road house was a pizza chef). I then dished up some sandwich creations for Mr. Legs. They included French toast stuffed w/ goat cheese, golden raisins, almond, maple, n cinnamon, w/ a coconut caramel sauce. And the elv-ez a tribute to the king with maple bacon cream cheese, peanut butter, n banana’s, lightly toasted in bacon fat. Perhaps the Mexican, pizza, n sandwiches was a little much pre contest but I was fearful for my colon and wanted to get a food plug down along with a handful of Imodium to prevent the rampant spread of wildfire south of my navel. Never have I been so rattled pre contest, and never have I seen the consumption of a 1/5 of Jack Daniels done as Joey chestnut did.
There are contest variables going in that are uncertain; texture, temperature, and shittyness of food. But the bhut pepper wing sauce added an element of challenge and fear, as the effects were untested and unknown as I’m only versed in jalapenos and habeneros. The elements of capacity, gross out factory, and jaw strength are expected in contests, but for this contest I feared the unknown. Fears of shitting myself, pissing my pants, throwing up, and possibly climaxing all at the same time were uncertainties my brain processed without a grain of salt. Confidence was not high and going in I knew the outcome was a craps my pant shoot. I was certain the top finishers would be close between Erik, Tim, and myself. My fears were exaggerated, I got a little queasy 2 minutes in but the aftereffects were not on par with jalapeño’s. The worst side effect was my scorched face 45 minutes after. This was not a capacity contest so eating 34 wings vs. 275 pickled jalapeños was no comparison. I’m currently working with deans foods to create a bidet for post heat contests that utilized milk in place of water. This would definitely sell well in Mexico and all countries close to the equator where capsicum is king.
Post wings lead to lucha vavoom- Mexican wrestling, with a light dusting of midgets, comedy, and n burlesque. It turned out to be just the comedic/ entertaining pepto bismol that was needed to cool our stomachs. Lots of drinks were ingested and heckling was supplied by the great Joey “jaws” Chestnut.
The next day featured a lunch feast at hot Dougs, with all the specials of the day consumed (12 in all plus 4 regular dogs and 3 fries) Specialty dogs range from bacon sausage to elk. It was the kind of meal that generates patriotism and pride that someone is deep frying French fries in duck fat. Mediocrity is the calling card for most restaurants anywhere, and people settle for it. Whenever someone breaks the mediocrity mold the level of response and insanity from the public can become overwhelming. Most fizzle out and crumble under the pressure/ extended business. But I’ve never experienced a flat lining of quality in my tenure as a customer. The frequency of meals I ate a nearly perfect tubed, mustarded, and cheesed meal between a bun was quite high. Nothing in Chicago has provided such consistently.
Upon reflection of the weekend I was reminded of a trip to comicon where I sat between 2 nerds on a Diego bound united airlines flight. Hearing them banter about japanime, comics and not losing their virginity I was struck with a superior notion of confidence and self worth. Upon later reflection perhaps I was the weird one flying 5 hours to eat mars bars in an exhibition to promote a video game. Perhaps the reason prize eaters go so crazy when around others of their kind is because we resemble a bunch of albino’s holocaust survivors, as in a rare kind that is spread across the U.S sharing the same mental imbalance, virtues, mental drive, history, and passions. How odd it is a fringed/ debatable sport/ spectacle has united such similar borderline compulsive/ addictive personalities.
Me being weird at comicon