by Danny Tyree
Long ago, I learned speed-eating to fit junior high yearbook editing into my lunch break. My first two dates with my wife featured the Bonanza Steakhouse buffet. I’ve gone “plague of locusts” on deviled eggs and pimento cheese sandwiches at countless church potluck dinners.
So I couldn’t just sit on my buns and pass up writing about Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest (and the world of competitive eating in general).
Every July 4, ESPN makes a coastto- coast event of the Coney Island gastronomic tradition. (I’ll leave it to others to analyze the irony of ESPN’s audience being gobbled up by streaming.)
If you remember GM’s 1974 jingle “Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet,” you’ll understand the perfect patriotic timing of the contest. It’s a bonus that the pig-out session leads into The Flush Heard ‘Round the World.
The televised contest goes beyond stirring up warm, fuzzy feelings for the Founding Fathers. It also shows how far our species has progressed from caveman days. We’ve advanced from huntergatherers to a gorger-voyeur society. And we’ll have the best of both worlds when scientists start cranking out those 100 percent wooly-mammoth frankfurters!
(I’m supposed to keep this hush-hush, but I’ve heard rumors that the contest may become part of an Olympic event. Synchronized Heimlich Maneuver, anyone?)
You might wonder why anyone gets into the crazy world of competitive eating. (And it’s not for everyone. Math whizzes tend to freak out when their mind wanders to “x parts of permissible insect parts per million times 50-plus wieners…”) It might be a quest for the “cool” factor, the allure of an offbeat challenge or the sharing of a genuine talent.
Or it can be the result of years of indoctrination by Grandma. (“You’re skin and bones! Eat! Eat!”) Thank goodness other grandmotherly advice has enjoyed less impact, or we’d have Nathan’s Famous International You’re So Handsome You’ll Be Beating the Girls Off With a Stick Someday Contest.
Beyond the world of Nathan’s and less well-known destinations on the competitive circuit are the one-off opportunities for amateurs at smalltown fairs and festivals. It’s good, clean fun when local lawyers, teachers and insurance agents race against each other to chow down on pie or some other homemade delicacy.
Stressful scandals may ensnare politicians, however. (“I wish I hadn’t vetoed the ordinance to zone the festival grounds for barfing! There goes my reelection!”) Some people view competitive eating with bemusement and passing interest. Some are rabid fans. And others relish lecturing about risks such as aspiration, perforation of the stomach and chronic indigestion.
Even some retired competitive eaters bemoan their ailments. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you! (I’m lookin’ at YOU, buddy. I know fingers are shaped like “tube steaks,” but that’s no reason to…) Let’s not forget the crusaders who preach that glamorizing gluttony can be a bad influence on impressionable youngsters. Listen, the bike-crashing kids who idolized Evel Knievel back in the Seventies turned out just fine – or at least they will if they win $10,000 and the Mustard Belt and can finally finish paying off their medical bills.
Whatever your stance on the competitive-eating spectrum, I hope you have a happy Independence Day. Me? I’ll be putting on my old junior high pants the same as everyone else – one can of WD-40 (and one crowbar) at a time. *Sigh*
Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected].
