The world of competitive eating can be a funny place.
We’ve certainly come a long way since the first two dudes at a wing-stop thought they’d go head-to-head for nothing but bragging rights and who had to buy the tums afterwards.
Although people have been unhealthily gorging themselves since antiquity (ask Nero what he would do for a Klondike Bar, I bet you wouldn’t have guessed “Burn down Rome”), it seems that turn-of-the-century America is where competitive eating as we know it got its start. The first annual “Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Competition” took place on Coney Island in 1916 and things have proceeded to spiral out of control from there. In recent years, the profile of competitive eating has exploded, giving us Kobayashi, Man vs. Food, and Major League Eating, which, at least on the Fourth of July, is the most popular professional sports organization around.
Why people are so captivated by watching gluttony in action is beyond me, but you know what they say, “Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.”
Challenge accepted.
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The Challenge
The challenge, you ask? Why, how about a bowl of noodles big enough to be a Japanese hot tub. And for this test of willpower, bravery, and gastrointestinal might—mind you all in one hour—one need venture no farther than Castro St. in Mountain View, where you can find Pho Garden: “Home of the Pho Challenge.”
For those of you without a Vietnamese friend, Pho (Actually the “o” has some squigglies and it’s pronounced “fuh”) refers to a rice noodle soup, usually served with beef or chicken—Or, in our case, two pounds of noodles and two pounds of beef in an ocean of broth.
Yeah. Not kidding. We’re talking like three-fourths of a baby. But hey, Joey Chestnut took it down in 14 minutes.
Judgement Day
Hey, we’ve all gotta die one day, right?
That was our motto on the drive down anyway. Our preparation had consisted of a football game the previous night, some hard labor that morning, and a strict moratorium on food for about 15 hours prior to the challenge.
Nerves ran high in we three contenders. I’m not sure which was more intimidating, signing our lives away on waivers or the sight of the unhumanly large chopsticks and spoons we were given. We sat, quivering in fear, uneasily making the odd joke as we waited. And then it came, a veritable aquarium of noodles and meat.
And yet, as we started we were quite confident, absurdly so looking at it in hindsight. We received some helpful advice from our waiter—our strategy was essentially just noodles first, then meat in order to avoid letting the noodles soak up broth and expand—and we were off.
We all started off strong (Kevin was moving at record pace, shoveling noodles down with his hands and an occasional chopstick) and kept up a decent clip for about the first 20 minutes.
Kevin was the first to hit the wall, and when he hit it he was knocked out COLD. For Josh and me the ordeal was extended as we tried to keep chugging long after our stomachs told us not to. Long story short, try as we might we couldn’t do it. Which was really pretty disappointing because by the time we finished we were all in indescribable pain.
But here, I’ll describe it anyway. Imagine swallowing a belt of grenades and then having Mike Tyson punch you in the gut until all the pins came out.
The Aftermath
So there we were, sitting dejected on the curb outside the Pho Garden. Now officially 22 dollars in debt to the kind folks inside. So what did we make off with besides lighter wallets, T-shirts and stomach aches? Oh I’m not sure, I certainly hope there aren’t any lasting health problems… but in a strange way it was actually sort of a valuable experience.
Our waiter told us, “It will all fit in your stomach, it’s just your head that stops you.” And this thought might shed some light on why we love these feats of gluttony after all. It might be a little barbaric, but heck, competitive eating is as powerful a test of will as you’ll find anywhere in the world of sports.
