Published Wednesday, March 10, 2010 11:48 AM
Updated Wednesday, March 10, 2010 11:49 AM
I like to talk about food. A lot. Big Food.
I take my White Castles like I take my Krispy Kremes, by the dozen. I love pizzas that look like garbage can lids, thick hunks of steak that can barely fit on your plate, monster Cathead biscuits the size of tea saucers, and ice cream sundaes served in flowerpots.
When someone serves up Big Food what they’re saying is, we want to make sure you don’t go away hungry.
A friend of mine ordered up some wings at the 25-Cent All-You-Can-Eat Wings Night last week.
She ate five. I eat five wings on the way home, and don’t get any sauce on my shirt. I eat wings like most people eat M&Ms.
She then said if she couldn’t eat them all she’d save the rest to have at work for lunch the next day and opt for the knife and fork.
Ladies have a hard time eating wings as y’all observe rules of dining decorum, the Thou Shalt Nots of Eating.
One: Thou Shalt Not make faces when eating your food.
Two: Thou Shalt Not eat anything in one bite.
You can’t properly eat wings without doing copious amounts of both.
My best is 81 wings on All-You-Can-Eat Wings Night. The record: 181 wings. Yes, they keep count. I like that.
During my last road trip I stopped off at a burger joint in Muncie, Indiana for lunch. I was hungry.
I didn’t even look at the menu. My needs were simple. I wanted the biggest hamburger you got.
The waiter cut a look around the restaurant, as if to make sure no random ears overheard what he was about to tell me. He leaned in, talking in a hushed tone out of the corner of his mouth.
“We got something. It’s not on the menu. You have to order it…” he looks around again and his voice drops to nearly a whisper, “special.”
What’s it called?
“The Colossal Burger.”
Awesome.
“It has everything, plus endless fries.”
As if the Colossal Burger wouldn’t fill me up, they threw in the endless fries for good measure.
That’s what I want. I half-expected to hear sirens go off when they brought my Colossal Burger out to me.
This thing looked like a Big Mac hyped up on steroids.
Two all beef eight-ounce patties as thick as a Stephen King paperback; pickle spears, tomatoes, onions, mayonnaise, mustard and ketchup, all on a double-decker multi-grain bun, and don’t forget the endless fries. It stood six inches high and was held together with a steak knife serving as a toothpick.
It had some heft to it when I picked it up, like a manhole cover. That’s when I heard the woman seated at the table across from me whisper, “Watch everybody that man is going to take a bite of that hamburger.”
And of course I paused.
No way am I going to try and take a whole bite out of this Colossal Burger, though I have to admit, for a few seconds I did pause to consider the logistical requirements.
Step 1: Unhinge jaws like a snake.
Step 2: Engulf as much Colossal Burger as inhumanly possible.
Step 3: Repeat steps One and Two.
There’s even a TV show about Big Eatin’ called “Man vs. Food.” The host is a “self-educated food expert.”
I read up on what they meant by “food expert” and saw he got his start doing soaps, All My Children and Guiding Light. Okay, so I watched soaps, does that make me a food expert too?
I thought, shoot, I’ve been doing this almost twice as long and I’ve got about 60-pounds of food expertise around my middle to prove it.
To do what he does, travel around the country each week and gorge himself on the local cuisine, I’d do that for free.
Just cover my expenses. And the doctor bills.
And my trip to the ER when I stroke out.