Man, in hot dog suit, runs.
In Alan Sillitoe’s, “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner,” the narrator sent away to Bristol’s Boy’s Reformatory, finds he can only really think, while alone on a long run - not to escape the prison but to escape the drudgery of a life predicted. I’ve always enjoyed Sillitoe’s, “Saturday Night, Sunday Morning” as a mediation on the night one is away from the factory and drinks to excess before the reality of Sunday’s mundane world arrives, head-splitting and aching (the main character is also sleeping with his co-worker’s wife, so he’s probably got more worries than just the hangover.) Revisting “Loneliness,” makes me realize that Sillitoe has written a fine analogy for competitive eating - granted we love a Saturday night after-party - but it’s the long runs, on foot for runners, but with hot dogs and buns for pro-eaters, that provide the journey into oneself and the realizations that occur when we (or the HDBs) arrive at the other side.
Indeed, speed-eating is a talent, and the number one Gustory Gladiator on the planet, Joey “Jaws” Chestnut recently told the number two eater, Carmen “Cutthroat” Cincotti that he should always demand a fee for his talent. Currently, I am ranked #29th and pretty much agree to every freebie appearance or gig I am asked. Recently, I judged a meatball cooking contest (The East Village’s Boulton and Watt’s hand-ground lamb ball with whipped feta and pesto lost to Trademark’s traditional sauced ball with secret ingredient ricotta cheese.) I also had 3 hours of my competitive eating stories put to a reasonable one-hour improv by the talented Bridge and Tunnel troupe. One sketch, based on when Eater X and I had banked over 1000 Nathan’s hot dogs in deep frozen storage, presumed hot dogs as currency and set at a strip club the improv troupe, “Made it rain hot dogs,” leaving the stage strewn with 60 wieners, of which, only one was mashed, like the career of many failed gurgitators. I felt for the smooshed dog, once again realizing the power of communing with one’s meal (or contest food.)
To aim towards taking the chomping talent to paying my too-damn-high rent in the East Village, I contributed to a burgeoning YouTube video channel run by Major League Eating (in addition to a fee, they reimburse food and EMT costs.) I recreated Willy Wonka’s magic chewing gum, famously eaten by Violet Beauregarde, by blending in a powerful Nutribullet, tomato soup, roast beef, baked potato with butter and sour cream, and blueberry pie ala mode. It formed a brown sludge that tasted like, well, brown sludge. I also tackled other eating myths in the hopes that the MLE channel will go viral, much like #3 eater Matt “Megatoad” Stonie’s own channel where he gorges himself (on 100 slices or bread or 12 pints of ice cream) to the tune of $300K a year.
I launched via my fashion label, Big Nate Apparel (“Nonactive Wear for the Nonactive”), a clothing line of my visage. After all, my Grizzly Adams meets Salvador Dali mug is one billboard famous in Coney Island. The line, found at here and there features artwork by Richie Miller - wonderful negative space ready for serious food spillage (as a pairing I recommend the fuschia sweatshirt with roasted beets.) As a seventeen year competitive eater, I’ve not sung for my supper, but suppered for my rent. I’ve mouth-slammed a crave case as entertainment at a Bar Mitzvah (I ate against an older brother because in Judaism you become a man on that day, but in Major League Eating, one has to be eighteen to pro-eat.) I’ve been a video game avatar, eaten against puppets, and in a real life Wolfing of Wall Street, entertained on the trading floor by showing off hot dog technique while Eater X demolished the last of sub-prime tubesteaks. I do believe my competitive eating is a talent, but to turn charred brown into plump green has been a struggle. My mind and stomach is open to ideas - as if a giant neon sign blinks, reading “Will eat food for food or other basic sundries.”
My next contest is the venerable St. Elmo’s Steakhouse shrimp cocktail eating contest at the Meijer Tailgate on Georgia Street in Indianapolis as part of the Big Ten Football pregame celebration. I was there it’s inaugural year in the outdoor contest, as 20 degree weather caused the spicy horseradish and succulent shrimp to form a seafood snowball. Even the great Joey Chestnut (current record holder with 15 pounds in ten minutes) had to look into his frozen hand to see how many shrimp he was holding before it disappeared into his cold belly. Like the a Sillitoe narrator says, “Every run like this is a life - a little life, I know - but a life of misery and happiness and things happening as you can ever get really around yourself.” Each Major League Eating contest is the same - it’s a marathon not only of mastication, but of contemplation - filled with agony and victory and satiety - each bite, chew, and swallow bring us closer to the finish line and closer to understanding ourselves.
Crazy Legs Conti can be found (or hired) at www.crazylegsconti.com