No time to chew: the world of competitive eating

I jam my spoon into the half-gallon tub, shoveling a ridiculously large amount of creamy vanilla ice cream into my mouth. No time to chew, I think, as it drips down my chin. No time. Just swallow.

Damn, this is cold. So very cold.

Here at the swanky Water Club in Manhattan, I wonder: What must the classier diners think of my manners? Two gentlemen nearby are clawing at ice cream with their hands, so I figure I fit in fine.

No matter, this was the moment I'd dreamed of since I saw Japan's Takeru Kobayashi cram 53 ½ hot dogs into his mouth years ago. It was my moment to shine as a competitive eater.

Only one question remained: Could I keep up?

I dream of eating

Always the dedicated carnivore, I'm no stranger to ingesting impressive amounts of meat. I can recall a time when I out-ate friends at a hot-dog stand, then had ice cream.

Somehow, I got inspired to test my mettle as a gastrointestinal athlete. The International Federation of Competitive Eating — the IFOCE, to its friends — has a dedicated following, with colorful competitors pursuing records for corn on the cob, onions and even mayonnaise.

To many people, the whole concept of competitive eating is disgusting. It symbolizes and promotes an overindulgent America, some say, and it wastes food while people starve.

Perhaps both criticisms bear some truth. But competitive eating is far from a strictly American phenomenon — it's about as popular in Japan as anywhere else. And while the money and food could be put to some better use, so could the billions spent on producing mainstream sporting events, not to mention Hollywood movies.

For me, competitive eating is a fun diversion. It's about not taking oneself too seriously. It's entertainment — funny, quirky, absurd entertainment, half carnival, half professional wrestling.

What, no meat?

Since competitive eating has been growing as quickly as Americans' waistlines, I knew I'd find some sort of competition. Then I learned that the World Ice Cream Eating Championship was coming to town.

It was a daunting challenge. For one thing, dessert isn't my thing — the last time I'd eaten even a pint of ice cream was in college, because I didn't have a freezer in my dorm. Also, I had only a week to prepare.

IFOCE President Richard Shea put me in touch with professional eater Jason "Crazy Legs" Conti, who didn't really do much for my confidence.

"Ice cream is a tough event to break into the circuit," Crazy Legs said. "Eight minutes of ice cream is like climbing Mount Everest; equipment failure, frostbite and mental meltdown are all possible."

Approaching my first foray into competitive eating, "brain freeze" was the least of my worries. I kept picturing the pie-eating scene in "Stand By Me": total barf-o-rama.

Just keep it down

Fortunately, during the competition itself, the frantic atmosphere is keeping me distracted from any such fears.

The music blares as audience members cheer for the 10 men that Shea dubbed "weapons of mass digestion." I'm sitting next to Don "Moses" Lerman, the world bologna-eating champion. Also vying for the title are fourth-ranked Patrick "Deep Dish" Bertoletti, a culinary student; and, wearing face paint, sixth-ranked Tim "Eater X" Janus, who's a mild-mannered day trader during his Clark Kent hours.

Twelfth-ranked Crazy Legs, wearing gloves, calls out through his ice cream-soaked beard for more.

"He can have some of mine," I joke.

Shea announces that Deep Dish is the front-runner, then, looks to me for the ultimate speed-eater's insult: "Eric Fields is pacing himself."

Time is up, and we drop our spoons. Several eaters are shivering. Eater X warms himself in a marathon-runner aluminum cape, and Deep Dish dons a winter jacket. John Liu, a fellow first-time eater, attempts a few words: "Ith your tongue frothen too?"

Frozen? I feel like the dentist just shot my mouth full of Novocain. Which is appropriate enough, since I probably just developed several cavities.

A seat at the table

Shea announces the winners. In the top spot, Deep Dish Bertoletti, who set a record by eating 1.75 gallons.

A peek into everyone's containers confirms that I came in dead last, though I certainly set a personal best.

"You should commend yourself for simply being at the table," Crazy Legs said.

What about the health of competitors who regularly binge? It's a worry, certainly. But the sport seems to be moving away from heavier eaters of years past.

In 2004, Kobayashi told The Associated Press about his "layer of fat theory." "You have to gradually build up your gut by eating larger and larger amounts of food, and then be sure to work it all off so body fat doesn't put a squeeze on the expansion of your stomach in competition."

This July 4, Kobayashi himself may be the one under pressure. Third-ranked Joey "Jaws" Chestnut recently set a new U.S. record — 50 hot dogs — making him America's first contender at Coney Island in years.

As for me, when my wife and I watch this year's contest, I'll have an intimate understanding for the challenges the eaters face as they stare down hot dogs and buns.

No more eating contests for me, though. At least until matzo ball season.