I’ve traveled thousands of miles to eat massive portions of food—but never for TikTok challenges or Instagram fame.
I ’m staring down at my second 12 - nut omelet of the sidereal day , a goliath the size of a small child . It ’s August 2008 , and I ’m atBeth ’s Cafe in Seattle , a splendid honkytonk that constitutes one of the final stops on a Confederate States of America - to - north cross - country drive that began inSan Diego . My stomach was empty and the first omelet had gone down chop-chop and with ease , a luscious , belly - lining blend of testis , cheese , and various fillings , laid atop a knoll of buttery hash browns and a fluffy cooky . It was so satisfying and went down so easily that I could n’t fend ordering another . You only live once , ripe ?
The waitress , frolic a Betty Page haircut and arm sleeves of colored tattoos that were omnipresent in later - aughtsSeattle , eye me skeptically as I grind in . She ’s in all likelihood realise her share of people trying to affect their friends by down just one of these big boy , but I ’m not here for that . I ’m by myself and drown by a fierce hunger , not having eaten sincehikingaround theMount St. Helens National Volcanic Monumentin Oregon earlier that Clarence Day .
This scene — one of hundreds , to be sure — captures the essence of my relationship with food for thought before the age of viral challenges and Instagram - worthy meal . I ’ve always been describe to massive percentage , not for celebrity or likes , but for the pure joy of eating . rise up , my sizable sib and I share an immense appetency that bordered on fabled . Together , we blasted through boxes of pizza and epic stacks of double cheeseburger ; we were just always hungry .
Photo illustration via Getty / Maitane Romagosa
As I left college and murder the road , my appetite come in with me . In 2005 , I establish myself at aCulver’sin Valparaiso , Indiana , on a sweltering Midwest summer day . I had just spent the afternoon atIndiana Dunes State Park . It was a surprise oasis , with toweringsand dunesthat seemed out of place in a landscape painting that also let in a full view of a nuclear mightiness industrial plant and a U.S. Steel production quickness . I ’d climbed the sand dune , feeling the burning in my branch and the Dominicus on my face , before wading into the surprisingly percipient waters of Lake Michigan .
To crest off the day , I casually down Culver ’s touch custard in quantity that would later stumpAdam Richman onMan v. Food ’s Crown Candy challenge . The creamy , cold custard was a arrant antidote to the daylight ’s heat , and I lose enumeration of how many I ware . Meanwhile , further south , in Fort Worth , Texas , I discoveredEsperanza ’s , where I ’d happily devour Syrian pound of fresh - parched flour tortillas . The tortillas came out piping red-hot , somewhat charred in spots , with a perfect chewiness that kept me come back for more .
Again , these were n’t gaudy meals plan for societal medium ; they were unsubdivided , delectable , and deeply meet .
The author awaiting a pair of french fry-filled sandwiches at Primanti Brothers in Pittsburgh, 2018.|Photo courtesy the author
As food challenge gained popularity , though , I found myself drawn into the competitive eating world . In 2012 , I attempted a 6 - pound “ four high mallow ” burger challenge at a now - closed steakhouse onPittsburgh ’s South Side . There , amidst one of thelongest stretch of prevention in the United States , I meet disaster . The burger was overstated , the time set oppressive . For the first sentence , eat felt like a job rather than a pleasure . When the well - meaning proprietor asked me if I wanted the leftovers boxed up , I rock my capitulum no . I never wanted to see that repast again .
Despite this setback , I could n’t resist the temptingness of render such a challenge again . In 2015 , I tackled the72 - snow leopard steak at the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo . Unlike the Pittsburgh catastrophe , this steak was cooked somewhere between medium rarefied and rare . I finished it in 90 pleasurable minutes , well over the mandated hour take to get it for complimentary , and gladly paid full Leontyne Price . It was n’t about puzzle the clock ; it was about savour every bite of that perfectly fudge gripe . I had experienced my vision of the Lone Star State . I would recall that finical flavor — and the office it called home — forever .
aboveboard , such was the case with every destination I ate my path through . Take that Clarence Day at Beth ’s Cafe in Seattle . I was n’t just devour those enormous omelets — I was engross what remain of the grubby essence of the city , which I never got to visit during the nineties . The tattoo - cover hipster waitress , the dingy charm of the 24 - hour diner , the flavor of coffee and lubricating oil hanging in the melody — it all unite to create a intuitive memory of Seattle that no mere visit tothe Space Needlecould match . Perhaps I was assimilate something of the alternative era ’s stay stereotype , the way Jack Kerouac see what he want to see when he first set metrical foot in Mexico . But it was still the realisation of a trip-up I hanker to make back when I was a beefy kid with a halfway part who heed to bands like the Melvins and Mudhoney .
The author preparing to eat a 2.5-pound filet at Tessaro’s in Pittsburgh, 2008.|Photo courtesy the author
likewise , the physical exertion of climbing those unexpected Midwest gumption mountains in Indiana — doing something that Walter Payton , a childhood idol of mine , had done , true with far more grace and explosiveness — set the microscope stage for my subsequent feast at Culver ’s . As I downed custard after custard , I was n’t just cooling off — I was sue the twenty-four hour period ’s experience , letting the flavors of Wisconsin custard mingle with the memories of gazing at a nuclear reactor while feeling Indiana grit between my toes .
Even the swelter driving force I took from Lubbock to get to the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo became an integral part of my meaty experience there . The endless Texas landscape , the stifling heat in my AC - less Honda Accord , the bluff emptiness of the panhandle — all of it made that 72 - snow leopard steak taste like more than just beef . It was a distillation of Texas itself , big and sheer and unapologetic .
This connective between food and place is what I find miss in today ’s viral food challenges . When someone set about the“Three - Headed Monster ” at M’Jays House of Smoke , are they really tasting the suburban disasterpiece that is Arlington , Texas — home of so many parking dozens and arenas , right in the utter center field of the Dallas Metroplex ? Or are they just taste the pressure to do for their interview ?
The author staring down his second omelette at Beth’s Cafe in Seattle, 2008.|Photo courtesy the author
Do n’t get me improper , I understand the appeal of these challenge . They ’re entertaining , they bring the great unwashed together , and they can be great marketing for restaurants that deserve the love ( M’Jays , my friends assure me , is very good and deserves whatever attending it receives , include its fireplug here ) . But they seem to miss what I ’ve always cherished in my travels : the satisfaction of a meal well - eaten in an unfamiliar place well - travel , not a challenge conquered . I ca n’t shake the belief that something is lost in this new world of performative eating . The quiet atonement of a big repast enjoyed purely for its own sake , the reflective quality of focusing entirely on the giant flavors and textures in front of you , in a place you might never natter again — these strike me as casualty in the race for the likes of and vista .
