I always thought I could be pretty good in an eating contest.
Minnesota Fats used to boast about being not only a great pool player, but a champion at eating contests. I remember seeing him on TV slouching around and ranting about his eating abilities, while Willie Mosconi tried to just tune him out and focus on the game. Fats, who stole his name and reputation from Kentuckian Walter Tevis and his book The Hustler, probably wasn't much better of an eater than he was a pool player (he never won a major pool tournament) and wouldn't have lasted long if the MLE had been around back in his day.
I'm a pretty good power-eater myself, but I ain't no Joey Chestnut - after four orders of Steak Chimichurri at Mojito's Tapas Restaurant or an entire large pepperoni pizza at Arni's, I need to drink an Underberg.
What the fuck is Underberg? I don't even know. It's German and it comes in a tiny bottle wrapped in old-looking brown paper. It tastes like crap, but powerful crap, in a good way, you know, like Jagermeister and Killepitsch. They've been making the stuff since 1846 using a super secret process involving 43 exotic herbs and aging in barrels of Slovenian Oak. But when you've overindulged, the stuff hits the spot. Like the package says, "it cannot be explained - it must be experienced." (It also says Underberg is "not a beverage".)
Did I mention it's 44 percent alcohol?
- - JSH