The Eating Adventures of a Checker Cabbie
If you are fan of Eric BADLAAAAAAANDS Booker or Run DMC (or both) you will enjoy this 49 second video:
Famous Fat Dave and Badlands Rap
Let me just say this: it was the single greatest moment of my career.
Famous Fat Dave Video: Nathan’s Famous 4th of July Hot Dog Eating Competition Vs Eric Badlands Booker
Let me give you some advice. If you ever do a Nathan’s Famous hot dog eating competition, don’t do it for the FIRST time AT the original Nathan’s in Coney Island, WITHOUT ever training, AGAINST a legendary professional, ON CAMERA. If you do, you could end up looking foolish.
That’s basically what I did for the grand finale of the History Channel Dot Com Holiday Foods series. I went to the storied Stillwell and Surf location to take on the storied Eric BAAAAAAAADLAAAAAAANDS Booker in a mini three minute version of the 4th of July Nathan’s Famous hot dog eating competition.
Badlands has been a personal hero of mine for a number of years already, if only for the open mouthed poses he has mastered for the camera. But when I was told I’d be going up against him in battle, I did a little research. I knew he held some records, but I didn’t realize he held records for some of my favorite foods: cannoli . . . corned beef hash . . . candy bars . . . matzo balls . . . donuts . . . burritos . . . hamentashen! And it’s HIM up there in the middle of the big board staring at Tekeru The Tsunami Kobayashi, hot dogs at the ready.
I was intimidated to say the least. Badlands is a competitive eating Goliath, and I’m no David. I did spend a summer selling Nathan’s hot dogs at the Single A Cyclones ball park right next door to the original Nathan’s. And any hot dog I couldn’t sell, they’d let me take home for free to my endless bbq in the 2004 Summer of Awesome (as it came to be known). I’d eaten more than my fair share. Still, I thought I’d better train a little so as not to make a fool of myself.
As luck would have it, my best friend Greg bought me a sweet ticket to see my lowly Nats take on the mighty Phillies down at the ball park in Philadelphia the night before the contest. AND IT WAS DOLLAR DOG NIGHT!!!
It would have been the perfect opportunity to get some practice in. Never mind Badlands, I could see what I was up against internally. But the dogs in Philly have less snap than Nathan’s dogs. Nathan’s dogs, the ones at the flagship location at least (I don’t know why Nathan’s Famous would sully its good name by selling snapless franks in supermarkets and franchised locations the world over), are encased in real intestine so they taste way better but they’re harder to eat. It’s an entirely different experience biting through one of those.
I still should have tried eating one in Philly as fast as I could to see how I fared. Instead, I convinced myself that I’d die of nitrate poisoning if I ate a bunch of hot dogs the night before a hot dog eating competition, and so settled for a photo op with Greg, and only really ate two . . . slowly. Rookie mistake.
When the day came I was NOT prepared. After leaving Philly at 11pm, I had to stay up until about 430 writing a paper for school. I was on NO sleep. Aaaaaand I had a shoot early in the morning during which I had to eat a bunch of tacos (delicious tacos at Alma, but not the proper way to start my day).
By the time I got to Coney, I was so nervous. And worse, I felt like a pretender to the throne. People train for years, fight through dozens of qualifiers, suffer through endless heartbreak before they get to compete at Nathan’s against the likes of Badlands Booker. And here I was, a rank amateur, getting a shot at the champ just because I had cameras with me. Shame washed over me when I saw the big man approach.
But anyone who knows Badlands Booker knows he is a great guy. Truly a gentle giant. He greeted me with a “What’s good Famous?” and immediately put me at ease. Even the sight of dozens of hot dogs didn’t really effect me because I was having such a blast with Badlands mugging for the camera and such.
However, when I met the EMT on hand, I got nervous again. It’s funny that even though I should have felt better that there was a trained medic who would be just feet away while we competed, it made me more ill at ease. I guess I was thinking about how dumb I’d feel if I choked on a hot dog.
Badlands told me it’d be a good showing if I ate five in the three minutes we had. I decided I could down 7, at which point Badlands said, “Oh it’s like that, then we’re ON.” That’s how inexperienced I was. I didn’t even know I was challenging the pro when I was challenging him.
I stupidly decided NOT to dunk my hot dogs in water on the logic that dunking is gross and I could eat more if I was actually enjoying them. The competition began, with three cameras set up, a four person film crew, Ryan Nerz – author of the hilarious “Eat This Book” – announcing, the EMT standing by, and about 20 onlookers gathered round. And on my very first bite I immediately realized, “There is NO way I’m gonna eat 7 hot dogs.”
The bread expanded rapidly into every corner of my mouth. The bite I took must have been far to big. I couldn’t swallow if my life depended on it. But I only had three minutes to compete and Badlands was chomping through two dogs and buns (dunked) at a time. So, prematurely, I dunked my dog and took another big bite. Now it felt my whole head was filled with wet bun and chewed up hot dog. There was nowhere for it go. It just went in circles around my mouth. It was not pleasant. And I was making a fool of myself.
After a full minute I hadn’t even finished one. By the time I recovered from the original bite, half the competition was over. I managed to nearly choke on a couple of occasions too because I’d be chewing all that wet bun up front and a stray piece of hot dog would try to escape down my throat. I felt like I could end up like the little girl Moonlight Graham had to save in Field Of Dreams. That’s not how I wanted it to go down.
When three minutes were up I’d eaten less than 3 hot dogs (and I’d chipmunked the last 3/4 of a dog, Major League Eating lingo meaning I had just shoved it into my cheeks) while Badlands swallowed ELEVEN. That’s a really good pace for him considering the real competition is four times longer and his personal best is 30 and a half.
When I finally downed my chipmunked hot dog, I said, “I’m not even full,” and Badland responded with “You wanna go again?!? Let’s GO.” With that, we were off for, as Ryan Nerz put it, “An unprecedented one minute overtime.” None of that part made the cut for HistoryChannel.com so I’ll tell you, I managed just one more hot dog while Badlands downed another FIVE. What a pro.
Badlands had been semiretired from the competitive eating circuit when I met him. He’d lost 120 pounds (then gained another 40) he told me. He’d gone from an XXXXXXL Nathan’s tee shirt to an XXXXL. Everyone wanted to know if he was going to get back into the game. Last week, I heard he won a qualifier in Camden New Jersey and he will be ON STAGE tomorrow at the 4th of July Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Competition. I’d like to think I had a little something to do with it.
Missed the video link at the top? Here it is again: Famous Fat Dave Vs. Badlands Booker At Nathan’s
(Post-competition it’s a classic Badlands pose)
(Badlands Booker you’re my hero)
(Badlands, Melissa, me, and a lemonade)
(Badlands, Ryan Nerz, Me, and the Crew. Thanks History.com)
Visit www.FamousFatDave.com for five borough eating tours where the original Nathan’s Famous is a classic stop
I really don’t like Domino’s. But I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve eaten my fair share of Pizza Hut and Sbarro’s in my day. Still, I like Totonno’s of Coney Island a LOT better:
www.gothamist.com/archives/2006/08/06/the_hungry_cabb_18.php
Click www.famousfatdave.com to schedule a five borough pizza tour
Take it from a pickle man, Brighton Beach is a good place to pick a pickle:
www.gothamist.com/archives/2006/07/13/the_hungry_cabb_12.php
Visit www.famousfatdave.com to book an personalized eating tour. May I suggest the Pickle Tickle Tour
A lot of people, I am told, apply for good jobs when they graduate from college. They enter the work force swinging, and they don’t stop until they’ve retired to that beach house or country home 50 years later. A lot of people, my parents often tell me, keep their eyes on the prize so they can land that six figure salary and send their own kids to college.
My parents dropped a cool hundred grand on my four years at NYU. And when I graduated, I wasted no time. The ink on my degree wasn’t dry yet, and I filled out my very first job application. I drove down to Coney Island, walked up to the first cashier I saw at Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs, and demanded an application and a hot dog with sour kraut and onions.
I neglected to mention my college degree to them. I also neglected to mention that I planned to triple the value of my hourly wage by consuming enough hot dogs to train for the International Hot Dog Eating Contest like Badlands Booker. Yet the manager looked at me like I was crazy and told me he’d get back to me. I called every day for weeks until I was finally informed that I was “overqualified.” I didn’t feel overqualified, and I was heartbroken.
(The true king of the open mouthed photo op and a personal hero of mine: Badlands Booker)
You have to understand, I am the type of person who stops for a hot dog on his way to eat ribs. I’ve based my entire philosphy of cab-driving on a chance encounter I had with a Chicago cabbie who pulled off the highway to get a Super Dog with me on the way to O’Hare.
Hot dogs, I must say, are one of my great passions. I consider it one of my worthiest accomplishments in life that it was my grilled hot dog during my bbq at my bungalow in Rockaway that was the first bit of meat my vegetarian friend Mark ate in close to a decade. “Is this a really, really good hot dog Dave? Or is this just what they taste like?” he asked, wide-eyed. I just smiled. Within days, he was eating multiple hot dogs per week, he was the star of the annual 7th Street Community Garden Pulled Pork Party, and he eventually moved to Argentina in part to partake of their bountiful and inexpensive steak.
During a stormy evening in Chicago a few years back, I was so overcome with the excitement of a coming hot dog run to Big Herm’s Hot Dog Palace that I decided to race the car to the store for the last long block. I was in the throws of a folk hero phase at the time and felt like the John Henry of the North Side that night. I jumped out of the car in the pouring rain and kept up for (as I recall) quite a while until my brother and cousins left me in the dust. The whole while I sang: “Big Davey when he was a babyyyy, settin on his mammy’s knee, picked up a hot dog in his little right hand, said this’ll be the death of me me meee, yes this’ll be the death of meeee.” As I ate that dog that night dripping wet, I felt I had become a sort of folk hero myself.
And I think I was right about it being the death of me. A couple of summers ago, I finally landed a job selling Nathan’s hot dogs in Coney Island. I worked as a vendor in the stands at the Brooklyn Cyclones minor league ball park. The Cyclones were not good that year, and crowds were sparse. That was not good for business (I’d take home $25 on a good night), but it was even worse for my diet. Since I got to keep the hot dogs I didn’t manage to sell, and the longer the season dragged on the more hot dogs I took home to my endless bbq, I realized almost too late that I was edging perilously close to actually becoming Ignatius J. Reilly. Ironically, since I had a rockin tan from living on the beach that summer, people kept telling me that I looked marvelous (tans have a slimming effect). I could honestly tell people, “Thank you, I’m on a hot dog diet.”
(Crucified by my own gluttony at Nathan’s Famous)
So when I saw A Hot Dog Program on PBS a few weeks ago documenting the nation’s best hot dogs, I was chomping at the bit. I’ve lived in New York for close to a decade, but I’d never heard of Rutt’s Hut just across the Hudson River in New Jersey. At Rutt’s Hut, they deep fry their hot dogs which burst open in the oil, and they serve them with a homemade relish that you can spread directly into the gaping wounds in the extra crispy dog. They are called “rippers,” and I had never conceived of something so enticing in my entire life of excess and gluttony.
Yesterday I made it out there at the beginning of a brief road trip I’m making down the eastern seaboard. I got lost and had to ask directions at an ice cream parlor. The girl there told me the deep fried hot dogs were “kind of gross,” but I paid her no mind.
When I arrived, I ordered myself “a hot dog,” too whimpy and out of my element to confidently ask for a “ripper.” What I got looked just like what I’d seen on the documentary:
My first, ravenous bite after so much anticipation and hullabaloo might be most appropriately described as the biggest disappointment I’ve had the displeasure to experience since the Yankees choked and then choked and then choked and then choked again in the 2004 American League Championship Series.
The skin looked the part, but it was almost rubbery. The relish was lacking something (I think it was the flavor of pickles). The meat inside had shrunken and shriveled and retreated from the lackluster casing. And the dog had not one bit of snap to it.
(This candid, greasy-mouthed shot of me eyeing the ripper says it all)
I marched back up to the counter, having heard one hefty local order a ”ripper” (or three) loud and clear. I asked for one “ripper” and was met with the same sad dog. I hung my head. I’d been duped.
As a consequence my faith in PBS has been shaken at its very core. How can I ever trust Public Broadcasting again, or, for that matter, any other grand public institution (regardless of the systemic corruption and cronyism). I let my belly down, so I’m going to blame some of the people in this room – and then I do not forgive. The next hot dog I eat, I assure you, will be from a place good enough to work for.
Nathan’s Famous, 1310 Surf Avenue, Coney Island, Brooklyn
Rutt’s Hut, 417 River Road, Clifton, New Jersey
Go to www.famousfatdave.com for a laugh or to book an eating tour
