I learned something new Monday — that those hot dogs consumed like so many M&Ms at Nathan’s in Brooklyn every July 4 are grilled. Not boiled. Not steamed. Grilled.
I suppose that makes a difference to someone, but I doubt it does to Joey Chestnut, even though the thought of him eating something grilled over an open fire is certainly a delicious pun. More delicious, I would say, than the 63rd, and final, hot dog Joey Jaws ate within 10 minutes at Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest on Coney Island.
Joey won by 20 hot dogs over his nearest competitor, which is something akin to what the Yankees are doing to the rest of the American League this season. Or, as Alex Trebek used to say during a Jeopardy runaway, “he can’t be caught.”
I haven’t missed one of these extravaganzas in I don’t know how long. They are addicting. But I don’t watch to see how many hot dogs Joey, or his competitors, can scarf down. The very idea of the whole thing is gross, to be honest.
But my, oh, my, this thing is so much fun to watch for so many other reasons. Paramount among them is the hyperbole in which carnival barker George Shea — who founded this celebration of grandiose gluttony with his brother, Michael — engages. This guy is worth the whole show.
Monday, Shea began his bombastic blathering by saying that the corner of Surf and Stilwell, where Nathan’s on Coney Island is located, was the place where God and the Devil met for their final battle. You have to give the guy credit. Like someone else we all know and love, George has the best hyperbole.
Of course, it’s stretching the bounds of credulity to call Joey Chestnut an athlete, even if the annual gorging of the gourmands is broadcast on ESPN. But even if Joey won, he was looking a little ragged. First, he got out of the car escorting him to Armageddon sporting crutches courtesy of a ruptured tendon — or something like that.
One wonders how Joey Chestnut got a foot injury. Did he drop a hot dog on the floor and then slip on it? Let’s work on that, TMZ.
He could have come by it honestly, word has it that Joey works out. Well, he must if he eats that many hot dogs and still fits through the door.
All through the 10 minutes of scintillating action, Joey looked as if he was going to explode. He had this pained look on his face as if to say “I must be crazy doing this every year. My foot hurts like hell and I’m here bouncing up and down to direct all this food into my stomach.”
Then, when he’d stuffed the final frank into his mouth, he covered it with his hand, as if the entire load of 63 was going to come jettisoning out — projectile style. But, pro that he is, he managed to keep it down, at least through the post-binge interview.
I’m sorry. As terribly gauche as this is, I can’t miss it. There’s always something about it that makes me laugh, and the way the world is today, a good laugh is worth every chortle.
This is American Kitsch at its finest, though George Shea probably wouldn’t use a German word that meant “garishness.”
But Nathan, and Joey Chestnut, by now, have at least entered the zeitgeist of American excess. And that’s something George could surely use. And I’ll bet he even knows what “zeitgeist” means, too.
