Do you ever demolish a plate of nachos, only to wish there were at least five more chips and a little bit of dip still on the plate?
If you haven’t, you’re lying. If you have, then you were in a similar situation to me just last weekend. There I was, in the very early hours of the morning after a night out in Boston with my roommate. My DoorDash order of El Jefe’s Taqueria was strewn across my coffee table, my stomach was almost full of Mexican food and Miller High Life, and my eyes were glued to the “Sex and the City” episode streaming on the TV.
Yet, I couldn’t find solace. I needed more nachos. At that moment, I could have eaten an entire Tostitos factory of chips and queso. This prompted me to think, “I could probably win a food challenge right about now.”
Falling asleep to Carrie Bradshaw being insufferable as usual (I still love her, though), dreams of food challenges ran through my head.
The next day I woke up, still thinking about the art of stuffing your face for prizes and glory. But, the trajectory of my thoughts had veered off its original path. The more I thought and researched about what a food challenge really was, the more I absolutely did not want to partake. And yet, I was perplexed when it came to the culture and lore surrounding this unique yet common competition.
For example, my best friend forever, Maren Long, attempted what was called the Macho Nacho Challenge at my hometown’s local sports bar and grill during our junior year of high school.
The challenge required her to eat an entire plate of homemade tortilla chips “piled high,” smothered in nacho cheese, tomatoes, onions, black olives, jalapenos, and sour cream in one sitting. Her grand prize? The nachos for free, her name on the wall, and a T-shirt.
“Typing that out was really humbling,” Maren said in a text message to me, after reminding me about her 2016 foray into food competitions.
Maren, bless her soul, lost the challenge. She even lost a little bit of the nachos she managed to get down, back onto the plate. Her prize? Paying $31.75 plus tip, then driving away as a nameless participant.
“The fact that I had to pay for the nachos is what kills me,” Maren reminisced.
Where’s Maren today, you ask? She’s at the top of her class at Gonzaga Law School. Not too shabby for someone who almost met her fate at the hands of a loaded tortilla chip.
Anyway, Maren’s experience hurling nachos inspired me to see what other challenges are out there, and the lackluster prizes they offer.
While conducting my research, I found an article that lists food challenges where people can step up to the plate and see if they have what it takes in Boston.
At La Famiglia Giorgio’s, they have Lil Al’s Challenge. Now, don’t let the name fool you. It’s three pounds of homemade gnocchi mixed with four cut-up chicken cutlets and broccoli, all doused in a pink vodka sauce. It has to be eaten in one sitting and costs $46.99. Here’s the kicker… the prize? An “I ate the plate” T-shirt. You don’t even get the food for free! In this economy? It’s ridiculous.
Another fascinating challenge is the Awful, Awful Milkshake Challenge at Newport Creamery. You get three, 24-ounce milkshakes — your choice of flavors — and they must be consumed in one sitting for $13.89. The prize? (I recommend you pause reading here for dramatic effect.) A free fourth milkshake! If you win, not only do you have to pay for the three you already drank, but now you have to guzzle down a fourth.
When reading these for the first time, I did the cartoon eye-wipe, where you open your eyes wide, scrub them like a dirty window, and look again. Sure enough, the bombastic challenges were still on my screen.
The worst part of it all, though, is that most people lose. The manager of the restaurant where Maren almost croaked said that around 30 people try the challenge a year, with maybe one or two of them succeeding.
I kept thinking, “Why on earth do people do this to themselves?” So, I reached out to another source.
When I talked to my family and Maren about the challenges, they thought the idea of them just as ridiculous as I did, but they still partook.
My stepdad, Paul the Canadian, as I call him, entered a food challenge years ago in Laughlin, Nev. during a motorcycle rally. The challenge was for him to eat a 1.25-pound burger topped with all the fixin’s, squished between a very large bun. Unlike Maren, Paul actually won.
His reasoning for partaking, though?
“I was starving, and I saw it on the menu and thought, ‘Well, I could eat that,’” he said.
“I ate and ate and ate, and I got it finished… and I was bloated full for like three or four days,” Paul added. “I never got sick, I just felt like (crap).”
After hearing him complain of the after effects, and being there for the after effects of Maren’s challenge, I asked him if he would ever try it again. To my surprise, he said yes.
“One-hundred percent I’d try it again,” Paul said. “I did it once, I can do it again.”
I then asked Maren if she would ever want to give it another go.
“Yes!!! It’s always been on my bucket list to win one and I really need to redeem myself,” she said.
So, in conclusion, I’ve learned that even the smartest people out there are blindly motivated by self-competition. Truthfully though, I think it shows the tenacity of the human spirit. I find Paul and Maren’s stories empowering — not empowering enough to compete in a food challenge myself, but empowering nonetheless.
Also, food challenges are really not that important in the grand scheme of things, so this is the last time I’ll really dive deep into this subject, and I hope it’s the last for you as well. Go read a scholarly article or something.
