Eat This Book: A Year of Gorging and Glory on the Competitive Eating Circuit

by Ryan Nerz

  Competitive eating had discovered the LeFevres. In 2001, Japanese TV producers flew the couple over for a major televised competition. Rich bowed out early due to his distaste for sushi, but Carlene ended up tenth overall out of five hundred eaters. The contest’s winner was a kid named Takeru Kobayashi, who would, in a matter of months, travel to New York for his first shot at hot dogs.

  In the summer of 2002, Rich LeFevre competed in his first Nathan’s qualifier, in Las Vegas. He went head-to-head against a roster of then heavyweight IFOCE eaters—Coondog O’Karma, Gentleman Joe Menchetti, Moe Ribs Molesky—all of whom had traveled West to seek out a weak field of qualifiers. George Shea announced Rich’s odds at a hundred to one before listing the deep résumés of his opponents. “I heard all these numbers and accomplishments,” Rich remembers, “and I kind of rolled my eyes. I thought, ‘Gee, if these guys are so good, it might be tough.’ But I still expected to win. I don’t know why I expected to win.” In his first hot dog battle, and without dunking, Rich downed twenty for first place. George Shea was blown away and told Rich that only seven people had ever done the deuce.

  George had noticed Rich’s unorthodox style, in which he was crouched to within inches of the table, and gave him a nickname he had long been hoping to bequeath. “He resembled a skinny insect feeding his maw with twitching mandibles, so I compared him to a locust during the contest. And there had been a legend in the competitive eating community about a breed of eater called the Locusts, freelance eaters who refused to compete in sanctioned contests, opting instead to set their records without an audience. It was a rare honor, George noted, for a Locust to join the circuit, and even rarer for a ranked eater to “go Locust.”

  Still, despite her husband’s arrival on the circuit, Carlene was reluctant to compete. Not until Rich convinced her to take part in the Battle of the Buffets, a Travel Channel special, did Carlene give in to the lure of competitive eating. It was there that her now famous eating dance, known on the circuit as popping, or the Carlene pop, was first witnessed by the world. The Carlene pop (not to be confused with the Kobayashi shake) is a sort of side-to-side wiggle that aids digestion and helps burn Carlene’s surfeit of nervous energy.

  The Battle of the Buffets included five courses—breakfast, lunch, appetizer, dinner, and dessert—eaten over five days. On the second day, in the lunch round, Carlene won a hard-fought battle against Coondog O’Karma. Afterward, she admitted that she had hit the wall and wanted to surrender, but thought of her husband. “I knew he was gonna be so disappointed with me if I quit,” she said.

  Rich and Carlene have fundamentally different mentalities toward competition. Rich loves to compete and, despite his small size and unorthodox technique, always expects to win. As an example, Carlene discusses a tennis tournament where Rich was up against the odds. His opponents were, in Carlene’s words, “all these macho guys looking like Dean Martin’s son—you know blond, tan legs, six foot two, just drop-dead gorgeous guys. And here comes my little husband with his bowlegs and his one little cheapy racket. And I’ll be darned if he didn’t win that whole tennis tournament.” Carlene adds that he nearly gave himself brain damage running down balls.

  Carlene, on the other hand, is fueled by a fear of failure. Once, after undergoing arthroscopic knee surgery, Carlene’s doctor told her to ride a bike as much as she could handle. Carlene came back a week later, her knee swollen up like a grapefruit. The doctor shook his head, told her to settle down, and added a red flag to her folder to remind himself that she was a pathological overachiever. “That made me realize I’m kind of nutty,” Carlene says.

  Often, before a competition, Carlene will admit to Rich that her goal is just not to finish last. It drives Rich nuts. “It’s like Tiger Woods saying, ‘I hope I don’t finish last in the tournament,’ ” he explains. “It’s ridiculous.” Because of their difference in attitudes, Rich is not afraid to go into football-coach mode. He says Carlene often needs a push in the right direction, be it through positive or negative reinforcement. After a 2004 Krystal hamburger qualifier in which Carlene struggled, Rich didn’t pull any punches. “I just told her she did terrible, that’s all. I mean, if she was doing the best she could and she ate twenty-four, I would say, ‘Nice job, honey’ But she stunk!”

  When Carlene does her best, though, Rich is the first to shower her with praise. At the 2004 Sky City Casino World Posole Eating Championship, in Acoma, New Mexico, Carlene shocked the competitive-eating world by beating her husband for the first time. She ate 109.75 ounces (almost seven pounds) of posole in twelve minutes, and Rich ate only 96.25 ounces. Afterward Rich’s disappointment was totally overshadowed by pride. “She whipped me! I mean she whipped me like Sonya does…. That’s never happened before so I feel really good about that. Maybe this will be the beginning of something great for her.”

  Indeed, there is a beautiful undercurrent of gender equality to their eating exploits. In late March of 2004, amidst one of their many driving trips, Rich and Carlene stopped by Pointer’s Pizza, located in a St. Louis suburb, to attempt the Pointersaurus challenge. The Pointersaurus is a ten-pound, twenty-eight-inch, two-meat pizza. To successfully complete the challenge, two people have one hour to finish the pizza. It costs $42 up front, and the reward for eating it is $500. Over five hundred teams had attempted the challenge, but only five had been successful, none of which included a woman.

  When the Pointersaurus was prepared, Rich decided to make a point. He cut the pizza in half and stipulated aloud that they would each eat half. He didn’t want anyone claiming that he’d shouldered the load. Rich explained to his wife in the form of a sweet nothing, “This way, if two of you had come in here, you would have been successful, too.” They dropped the Pointersaurus in a half hour, all the while chatting with their niece, who lives in the St. Louis area. Afterward, they split a gallon and a half of ice cream.

  The next day, before they left town, Rich dropped by the Crown Candy Kitchen. He’d heard about the malt challenge, which required drinking five twenty-four-ounce malts in a half hour. He did it in sixteen minutes, licked his lips, and shook off the brain freeze. Didn’t have to pay a dime. Since there was still time left, he struck a deal. If he knocked down a sixth one, would they throw in a free mug and a T-shirt? Carlene had mentioned repeatedly how much she loved the mug and T-shirt. They agreed. Rich inhaled the last one in four minutes and, like a high school kid winning a stuffed animal for his girl at the fair, walked out with a smiling woman on his arm.

  The LeFevres are a new breed of retiree. While most elderly couples are playing bingo, Rich and Carlene remain in active pursuit of the next adrenaline rush. Carlene says they live an extreme version of the lifestyle prescribed by Prevention magazine. “We bungee jump, we’ve white-water rafted, we rode those donkeys down the Grand Canyon. We go to the amusement parks and ride the roller coasters, the crazy rides, over and over till we have whiplash in our necks.” They don’t need children, Carlene says, “because we are each other’s child.” After winning the posole-eating contest, she described the thrill of their extreme lifestyle. “We like to do those things where you could die, ’cause if you don’t die, oh my, what a rush.”

  The LeFevres epitomize the new breed of competitive eater—thin, active, and obsessed with healthy food. Competitive eating is just another adrenaline rush, one that provides exciting travel, prize money, and media exposure. Contrary to the common preconception, competitive eating is an organic part of their healthy lifestyle. “In order to do this you have to be even more healthy,” Rich says. “In order to make up for what you’re doing in the contests.”

  Rich and Carlene claim to have low cholesterol, low blood pressure, and low tolerance for salt, fat, sugar, and simple carbohydrates in their diets. After contests, they don’t take laxatives and they don’t vomit. The only time they’ve ever gotten sick was after the 2004 SPAM-eating contest, affectionately known as the SPAM Cram. Had it been a SPAM-burger-eating contest, as they’d been promised, they w
ould’ve been fine, but a dearth of buns changed that. “They just took the SPAM out of the can and dumped it on the counter and you just ate the whole slimy block. It was gross.”

  If their doctor ever says they are prediabetic or plagued by high blood pressure or cholesterol, they have vowed to quit, but for the time being, they’re going to continue to up their game. Both have overcome serious impediments to get to where they are. Rich, originally a distance eater with poor cheek capacity, had to teach himself how to swallow and stuff for the speed-eating discipline, and Carlene had to get over the self-consciousness of eating in public. Now she relishes the spotlight and has been known to fix her lipstick in the reflection of her knife after a contest.

  They rarely train for eating events, but discussions of strategy are ongoing. As for next year’s pizza contest, they will learn from their mistakes. “I’m going to tear off the cheese and start chewing that,” Rich explains. “And while I’m doing that, I’m going to have six cups of water in front of me and I’m going to take that pizza and I’m going to rip it up and put in the water.” Carlene disagrees. “I don’t see any sense in eating the cheese by itself. But you know that rim around the edge that’s like a leather belt? I’m going to rip that off and put it in the cup and let it sit there for at least two minutes while I’m eating the other parts.” As for my part, both Carlene and Rich agree that I better check those boxes for crusts. “Next time, either have more judges or not as many eaters.”

  17

  The Wing Tour with the Black Widow

  Black widow is female spider, right? And then, when I go to eating contest, I am the woman, female. And the female spider kill the male spider.

  —Sonya Thomas, in the documentary You Swallowed What?

  As an IFOCE employee, I’m given info on a need-to-know basis. All I know about the present mission, which George has vaguely dubbed the Wing Tour, is that I’ll be going on a one-week expedition throughout the Midwest with Sonya Thomas and Drew Cerza to promote Cerza’s brainchild, known as the National Buffalo Wing Festival. Drew, who owns a food promotion company, got the idea for the festival from the animated film Osmosis Jones. In the movie, the character voiced by Bill Murray is a fried-food addict. Murray’s daughter, concerned for his health, suggests a hiking trip. Instead, Murray wins tickets to the National Chicken Wing Festival in Buffalo. The movie prompted Buffalo newspapers to question why such an event didn’t exist. Cerza stepped up to the plate, and on Labor Day of 2002, the first Wing Festival took place.

  On June 21, 2004, I arrive at the Buffalo airport. While waiting for Sonya’s plane to arrive, I unwisely order a dozen buffalo wings in the airport terminal. She arrives, and we take a cab to City Hall, where a kickoff ceremony celebrating the fortieth anniversary of the invention of the buffalo wing awaits us. As our cab pulls up at the monument circle in front of City Hall, we find ourselves surrounded by birds. Most of them are seagulls, but the more noticeable ones are humans walking around in chicken mascot costumes, clucking and bobbing their heads. Free wings and water and cookies are handed out from temporary booths. Beneath an inflatable gateway arch that bears the Wing Festival’s insignia is a podium, around which reporters and cameramen are gathering.

  Sonya and I meet Drew Cerza, who is dressed as his alter ego, the Wing King. The Wing King wears a red velvet cape and a protuberant foam hat that’s supposed to be a chicken wing but looks more like a massive orange brain tumor, the likes of which could only be caused by a Chernobyl-caliber atomic disaster. As for the “wing scepter” Drew asked me to bring, unfortunately last year’s wing-eating champ, Cookie Jarvis, found it too unwieldy to mail to me.

  The press conference begins. The Wing King stands beside a chicken mascot and a tall man with thinning, parted-on-the-side politician hair, who I discover is Mayor Anthony Masiello, a former basketball star who was once drafted by the Pacers. There’s another guy, short, buff, stylishly dressed, and with the suspicious remnants of a tattoo peaking out beneath his well-ironed button-down shirt. His skin is an unnatural orange hue that’s either the result of chronic buffalo-wing consumption or countless hours at the tanning salon. They all smile for the camera and talk about what the chicken wing means to the city of Buffalo. Orange Guy makes a joke about “having a leg up on the competition.” Sonya and I put our luggage in an RV, grab some free wings, and sit on the steps eating.

  As we eat and chat, seagulls gurgle and bob toward us, clearly insinuating they’d like to be involved in our meal. Sonya, being the kindhearted sort, tosses a drumstick toward an eager seagull. Without hesitation, the gull swallows the drumstick whole and waddles away. Sonya and I look at each other, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh!” she says. “Do you think it’s okay?” I shake my head and shrug. This feels like an omen, a harbinger of bad things to come, but it somehow strikes me as funny. I bear no ill will toward seagulls, but they lack the ability to tug at my heartstrings. Sonya is distraught though, imagining the impossibility of such a small creature digesting and passing a relatively huge bone. Overwhelmed by guilt, Sonya points out that seagulls and chickens are both birds. It’s an exquisitely simple observation that seems to ease her concern somewhat.

  After the press conference, we head over to the Anchor Bar and Restaurant, the alleged birthplace of the Buffalo wing. The story goes like this: One late Friday night back in ’64, Teressa and Frank Bellissimo, the owners of the Anchor, are cleaning up the restaurant when a pack of their son Dominic’s friends walk in. They’re all starving. Donnie tells them to wait until midnight and they can have whatever they want. After a round of drinks, Teressa emerges from the kitchen with two huge, steaming, saucy platters. Dominic’s friends look quizzically at the plates. Teressa explains that she was about to put the wings in the stockpot for soup, but they looked so scrumptious that she decided it would be a waste. So she cooked them up with some butter and hot sauce, and that was that. “But there’s no silverware,” one of the kids said. “Keep quiet and use your fingers,” said Frank.

  As we sit down and order yet another round of buffalo wings, I notice Orange Guy wandering the restaurant. Is he following us? Drew Cerza says a quick hello, and I wonder if this guy’s a Bellissimo. The wings arrive and they are truly sensational. I find myself watching Sonya’s eating technique to see if I can pick up any pointers. Just as Badlands once showed me way back in our Hooters interview, she strips the bone of meat with one swoop. I begin to feel that I am taking part in American culinary history, sitting with the Wing King and the world’s greatest wing eater at the spot in which the buffalo wing was invented. Perhaps something special is afoot.

  JUNE 22, 2004

  ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA

  We’ve spent the morning doing radio publicity spots, at which Sonya did a two-minute wing-eating exhibition against a deejay. (My job was to keep quiet and take pictures.) Now it’s early afternoon. Sonya and I are sitting in Drew’s SUV, waiting for Drew and Lon, Drew’s brother-in-law, who is here as our resident jack-of-all-trades, to assemble the wing-cooking trailer and the eating-contest tent at each venue. We’re sitting here because Sonya claims to be cold, even though it’s a temperate seventy-five degrees out. I’m smoldering and ask permission to open the window.

  To pass the time, I start asking Sonya questions in an attempt to unearth the enigma behind the appetite. She is generally close-lipped about her personal life, so I’m surprised when she starts to open up. Sonya explains that she was born in Kunsan, South Korea, on July 26, 1967. Her given name is Lee Sonkyong. Her father was a poor carpenter, and she has three siblings—a younger brother, an older brother, and an older sister. From a young age, she was responsible, hardworking, and mature. She always felt compelled to do the right thing. While her siblings were weak, she considered herself strong.

  By the age of six, she insisted on walking to school alone. By age nine, she worked a paper route. At age ten, she would walk to the beach and dig clams and oysters to sell for spending money. She competed with adults at digging clams, challenging h
erself to see how fast she could shuck them from their shells. “I was gooood,” she says. “Better than my mom.”

  She has always been extremely competitive. “In my family, I’m only one who’s competitive.” Her goal in all things is to be number one. It is an inexplicable drive from within, not just to excel at each chosen task, but to rise above others. “If I’m gonna be in New York City Marathon, I have to win it. That’s why I don’t do it.” Her competitiveness and strong will sometimes caused her problems as a child, such as when she wanted certain types of stylish clothes. Even though her parents couldn’t afford the clothes, she begged them ad nauseam, until they relented. “I have to have it. I couldn’t sleep.”

  She explains that traditionally, in South Korea, parents support their kids until they graduate from college, and even into adulthood, but her parents were too poor. In high school, she attended a trade school where she learned accounting, English, and Japanese. In the summers, she got a job at a shoe factory with five of her friends. When her bosses discovered her work ethic, they gave her extra responsibilities. “Even in factory, I’m so good. I work so hard. I don’t take it lazy. They give me toughest job and work me so hard.”

  Sonya always had grand ambitions for herself. As a thirteen-year-old, she wanted to be a basketball player, but they said she was too short. She wanted to be a badminton player, but they told her she didn’t have a quick enough reaction time. She wanted to be a TV personality, a news anchor maybe, but was told she wasn’t pretty enough. Undeterred, she applied to school for television work, but her parents couldn’t afford to send her. “I wanted to be something different than normal people, something extraordinary.”