I have been challenged, dear readers, to — of all things — a steak eating competition. And who would be so foolhardy as to challenge me, the undisputed King of All Carnivores, to such a battle? A girl. And not just any girl, but the Goddess of Shoes herself, Dr. Isis. She writes:
My good man,
It has recently been brought to my attention that you and I may be in the greater New York area during a similar period of time a few months from now. Knowing that, I challenge you to a duel.
And she posts this picture of the weapon of choice for our duel, the 40 oz porterhouse at Peter Luger’s in Brooklyn.
Beautiful, isn’t it? Perfectly charred on the outside, still delightfully pink and juicy on the inside, glistening with rendered fat….
I’m sorry, where was I? Oh, yes, this “challenge.” My response:
Isis, my dear –
I know that spending so much time with a young child can sometimes reduce one’s faculties a bit. And lord knows that even the most well-crafted high heels can cause a serious delay in blood flow to the brain. But as a physiologist, you know all of that.
What you clearly do not know is that, to quote Vizini, you’ve fallen for one of the classic blunders. The best known are never get involved in a land war in Asia and never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line, but only slightly less well-known is this: Never challenge a fat man to a steak-eating contest.
I am to charred flesh consumption what Lance Armstrong is to bike racing. What Michael Jordan is to basketball. What Cato Kaelin is to couch crashing. What Rush Limbaugh is to pill popping.
Tryin to bring down me, the champion?
When y’all clowns gon’ see that it can’t be done?
Understand me son, I’m the slickest they is,
I’m the quickest as they is, did I say I’m the slickest they is
You see that lovely steak in the picture? I’ll take two of them. Stitched together with bacon. With a side order of lard and a hunk of cheesecake the size of my head. You are in so far over your head that you’re gonna need a mile-long high heels to see daylight.
Your challenge is accepted, with much enthusiasm. I only add one demand: When I’m still eating and you’re doubled over in pain, wondering what ever possessed you to do such a foolish thing….don’t go crying to your mummy about your tummy.
With all due respect (and sympathy),
P.S. You do know CPR, right?