In high school, I could eat! I was a growing boy, always hungry and never gaining weight. I felt invincible, or so I thought. There was (and maybe still is) a restaurant in Tampa that offered a six-pound challenge: ninety-six ounces of beef for the willing. Eat it all, and the table eats for free. I rolled in there with my family like I owned the place. I was so young and confident that I even took my girlfriend. The whole family gathered around to watch, ordering what they wanted because surely, we’d all be eating for free.
The place really knew how to do it up. The chef came out with a cowbell and a bullhorn to announce, “This young man thinks he can take the challenge! This, friends and family, is not for the faint of heart! If you have a heart condition, are pregnant, or may think you may be, you should not watch.”
Dads brought their kids over to look, holding them high to watch the spectacle. They looked at me and then their kid, thinking, “One day, son, you may make me this proud.”
The challenge was six pounds of beef in an hour. I’m no expert on steak, but I do know this: that steak sucked. It was so huge I couldn’t cut all the way through it. I had to chop triangular wedges out of it like I was an axeman besting a redwood trunk. Several times I had to send it back because I’d hit a raw spot. For every raw spot, there was a patch of meat as tough as leather.
By the time the clock stopped, I think I finished a little over four pounds. I may have been able to continue, but my jaw was sore and tired of chewing. Mouth fatigue.
I left with my picture hanging in the four-pound section of the “wall of shame,” right there along with all the other overconfident “I can eat anything” losers.
But the funny part is this:
When I went off to college, leaving high school behind and starting anew, I was a six-pound champion. Somewhere along the line, I told the story of how I ate six pounds of meat, and from there, the legend grew. Once again, I felt invincible.
A few years later, when I took a college friend home, the topic came up of where to go for dinner. My brother (pictured above with the look of awe at the sheer size of the challenge before me) suggested we go to the steakhouse.
“Nah, I don’t feel like going there,” I said, knowing I’d be caught in a lie.
“Hey, isn’t that the place with your picture?” my friend asked.
“Yeah, I think so. How about seafood?” I offered.
Soon, we were on our way to the steakhouse, where we would find my crushed ego.
Preemptively, I confessed, “Listen, about that challenge. I’m not the man I’ve portrayed myself to be. I never actually finished the ninety-six ounces. I failed the challenge. I failed you.”
And then the tears of betrayal began. The cries about shattered confidences. Between the sobs, I could make out, “How could you!”
When we got there, I learned the steakhouse had burned down and been rebuilt since then, erasing all the awards and photos.
But I was able to sleep easy with a clear conscience after a nice salad with a side of confession.