By John M. Glionna, Los Angeles Times, September 4, 2006
PHOTOGRAPH by the Los Angeles Times
SAN JOSE, Calif. — As the curious crowd counted down — “four, three, two, one!” — Joey Chestnut hovered over a plate of lukewarm Japanese gyoza dumplings. Flanked by a dozen other “gurgitators” in Los Angeles’ Little Tokyo, he gritted his teeth and readied himself.
Months of voracious training — gorging on food and guzzling up to three gallons of water a day to keep his innards stretched — have turned the stocky 22-year-old San Jose State engineering student into a red-hot newcomer on the competitive-eating circuit. It’s a regular feeding frenzy that’s part circus sideshow, World Wrestling Entertainment farce and novelty endurance sport.
Proponents, who make their pitch with the fervor of carnival barkers, say eating events are as American as the hot dog, which, not coincidentally, is consumed at the tour’s premier event on Coney Island each July 4.
Critics say the eat-offs are crass and risky spectacles that mock efforts to instill healthy nutritional habits by promoting eating disorders such as gluttony and bulimia. “Signs of a societal decline,” Ralph Nader once called such competitions.
Sanctioned by the International Federation of Competitive Eating, the tour features scores of regular competitors and some 100 events each year — many staged as adjuncts of fairs and other cultural happenings, such as mid-August’s Nisei Week Festival in Little Tokyo.
Chestnut is a binge-eating anomaly. While many power eaters wear garish face paint, hide behind masks or grease their hair into grotesque sculptures, Chestnut is a soft-spoken guy who avoids such cliches.
“I don’t go for ski masks or mohawks,” he said. “I just like to go out and win. That’s my gimmick.”
Since joining the tour two years ago, fitting weekend events between college classes and full-time work at a Bay Area construction company, Chestnut has trained with the seriousness of any semi-pro athlete. He’s constantly readying his body for that 10-minute onslaught of massive quantities of tiramisu, hot dogs, crab cakes, meatballs, seafood jambalaya, sausages, pizza, baked beans, mayonnaise, raw butter or beef burritos.
The 225-pound Chestnut has set world consumption records for deep-fried asparagus spears (6.25 pounds in 10 minutes), grilled cheese sandwiches (47 in 10 minutes), pork ribs (8.4 pounds in 12 minutes), waffles (18.5 half-pound waffles in 10 minutes) and horseshoe sandwiches, a concoction that includes ham, French fries and a cheesy sauce (6.3 pounds in 12 minutes).
On this Saturday, his goal was to eat the most gyozas in 10 minutes without throwing up — the gustatory gaffe that tour aficionados euphemistically refer to as a “reversal of fortune.”
At the bell, the gorging began. Chestnut violently crammed handfuls of mushy dumplings into his mouth. Competitors call this “the frenzy.”
Facing the crowd, standing behind a row of tables, the southpaw used a two-fisted technique, moving the food to his mouth in a blur of motion. Hips swaying, he sipped water, took a few cursory chews and then swallowed.
Chestnut didn’t think much of the frozen gyozas he trained on. But these fresh dumplings tasted good. Boiled and then lightly fried, the chicken-and-vegetable snacks weren’t greasy, and their rubbery casing didn’t stick in his throat. Within two minutes, Chestnut had devoured the first plate of 25 dumplings.
Still, he kept a wary eye on the petite 100-pound woman beside him. No average eater, this was Sonya “the Black Widow” Thomas. One of only a handful of female competitors, she is one of the most dominant eaters on the circuit.
The Korean-born Thomas, from Alexandria, Va., holds two dozen records — including 552 oysters in 10 minutes and 11 pounds of cheesecake in nine. Like a black widow spider, she says she wants to eliminate the men.
So far, Chestnut and Thomas have split a dozen showdowns. He recently overtook her for the No. 2 spot in the federation rankings, behind Takeru “the Tsunami” Kobayashi of Nagano, Japan. Power eating’s greatest legend, Kobayashi holds the record for cow brains (17.7 pounds in 15 minutes) and once challenged a Kodiak bear to a two-minute eat-off. (He lost.)
Chestnut felt the Black Widow’s presence, a woman who takes eating passionately and studies videotapes of opponents.
As the pair attacked their second plate of dumplings, Thomas resembled trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, her puffed-up cheeks full of gyoza.
Chestnut’s face turned beet-red. He had started what’s known on the circuit as the “meat sweat.”
Joey Chestnut’s training in food shoveling came early: at the dinner table as the fourth of five kids in an Irish-Italian family.
“To get second helpings, you had to eat fast and finish your first plate quickly,” said Chestnut, who grew up in the Bay Area city of Vallejo. “I was pretty fast.”
The first public display of his childhood prowess came in June 2004 at an amateur burrito-eating contest at a San Jose taco shop. The shop record for a 5.5-pound burrito was one hour. Chestnut devoured one in eight minutes. He came back another day and cut his time in half.
Nearly a year later, younger brother Willie signed Chestnut up for his first “professional” event: an IFOCE-sponsored lobster-eating contest in Reno. He tied for third.
Two weeks later in Stockton, he set his first record: deep-fried asparagus.
His strategy: eat with a rhythm and drink enough during events to stay lubricated. He has also learned to ignore the queasy feeling of being full.
Chestnut was hooked: “I’ve always liked to eat, but this was taking it to a new level, as a sport I could train for and excel at.”
Between contests, he said, he eats lightly and healthfully, pushing his body only for a week prior to sponsored chow-downs.
Critics, however, worry that even occasional binge eating could have health risks, though they acknowledge that there is no long-term research on it.
IFOCE Chairman George Shea concedes some dangers, saying that’s why fans are discouraged from gorging at home and competitors must be at least 18 years old. “Even for our stars,” he said, “we don’t suggest they do this every day, every week or continue for 20 years straight. We’re promoting something moderate, sustainable and fun.”
The contest regimen has made him healthier, Chestnut says, and richer: He has won more than $60,000, money he puts toward his tuition.
Chestnut likes the competition, but also the camaraderie. “We provide each other with a support group,” he said. “We’re all doing something that most people consider strange — a little weird. But we’re not freaks.”
His oldest brother, Lucky, a law enforcement officer in Contra Costa County, has accompanied Chestnut to events. He’s amazed by the red-carpet treatment afforded the eaters. “At most events, they’re treated like rock stars,” he said. “Free travel, nice hotels. Even limos in some cities.”
Still, Chestnut stays humble: He drives his own car to many regional contests, often bringing family members such as Willie, who sometimes wears a T-shirt that reads: “My big brother can eat more than your big brother.”
So far, Chestnut has avoided the dreaded reversal of fortune, at least during a competition, which would result in disqualification. Even the best eaters aren’t immune to the gag reflex. At the Coney Island contest, Chestnut said he saw bits of hot dog come out of Kobayashi’s mouth and pointed out the potential violation to referees. He was overruled but didn’t complain. “That’s not the way I want to win,” he said.
That day, Chestnut lost to Kobayashi by 1 1/2 hot dogs. He took it hard. “It’s a July Fourth hot dog contest on Coney Island — how American is that?” he said. “You don’t want to lose to anybody, but especially someone from another country.”
Chestnut pledges to beat Kobayashi for power eating’s No. 1 ranking. But the hot dog loss still lingers like heartburn.
“Every time I look at a hot dog,” he said, “it hurts.”
Three minutes into the Little Tokyo feed-off, Chestnut was nearing 100 gyozas. He started fast, but Thomas soon made up ground.
Several late-entry amateur eaters stopped to watch the stars. The crowd of 600 roared.
Chestnut kept his hand over his mouth as he chewed to keep from ingesting air. Bobbing and weaving in rhythm, he looked as if he was playing a harmonica solo.
After seven minutes, each had downed 150 gyozas.
Then it was 200.
“Which one wants it more?” the emcee barked.
When the bell sounded, both crammed several last-ditch gyozas into their mouths, which count as long as they’re swallowed.
As the judges tabulated the results, Chestnut leaned on the table, exhausted. He said his biggest urge after a contest is to sleep — after gaining as much as 10 extra pounds in 10 minutes.
The official tally: Chestnut, 212; Thomas, 210. The record for eating gyozas went to Chestnut. It’s his sixth world mark.
Chestnut was mobbed by well-wishers. As he posed before an outsized version of his $2,500 winner’s check, a fan grabbed his arm to buy him a beer.
“You have an incredible gift,” the man said. “You’re my hero.”
Chestnut smiled. “Yeah, it’s a good life. I get paid to eat.”
