It all started, when a South American guy, let’s call him Don Juan, told us—full of pride—how many hot dogs he can eat. “Us” are the current residents of the Cosmopolitan Club House, and I should mention that Don Juan is also, or—better yet—is still living with us in that house!
After the story of the one thousand and one hotdogs, eaten by only one man in about ten minutes, I couldn’t resist telling him that I can also eat a lot. A “lot” is measured by a Bavarian standard, and perhaps it would have been better for Don Juan and Pinky to know what this means.
As the attentive reader should have noticed by know, I am from Bavaria. Since my first day on earth I was taught the Art of “Eating as much as possible.” In Bavaria, people love good food and beer. Since I was a baby, I didn’t like the beer older people offered me, so I had to stick to food. You really cannot imagine how happy you can make elderly people in Bavaria by eating four plates of roast pork at the age of five. Whenever and wherever I ate, I made the elderly people smile.
Even though my parents really gave me enough food I was always slim and especially my grandparents feared that their little girl would die of hunger one day. Therefore, they made sure that I was eating more or less the whole weekend when I visited them, and that was about three times per month.
Therefore it was obvious that, after 22 years experience in the Art of “Eating as much as possible” I had to face my challenger: Don Juan, King of the Hot Dogs
The Day of the Showdown was a Friday. The fight took place in “Olive Garden.” Four witnesses (Ajay, Ingmar, Kimiko, and Luiza) came to see the spectacle. After coming home from swimming an hour before the Eating Competition I felt really hungry but also tired. Don Juan, who had taken a three-hour preparation nap, was also very confident. This feeling of confidence didn’t remain too long. After I had finished my third bowl and started—out of hunger—to help him finish his third one, he realized very fast (compared to Pinky) that he cannot win against the “thing” (that’s me).
Just for completeness I should mention that after six more bowls of pasta and two bowls of ice cream, I felt strong enough again, to do some cartwheels and play bowling.
Five people and I thought, that it should be clear by now that nobody could win against “the thing” in an Eating Competition. But we were wrong. An Indian guy, also living in our house, who had not attended the painful destruction of Don Juan’s honor, still thought that he could win against “the thing.” Not only did this guy, from now on called Pinky, want to compete, but also he was so confident about his eating abilities that he agreed to the wager: The person, who will loose the Eating Competition, will get pink hair.
This time I really got a lot of support from my friends. After they have seen or heard about Don Juan’s loss, or should I say his destruction, they were very confident about my coming victory.
Again, the day of truth was a Friday. Coming home from my preparation swimming, already eleven supporters (Ajay, Ana, Andres, Carsten, Felix, Gregor, Kimiko, Luiza, Sheila, Stefan, and Thorsten) and the poor opponent were waiting for me. This time we went to “Papa Del’s.” There they told us that we had to wait for about an hour until the pizza was ready. Nearly dying of hunger, I had to wait for about 50 minutes. Finally, the pizza was there and the battle could begin. After two slices I was already one slice ahead. I was even able to enlarge my head start during the competition to eight slices versus five. Then there was no pizza left, and the evil opponent had illegally saved two slices on his plate. Now we had to wait about 30 never-ending minutes until he was finally able to finish his two slices.
Still he believed—and I could tell he was the only one—that he could win, and refused to give up. Therefore we had to find a new Competition Place and we decided to go to “Pizza Hut.” While Pinky was hardly able to walk, I was doing cartwheels on our way.
Finally, when we reached the restaurant and I was ready to order the next pizza he gave up, not able to swallow one bite more! After eight slices of stuffed pizza I could now finally switch to ice cream and enjoy my victory. Exactly 8 days later we dyed his hair pink.
Now I really thought, that this would be my last eating competition, but I was wrong. There is still someone, who believes that he can win against “the thing.” This poor individual already made his biggest mistake when he chose apple strudel, as the competition food. I grew up with apple strudel and it is my favorite dish!!! Therefore we, the Cosmopolitan Club residents, are already thinking about his wager!
And in some weeks he will also know what it means to be able to eat a lot by a Bavarian Standard!