Competitive Eating

I wouldn’t say my family is particularly competitive. My brother and I didn’t fight over who was stronger, smarter, or faster sibling growing up. My parents never pitted us against one another in order to make us work harder, incentivizing the spirit of competition. Us Berksons just aren’t built that way. Not on the surface, anyway. I think it’s the cherubic cheeks that are so deceiving. We appear friendly and generous, and we certainly are, right up until the topic of food comes up. Then, the gloves are off.

At our dinner table you either eat quickly, and with your elbows up, or you get poached. Whether it’s dad’s unapologetic thievery, my brothers quick, penetrating fork skills, or the infamous “mommy tax,” your food with be snatched up and gobbled down if you’re not careful.

I suppose that’s why, when dining out, ordering became such an intense sport: you had to be sure that regardless of the “sharing is caring” policy that applied superficially, you were confident with your menu selection regardless of what your dining mates chose, just in case. It is for this reason that today, I rarely eat out without having thoroughly researched the destination. Furthermore, if placed in a situation where I have not gather ample information to make an informed decision, I panic. I will ask every server, bartender, line cook his or her favorite dish, maybe even take a lap to the bathroom just to scout other tables to regain my confidence prior to placing my order. You may think me obsessive, however a chance to dine out is not an opportunity to be wasted on a dud dish.

Most people will sit down at a table and make small talk, or even launch into the main discussion before ordering. I am practically incapable of doing so. As long as the menu remains on the table, my eyes are darting back and forth across it, searching for clues as to which dish holds the greatest combination of flavors. Moreover, I find it difficult to make my own decision without knowing the choices of those in my company, even if sharing is not on the menu. My dad’s favorite response to the question is “It’s a surprise” which is both intriguing and immensely irritating.

Among family members and close friends who understand my insanity, entrée selection becomes an all out debate. I never thought I was stubborn, but try to sway me away from a seductively comforting bowl of pasta or anything with goat cheese, and you'll find yourself facing an immovable mule. My mother and I have been known to wave off servers 2 or 3 times before reaching an agreeable verdict. Just imagine the silent treatment and guilt trip that ensues if mistakes were made during deliberations. 

What a relief it is when the pronouncements have been made to the triumphant server, distracting menus cleared at last, and glasses of victory libations placed before us.

Now, of course, once the food arrives, you know the drill: Elbows up! Defend your plate! 

Smells like... adventure

I consider myself a very open-minded person, especially when traveling. When I find myself in a foreign place, I become sponge-like, hoping to absorb as much of the culture as I possibly can. To me, this is the only way to travel: with an open mind and a big appetite. It is this very attitude that propels me into strange, unusual, and (at times) uncomfortable situations all for the sake of food. Some of my most memorable meals have been in restaurants that were located in the wrong part of town, the ones that had no name, the ones that couldn’t be found except by the most seasoned residents or by suspiciously long lines. These are the places where you order by pointing at other tables because they have no comprehensive menu, names of dishes may never be known, nor ingredients revealed. But in these places, it doesn’t matter. These are the places where food memories are born.

While I was living in Thailand, my inquisitive appetite took my mother and I on one such adventure. We found ourselves being propelled down an uneven Thai street on the back of a rickety tuk-tuk. Careening around turns and nonchalantly blowing past stop signs, our driver turned to us with a toothless smile to reiterate that he had no idea where we were going. He brought the “vehicle” to a grinding halt before shooing us off and pointing out another driver, lazily lounging on his own makeshift vehicle. A moment later we were once again assaulted by the thick, pungent Bangkok air as we cruised through a deeper circle of an inner neighborhood. At last we arrived, but where exactly we were not sure. You see, we were seeking a restaurant with a name that seemingly not even a native speaker could pronounce, let alone a farang like myself. Sweaty, hungry, and intrigued we started down an alleyway that allegedly hosted Chotechitrl, an infamously tiny yet tasty restaurant.

As we came around a particularly dark bend, we smiled knowingly and inhaled the richly fragrant aroma. Our nostrils filled with the scents of sweet sugar, salty, acrid fish sauce, and sour chili-laden vinegar. Our brows were wet with perspiration and our eyes stung with the biting heat as we sat down at a small table in this hallway-like restaurant. We were greeted not with menus, but with tall glasses of Chang beer poured, Thai-style, over ice to battle the ferocious heat. We looked around eagerly, admiring the ample plates of food that surrounded us. From that moment forward, our entire dining experience rested in the capable, calloused hands of an older Thai woman, who waved her spatula in the direction of others diners and demanded, “Chai/Mai Chai?” Yes or No. That’s how we were to order. Like I said, we were entirely in her hands. We sat back and let the heat and our success wash over us as sipped our beers and laughed at each other. We had made it this far, and we were not the least bit concerned about what was about to happen.

These are the moments we remember. Adam Gopnik describes these as moments of arrival and expectation, when we sit down for a meal and our nerves alight with anticipation. Some of us never get over the thrill of the chase. Luckily, when it comes to food, there’s always another food adventure around the corner.