By Jena Levy
Starving, it’s finally 4:30. All contestants sign in. It’s me versus three other girls in my heat. “When I say ‘go,’ ” says the judge. “Ready, set, go!” And we all dive into our plate of chicken wings.
Sigma Phi Epsilon fraternity sponsored a Wing-Bowl contest to raise money for their philanthropy, the YouthAIDS Foundation. Sororities and fraternities were invited to enter three members to participate.
Being the wing-lover that I am, I enthusiastically shot my hand straight up in the air to volunteer at my Alpha Epsilon Phi sorority meeting. I figured, “Why not help a fraternity raise money for their philanthropy and represent my sorority, all the while eating wings?” In my eyes, it was a win-win situation.
That was three weeks before the event. I had more than enough time to prepare. Never having participated in a food-eating contest before, I had no technique. I was like a kid learning how to ride their bike for the first time.
My first step was to build up my tolerance for hot sauce. I could handle it on chicken wings, but needed a cup of water by my side. So I decided to try it on other types of foods. I put it on my turkey sandwiches instead of mustard, on my salads instead of dressing, and used it as a dip for pretzels.
The next step was increasing the number of wings I could eat. I was used to ordering a plate and sharing among four, maybe five, friends. A shared plate of wings allots three wings per person, not enough to win me a contest.
Klondike Kate’s half-price wing night was my first test. I ordered my own plate with mild sauce. They were placed in front of me; there were ten. I looked across the table at my friend Tiffany, who accompanied me to my practice.
“I’ll just eat as many as I can and we’ll take the rest home,” I tell her.
After eating seven wings, I felt I’d accomplished something. More practice came two nights later when my roommate, who eats wings like a champ, wanted to order some for a late night snack. That night I had eight.
Chicken and shrimp Pad Thai was my last meal. I kept dishing mounds and mounds onto my plate. “This has to hold me over until tomorrow at 4:30 p.m.,” I explained to my friends.
Finally, it was game day. I didn’t eat all day to make sure I was hungry so I could stuff my face. After I signed in, the brothers of SigEp announced the rules. You have to eat five wings the fastest. All meat must be off the bone, and when you’re finished chewing, you must open your empty mouth to show the judge. The first two to finish win, and continue onto the next round. Second round, same deal. Except only one person can win in their heats this time. Then those winners from each of the heats compete against each other, and they crown a final victor.
Piece of cake, I thought. I’ve already eaten more than five wings, so that wasn’t a problem. I still had butterflies, though. Who wouldn’t, knowing they had to eat under such strict rules?
Now that it was time to get serious, I realized in the last three weeks, I hadn’t established a legitimate technique. I tried to make one up on the spot. Chew and rotate, I decided upon.
“Jena Levy,” the judge called out. I sat down in front of my five wings and stared. Which one first? I was shaking and realized I had no idea.
“Ready, set, go!” yelled the judge. And I quickly grabbed the first wing my fingers automatically reached for.
Got it down really fast, no problem. Picked up the second wing, got it! Things were going really smooth. I picked up the third wing and started to eat it. But I couldn’t seem to swallow. It was like my throat had closed up and the sides of my mouth had become little doggy bags, and I was keeping the food there for later. My chew and rotate technique was not pulling through either.
I was yelling at myself in my head to swallow. Just do it, I need to do it. But I couldn’t, so instead I just picked up another wing and started to eat it. I figured that as long as I finished all five I’d be fine. But with more meat in my mouth, the harder it was to get it all down.
With a final big gulp, I finished it all, but looked up at the judges and realized it was over. Two girls had already finished, and I was out.
I wasn’t upset though. I walked away with my head held high. I had just competed in what had been my dream contest and enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, the night after the contest, I went to eat half price wings at Klondike Kate’s again. This time, I ate all ten.
