One Man's Meat Is Another Man's 4-Way

This column originally appeared on Sunday, Sept. 13, 2009

So that we are clear about this, I will start today by declaring openly that I am not in favor of gluttony. However much you think that my adherence to the sin of sloth in my position as a professional newspaper reporter would ipso facto lead me down the road to wholesale acceptance of sins such as lust and greed and wrath, I would like you now to disabuse yourself of that notion. For me, gluttony is right out.

But that being said, let’s hear it for Bob Stoudt of Royersford. Because he is a man who has lived my fantasy for me, and with Cincinnati chili.

Stoudt, of course, is also known as “Humble Bob” when he is out on the circuit of something called the International Federation of Competitive Eating (an organization that screams for a better acronym than IFCE, something along the lines of CRAM, for Competitive Regurgitation Appears Manly.) That’s the group who put on the eating contests involving things like Nathan’s Hot Dogs and Corn Beef and Rye sandwiches.

Last weekend, when I was blissfully celebrating the end of another summer and honoring the workers who proudly built this country so those who came after them could sock shelves at Wal Mart, Humble Bob made his way out to my hometown of Cincinnati, Ohio, to engage in a Labor Day Cincinnati chili-eating contest. He won. Dude put down 13 pounds, nine ounces of chili spaghetti in 10 minutes flat, bless his heart and digestive system.

Of course, the obvious question that sprung to my mind when I became aware that I had missed out on the spectator sporting event of a lifetime was: “Three way or four way?”

That is, in Cincinnati chili parlance, did Stoudt go for the spaghetti, chili, and onion (three-way) selection or the more traditional spaghetti, chili, onion, and grated cheese (four-way) option? In my youth in the Queen City, when an after-school snack consisted of an entire box of Kraft macaroni and cheese, I could easily have seen the pleasure of scarfing down a few pounds of four-way. Now, however, I am frequently made aware of the space that cheese, grated or not, takes up in the stomach and thus, would’ve gone three-way and damn the torpedoes.

But as I saw from the photos that appeared on the Internet of the plates of Cincinnati’s finest that contestants were required to consume at the event (and a better educational tool for the uplifting of our global community than the World Wide Web the world has not known, is what I say), it looks as though the organizers went with the cheese. Again, not what I would have done, but sticking with tradition is something ingrained in the history of Cincinnati and its chili. (How else to explain the side dish of oyster crackers?)

You should know that eating 13 pounds and nine ounces of Cincinnati chili in 10 minutes flat is not something we who grew up in the City of Seven Hills are normally wont to do. We are primarily a civil, polite bunch – the occasional police shooting or The Who concert riot notwithstanding. By the looks of the strands of chili smeared pasta coming out of Stoudt’s mouth as he chewed, and his apparent technique of using his hands to shovel in the food that I saw in one of the photos of the event, I would suggest that as a city we would more than likely not have invited him over for dinner if that was how he was going to approach a meal. Should that be how he wants to eat in his own home, fine. But really.

I will point out two things that struck about Stoudt’s comments after winning the $2,500 prize at the event. First, he said that Cincinnati chili “tastes great.” Secondly, he opined that when he had finished eating he intended to take his son on a roller coaster ride at Kings Island, the amusement park where the contest was held.

The first comment made me think that perhaps he had never eaten Cincinnati chili before cramming his face full of it, which struck me as so much putting the cart before the horse, and the second made me think that if I was in line at the Son of The Beast roller coaster at Kings Island with Stoudt and his son, I would probably let them go on ahead of me.

That all being said, what was important is that Stoudt got to do what I can honestly say is something I have always aspired to – that is, having as much Cincinnati chili as I wanted, within easy reaching distance, and without the approbation I usually receive from my Cincinnati vegetarian nieces when I suggest that a plate of three-way would taste as good at breakfast as it would at lunch or dinner. (400 people turned out to cheer Stoudt and his opponents on as they did battle, a lesson that my nieces would do well to learn.)

That is gluttony at its finest, I suppose. And, truth be told, envy as well.

Michael P. Rellahan is the news editor of the Daily Local News. To contact him, send an e-mail to mrellahan@dailylocal.com