My friend did the Big Lad challenge and it was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen

He submerged the bread in Pepsi before eating it so it stayed compact in his stomach


12662720_1014055851989535_5935657967009911368_nThe first thing you notice when entering Build a Burger on Botanic Avenue is the wall of faces covering a cork notice board to the right of the room. “Big Lad challengers,” it reads. A plethora of people holding gigantic burgers rest on one side. Hundreds of pictures, all of them losers. On the other  sits the champions. Clothed in a yellow shirt, sweaty, grey faced. There are less than a hundred of them. They don’t look like they’ve won much. They looked broken, like they were the ones that had been chewed up and swallowed, not the burger.

I always wondered why anyone would want to subject themselves to that. The burger doesn’t look especially delicious. Most people have no toppings to help with the challenge. Just meat, bread and some cheese to add flavour. They pay twenty pound to do it, and lose their money even if they win. They have thirty minutes to finish a 36 oz (two pound) burger with a 12 oz Belfast Bap (made in Downpatrick, naturally) and will likely loose whatever they managed to eat not long after the finish. So when my editor asked me to cover a story of someone trying the challenge I was surprised when the exact sort of person who would do this challenge came to my head. It was so obvious, I couldn’t believe I’d never though of him before. My flatmate Oisin.

He’s the kind of person that eats with the speed and desperation of a re-homed dog from an NSPCA advert. I feel uncomfortable eating with Oisin. Drinking’s the same too. When you’re with him you feel like you’re taking part in a race you never agreed to enter. And he will eat anything. If anyone has any food left over, it will find it’s way to Oisin’s mouth. I once watched in horror as he silently reached across a table and took a finished pot noddle from my hand, scraping dripping flecks of mushroom and noodle juice into his mouth. Another time I watched him staring at a found Haribo fried egg that had been sitting on the ground for longer than we had been in the room. There were a few hairs stuck to the side of the marshmallow egg white. Oisin stared at it longingly, a deep melancholy in his eyes knowing that it would be a step too far. I’m not sure if he would have done it had I not been there, but I know that he wanted me to.

Oisin was the perfect candidate to try the Big Lad. Maybe he would even finish it. I thought it would be enjoyable, but I never thought it could be a winner. Oisin had just the right mix of desperation and disorder that could push him over the victory line. I called him and asked him if he would do it. “Fuck yes Paul, this is the exact sort of thing I should be doing with my life.” He ended the call with an unnervingly sincere “thank you” and told me he was going to start preparing.

I saw him that night. He told me how he’s been watching the videos of Randy Santel, a professional eater from America who had the current record for the Big Lad challenge. This guy literally made a living from eating challenges (now there’s a racket if I’ve ever heard one). Oisin told me how if he was going to finish, he’d needed to eat the meat first, as fast as he could, before moving on to consuming the bread through a technique known as dipping. He would submerge the bread in Pepsi before eating it so it stayed compact in his stomach. If I knew one thing about this challenge, it was that it was going to be fucking disgusting.

We booked the challenge for Monday. It was Saturday night and Oisin had bought 30 oz of Tesco value burgers to practice. He ate them all, without the bap, but it was a good sign. It really seemed like he might be able to do it. I went to my room and looked up the stats for the Big Lad and we had our first bad omen. Just over 70 of the people that had taken the challenge had finished the burger out of a whopping 2500. I told Oisin the bad news, that he had a 97 per cent chance of failure. “I’m going to be in the 3 per cent” he replied.

The night before he fasted and went to the gym. On the morning he ate a light granola breakfast with water and would eat nothing else until the challenge at five. We both made our way across the street with a small gang of supporters to see if he could do it. They brought us our seats.  Oisin had bought his own Pepsi for the challenge, not realising that Build a Burger supplied as many soft drinks as needed. But Oisin’s politically opposed to Coke and that was all they offered, so he was happy for his purchase. They brought him a plastic container for dipping the Pepsi, like the sort you get for chicken curries.

After a few minutes, they brought out the burger. It was hefty, easily the size of Oisin’s head and when he decided he was ready, it began. The clock started counting up to 30 minutes. If he couldn’t finish it in time, that yellow shirt would be forever lost. If he could, glory was all his. Interestingly, Build a Burger has a dedicated soundtrack for the Big Lad challenge. The opener was “Eat It” by Weird Al and Oisin dove head first into the challenge, nodding his head to the music while furiously swallowing unchewably big bites of meat.

He finished about half the burger before there were any signs of struggle. I saw him close his eyes, as if he was looking deep inside himself for the power to go on. He must have found it, because he devoured the rest of the meat in no more than three bites. I over heard one of the workers saying “This boy knows his shit” and Oisin nodded, more than a man now, a being of pure eating challenge energy. But the real test was still to come.

Oisin took the huge top of the Belfast Bap and began ripping it into smaller sections to make it easier to eat. He began dipping, leaving flakes of crust in the growingly gross plastic container. He stuffed pieces of bread into his mouth like they were going out of style, letting Pepsi and crumbs dribble from his mouth. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Everything was looking good, but panic set in when Oisin’s girlfriend, who was there supporting, instinctively retched at the sight. This set off Oisin. He was going to throw up with no more than a third of the Bap left to go. He was bloodshot, visible tears heavying his eyelids.

It was at this point the theme from Rocky IV kicked in, the one from the montage scene. It gave Oisin what he needed to go on. He managed to contain the retching and started dipping and stuffing with a new found determination. And just as the clock came to 23 mins, Oisin finished his last bite of the Big Lad. He was triumphant. He took a last sip of Pepsi, his champagne of victory, and it was over. They handed him the coveted yellow shirt and he wore it like a champion. A pale, sickly champion.

We left Build a Burger in the presence of a King. On the walk home Oisin nearly threw up three times. But he held it down and with it, his pride. That night he went to bed at seven in a food coma stronger than the one one has after their first Boojum. Before he passed out I asked him if it was worth it. “It was” he said, “Thank you man”.  He stumbled to his bedroom and took of his yellow shirt, laying his trophy carefully on the bedside table. He was twenty pound poorer, but richer in spirit. He slept for thirteen hours, missing his first class the next day.

I saw him later that night watching television in our living room. “Still full?” I asked. “Yeah” he said, “I don’t think I’ll be eating for a few days.” I made my self some pasta and sat down with him to watch Grand Designs. I was full after about half the bowl and set it down in front of me. His hand crept into my vision and he took the bowl from the table. I looked up at him and he smiled, knowingly. “Thanks man” he said, before finishing my dinner.