The Mount Sinai of Mastication:Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest

I skipped the fireworks this Fourth of July. Pyrotechnics would only pale in comparison to the fanfare and spectacle of Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest. Part Coney Island sideshow and part sporting event, the contest served up an all-American tradition of celebrating dubious accomplishments.

Adeet and I arrived almost three hours early, only to discover a large crowd had already beat us to the sidelines. We stood for an hour behind the press area, lamenting our limited view, when police removed several barriers and allowed us close to the stage. Now I hoped we weren't too close.

George Shea, the event’s emcee and chairman of the International Federation of Competitive Eating (IFOCE), recalled the old-school barkers of Coney Island's heyday. Sporting a boater and dapper suit, he demonstrated a flair for hyperbole as he welcomed revelers to the “Mt. Sinai of mastication.” He maintained a steady stream of carney banter, breaking character only to encourage donations to emergency food programs, after accepting a "check" for 100,000 Nathan's hot dogs made out to the Food Bank for New York City.

Musicians, trampolinists, dancing hot dog mascots, and even a marriage proposal distracted us from restlessly fixating on the giant countdown clock. Cheerleaders held our attention by firing T-shirt guns into the crowd, but the ESPN cameras that zoomed over our heads whipped up the most enthusiasm.


When Shea introduced the contenders, he enumerated the gluttony of their competitive eating careers—hard-boiled eggs, shoo-fly pie, oysters, cranberry jelly, Spam, jambalaya—ad nauseam. He flirted with the two female contestants, Sonya Thomas and Juliet Lee, and announced each competitor with exaggerated gusto. However, two men received the most attention: last year's victor, Joey Chestnut, and his main rival, former six-time winner Takeru "The Tsunami" Kobayashi. Chestnut possessed the champion "mustard belt," but Kobayashi looked like the true hot dogger, with his mustard-yellow and ketchup-red hairstyle.

The eaters engaged in various pre-gorge rituals. Crazy Legs Conti pulled on a pair of gloves and stretched his jaw, while Pete Davekos tied on a bandana sensei style and waited stoically. Most of the contestants appeared relatively fit, though none possessed the physique of Juris Shibayama, who flexed his body-built muscles. Kobayashi hugged most of the competitors. I wasn't prepared for what came next.


After Shea led the crowd in a countdown, Kobayashi tore through buns with ravenous efficiency and shoved hot dogs into his mouth. Others had red liquid streaming down their arms as they devoured buns dunked in juice. Some jerked their heads back, forcing the food down and fighting the gag reflex, but Chestnut's entire body twitched. Crazy Legs' face took on an unhealthy pallor and the veins in Chestnut's forehead throbbed menacingly. Only Kobayashi looked as if it weren't an entirely unpleasant experience. His face didn't betray any pain, only a determined concentration as he continued cramming hot dog after hot dog. Although I hadn't eaten anything all day, I started to feel queasy.

The contest clearly centered around Chestnut and Kobayashi. Shea shouted out their scores as first Chestnut, and then Kobayashi, took the lead. When the ten-minute competition ended, each had devoured 59 hot dogs. After a quick consultation, Shea declared a tie breaker: the first to eat five hot dogs would go home the winner. Both men ate with ferocious speed, but as Kobayashi pushed the last bit of bun into his mouth, Chestnut had already finished.

I had rooted for the Japanese Kobayashi, fascinated by his cool demeanor and charmed by his hair color. He accepted the second-place trophy graciously and when his translator asked him if he had anything to say, he thanked everyone in English for their love and support. Unfortunately, he also lifted up his shirt, flashing his distended belly. Shea presented Chestnut to us as an American hero and led the crowd in chants of "USA! USA!" Chestnut held his mustard belt aloft, clearly relishing his second victory over Kobayashi.

As the crowd dispersed, Adeet and I made our way to the boardwalk. We passed the abrasive barker at "Shoot the Freak" and stopped at Gregory & Paul's food stand for lunch. Adeet ordered a slice of pizza, and as I considered fried clams and knish, I knew I had only one choice.

I managed to eat half a hot dog, which I washed down with lemonade (no dunking). Maybe next Independence Day I'll eat a whole one, after I cheer on Kobayashi to reclaim his mustard belt. That is, if I can stomach it.

Nathan's Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest
Coney Island, NY
photos and video by Adeet Deshmukh

Ghost Chili Cupcakes: Waiting for the Burn

What do you feed a foodie friend with only a few days in New York? Brooke, a personal chef from Chicago, had enjoyed our weekly “Gyro Night,” eaten sweetbreads and tripe at La Porteña, and expertly slurped soup dumplings at Chinatown’s Shanghai Café. But she still hadn’t experienced an “only in New York” food moment.

“Guinea pig?” I suggested. I knew of an Ecuadorian café in Jackson Heights that served grilled cuy. She responded enthusiastically, but Adeet grew squeamish. Then it occurred to me:

Ghost chili cupcakes.

Pinisi Bakery makes chocolate cupcakes infused with ghost chili, the hottest pepper in the world. I had tried a cupcake in March, and it was a revelatory experience. I’d tasted chocolate and chili together before, but never in a way that swerved along the pleasure/pain border with such abandon.

Adeet called Pinisi to make sure they had the cupcakes available. It was a hot and humid evening, and we didn’t want to expend energy only to end up empty-handed. “Come by in 30 minutes,” a woman told him. We headed to the subway and made our way to the East Village bakery.

Bianca, the attractive woman behind the counter, greeted us with a smile, but when we asked for three ghost chili cupcakes, her face fell. She told us that Andy, the baker, had left to deliver a wedding cake. It was only her third day on the job, and she didn’t know where he’d left the recently made batch of spicy cupcakes to cool.

We stayed and admired the red velvet cakes and tiramisus on display. But as the bakery’s one fan waged a losing battle against the heat, we decided to take a walk and try again in another 30 minutes.

After a few blocks, we found ourselves at Pommes Frites. French fries may not be unique to NYC, but the expertly fried potatoes and dipping sauces make Pommes Frites a worthy destination for any food tourist. Not wanting to spoil our appetite for cupcakes, we split a small and shared a trio of sauces: Irish curry, Vietnamese pineapple mayo, and “war sauce” (European mayo, peanut satay sauce, and raw onion). The pineapple proved the most refreshing, but we made quick work of all three.

Now it was back to Pinisi, where Bianca informed us that Andy had called and was looking for parking. We settled in on a nearby stoop where we could people watch and critique the parallel parking skills of neighborhood drivers. After 20 minutes, I started to entertain disturbing scenarios: What if the baker had grown exasperated looking for a space and gone home? Or maybe a careless driver had rear-ended his van, and he was embroiled in a shouting match.

When he finally arrived, I had to resist the urge to run up and hug him.

Our quest wasn’t over yet, however. We had to wait several more minutes while Andy disappeared to get our cupcakes. Bianca seemed relieved that our mission was almost complete and chatted with us about her recent move from LA to NYC. She’d traded a modeling career for one in screenwriting, and I doubt that she’d anticipated placating a group of ghost chili seekers in her new life. At last Andy emerged with the cupcakes on a golden cake board.

My first bite into the cake was spicy, but not dauntingly so. However, each taste built in heat and culminated in the sinus-clearing chili jelly that filled the center of the cupcake. I ignored the cream-cheese frosting, wanting to prolong the not unpleasant burn. Andy pointed out that the cupcakes were now “jumbo” sized, and they were considerably larger than the first one I’d had. I don’t normally mind more of a good thing, but I think a smaller version might have a greater impact. A mini chili cupcake would pack an almost guilt-free punch, and could pair nicely with a single, bracing shot of espresso.

We chatted with the quick-to-smile Andy between bites. He and Brooke discussed the capsaicin levels of various peppers, and he explained his technique of soaking the ghost chilies in water and using the juice in his cupcakes. We compared notes on New York patisseries—he told us to try Payard, and we recommended Cannelle. Andy’s originally from Indonesia, and when we asked if good Indonesian food could be had in NYC, he laughed, “If I want Indonesian food, I just make it myself.”


When Adeet asked Andy about the name “Pinisi,” he explained that it’s a type of Indonesian schooner. He wanted to associate his bakery with the role ships have played in bringing food into port cities. I imagined people languishing in tropical heat as they waited for the latest arrival of goods and decided his bakery was aptly named.

Adeet and I exclaimed over the cupcakes a number of times, and Andy appeared touched by our effusive praise. When we left, he held his palms together in a quick “namaste.”

And what did Brooke think of her ghost chili cupcake? She bought two more to take back to Chicago.

I wonder how long she waited before taking a bite.

Pinisi Bakery

128 East 4th Street • New York, NY

photos by Adeet Deshmukh