August bank holiday weekend. The morning after an evening that would have made the cheeks of even Shandy Van der Meyde turn an embarrassed shade of pink.
Herds of giant wildebeest-like shapes are grazing in the Lancashire countryside as we approach the outskirts of Westhaughton. Maybe it’s just the locals. Franny Lee was born here.
Fifteen minutes later it’s half a beast of alleged pig in sausage form surfing across the grease on the Sam Allardyce sized hostess trey in front of me. Ten of them.
It’s not the bangers that worry me, though. It’s the ten pieces of toast. Buttered with Stork. Accompanied by ten eggs, as many rashes of bacon, five black puddings, fried mushrooms and a red ocean of beans – this dubious feast deserves its title as the largest commercially available English breakfast, according to Guinness World Records.
At 5000 calories per serving - twice the daily-recommended intake for a man - it is probably the unhealthiest menu on the planet. It also comes without a cup of tea, coffee or any other drink and must be consumed within 20 minutes. My mouth feels as dry as a desert nomad’s sandal just thinking about it.
Mario, the Neapolitan born proprietor and head chef of the imaginatively named Mario’s Cafe Bar, is not your average Italian home foodie lover. “My family would have a heart attack if they saw what I was serving,” he says before revealing that he supports AC Milan.
Today, we’re the ones facing up to the prospect of a coronary bypass. Barely 12-hours earlier, I had watched Red Barclay - a champion amongst gluttonists - meet a food-filled death in the Simpsons episode where Homer challenges him to a tenderloin-eating contest. It crosses my mind as a second hunk of lowest-cut bacon slides down my throat aided by its coating of fatty lubricant.
My starvation tactics that include a breakfast comprising of lager (consumed the night before), one cup of tea, a yoghurt and chewing gum, isn’t working so in an attempt to distract from the task ahead, I take reassurance in the knowledge that not a single person from the 60 who have confronted this challenge have yet completed it. Health disclaimers droop on the walls of the café charting previous contestants to have a go. The furthest came from Alabama but Mario says a man from Aberdeen ate more than anyone else only to be defeated by the dreaded toast.
Three local teenagers in greebo uniform, all vying to become the town’s answer to Morgan Spurlock (Supersize Me), are all struggling. One of the lads doesn’t like black pudding, so he has five extra sausages (making it 15 in total) and he’s half the way through the plate when he eventually gives in. An armada of Hindenburgs would struggle to winch my own anxiety as I watch him squirm before his head hits the checkered clothed table in front of him with fatigue.
I’m halfway through my fifth and final pud, when Betty, certainly the local gossip queen of around 75 years, announces her departure from the establishment (after a mere egg on toast). Then, just as she gets to the exit door, "I’d best go t’ the loo before I make my way." I recall my reconnaissance mission to the unisex throne ahead of the breakfast where I found one slither of toilet paper left. Those Bismarck-brown sausages just don’t hold the same as allure as they once did. If they ever did.
My sinuses by now are filled with factory prepared meat. There’s no room for any more food. I’m done – 18 minutes in.
A group of Kopites scramble through the door brimming with hopeful exuberance and keen to take on the ultimate test in morning greed. But one look at our sorry efforts encourages them to only tackle a standard full English.
Taking my seat at the back of the Reebok later, the players are already out completing their pre-match stretches. With Yossi Benayoun looking like he needs a feed and new signing Sotiros Krygiakos moving like he's just been fed, thoughts return to the sausage fest earlier.
The journalists around me don’t know what I’ve just done but look at me as if I’m Mr Creosote from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life. Luckily for them, I’m not about to explode.
Not yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment