I sacrificed my body for science. It occurred to me, in these days of anti-carbohydrate craziness, fear-of-fat freakouts and general supersizitis that I was a perfect test subject for an enduring American icon — the monster fast-food burger.
Perfect because I don’t eat fast-food burgers, or at least not for the past 20 years or so. My system would be a clean candidate to ingest, observe and document the effects of this formidable foodstuff, up-close and personal.
I didn’t ditch burgers because I’m some kind of health-food nut. Depending on mood and timing, I think bourbon and Krispy Kremes can cover all the food basics in the making of a nourishing meal. I simply had never cared all that much for meat, even as a kid, and never developed a real taste for it.
Of course, going meatless in Santa Cruz County is pretty stress-free — I’m certain I don’t face the flak of sans-meaters in a place like Houston, where a recent study found that fatty acids from meat grilling contributed measurable amounts of the particulates to city air.
But with our country again caught up in ecological disasters and the throes of its eternal conflict between what we should and shouldn’t consume (and hoping I might be offered a big-advance diet book deal on the basis of this article), I thought I should shoulder — and stomach — the responsibility of scarfing one of these behemoth burgers. And then delineating the grisly details.
Quest for the baddest But first, the research. You won’t find any self-respecting articles in the New England Journal of Medicine without burly footnotes and quotes from PhDs with unpronounceable names, will you? However, my deadlines and essential sloth prevented me from really doing much in the way of laboratory research, the appeal of Bunsen burners notwithstanding.
No, I rushed to the Internet, to places like dietfacts.com and nutritiondata.com and Fast Food Facts in my quest: What’s the biggest, baddest, most high-caloric burger out there?
I chose to honor only those emporiums that have a local presence (Burger King, Carl’s Jr., Jack in the Box, Wendy’s and McDonalds) and was shocked at some of the statistics I uncovered.
| Shocked that the Mickey D’s vaunted Double Quarter-Pounder with Cheese weighed in at a mere 760 calories. Where are the bragging (gagging?) rights in that? The Burger King Double Whopper with Cheese has a sturdy 1,070 calories, but I yearned for something with more substance. I found a champion: Jack in the Box’s Bacon Ultimate Cheeseburger, weighing in at a sensible 1,120 calories. Now that’s a burger (if not an ottoman). |
Test day Here are my clinical observations on the day of the project:
7:30 a.m. Wake up paranoid. "Has anyone ever died after eating a jumbo burger?" Inconclusive Internet search gets no definitive results.
8 a.m. Don’t trust "gorge-to-stretch-stomach" prep method. Toast and orange juice for training meal.
9 a.m. Creative visualization: Imagine eating burger size of Cadillac. Brain gets the better of me — I envision burger eating me.
9:30 a.m. Fond memory of burger-eating in youth. Not-so-famous Burgermaster in my neighborhood sold 19-cent burgers, basically flat buns surrounding flatter patty, with coin-sized spot of ketchup. We’d buy a dollar’s worth, eat some and throw the rest at each other.
10 a.m. Pruned trees in back yard to tone up for lunch. Wondered about nutritional comparisons between consuming burgers and branches.
11 a.m. More paranoia. Will I be able to drive afterward? If the meat came not from a mad cow, but just an annoyed one, will I feel its pain?
11:30 a.m. Wonder if it’s to my advantage that I’m built like your basic beanpole. Remember that Japanese guy who only weighs 130 pounds ate 50 hot dogs to win a contest? Surely I must have the moxie to eat a burger.
12:30 p.m. In car on way to Jack’s. Breathe.
12:40 p.m. Arrive at House That Jack Built. Armed with my trusty notebook, I stride to the counter. Exceedingly cheery cashier acknowledges my request for extra crispy bacon on that $4.09 sucker. They don’t even ask for my ID. I decide to pair my burger only with water, so I can have the pure burger experience.
12:45 p.m. Alone, just me and the burger. It has some heft, but it’s not as big as I pictured. I was thinking something along the lines of a buffalo’s head. It does have two patties, bacon top and bottom, and what look to be three cheese layers. And a reasonable 2260 milligrams of sodium (if you consider reasonable the salt I put on my food over a month or so).
12:46 p.m. Bite. Oh yeah, it’s a big burger — obviously going to be a two-napkin affair. Quite bacony too. I wonder what Adam thought of his first bite of the apple? I wonder if any Atkins fiends are in the vicinity, ready to tell me that eating the bun will hurtle my glycemic index to Mars.
12:55 p.m. About halfway through and already pretty full. Looking around, I’m quite disappointed to see that no savage American teenagers are piercing each other at the tables or feverishly downloading hip-hop ringtones onto their cellphones. It’s mostly families and some older folks. There is also a large framed photograph of an encouragingly smiling Jack.
1 p.m. Two-thirds down, and I’m slowing down. Chew, chew. Mnufffff.
1:05 p.m. Couple of bites to go. So far, no palpitations or blurred vision.
1:07 p.m. It’s done — I have scaled the Everest of burgers, without supplemental oxygen. I am full. I am very full. I will have lettuce for dinner. And maybe a couple of gin and tonics.
1:08 p.m. I rise slowly, thinking my legs might go out from under me, but everything seems OK. The basic questions go through my mind: Will I be able to drive? Can I ever look a cow in the face again? Will this turn me into a Republican?
1:10 p.m. Hit set of parking lot speed bumps driving away; note sense of having swallowed a safety deposit box.
1:15 p.m. Stop at store for shopping. Wonder if I have a scarlet "B" on my forehead. Can people tell I’ve eaten one of those things? I check car mirror on way back home, seeing my usual bloodshot eyes. But what’s happening on the cellular level?
One hour later Belching like a Bessemer furnace, but presumed constitutionally sound. Make note not to check temperature, blood pressure or shoe size — statistics can be manipulated.
Another hour later Feeling OK and confident that in two months, I’ll bring this baby to term.
Next Morning Have all my fingers and toes, but still feel like I swallowed a newspaper whole, though not the Sunday edition. Probably just lettuce again for breakfast and maybe just one gin and tonic. Maybe I’ll try it again in 20 years. Already looking ahead to my next challenge: Proving that a diet based on Reeses Peanut Butter cups meets all the basic food group requirements.
PS Essay dedicated to the late, great George Plimpton, hero of participatory journalists everywhere.
PPS Estimate that less than 10,000 brain cells were harmed in the writing of this article.
Tom Bentley owns The Write Word Writing and Editing Services. He can be reached at www.tombentley.com.
