Speed-eating pro offers holiday tips

Akron Beacon Journal columnist, David Giffels.



Coondog's not used to eating in places like this. He normally eats in restaurants that charge either by the pound or the minute.

But here I was, in Crave, this chic new place in downtown Akron. I wanted to talk turkey with a man who approaches every day like Thanksgiving.

But I was feeling a little nervous. The place was filled with respectable business people. Valets were parking the cars. And I was going to be eating with Coondog, a.k.a. Dave O'Karma, Cuyahoga Falls' best-known professional competitive speed eater.

I asked for a private table. Perhaps to save us both some embarrassment, co-owner DeAnna Akers put us at the chef's table in a shielded niche overlooking the kitchen.

Even so, I was worried. The servers were cruising back and forth with heaping plates of food, and I wondered if Coondog would lose control and tear off into the kitchen.

He arrived. We exchanged pleasantries. Ever since I beat him in a 2002 pizza-eating contest, our relationship has been a little rocky, but he seemed to be in a civil mood.

In fact, he wasn't taking my bait at all.

Instead of Coondog, I was getting a straight dose of Dave O'Karma, loving husband and father of two. He'd actually made notes on the back of a bank deposit slip, stuff about how thankful he is for his family and friends and how they've allowed him to pursue his dreams.

``Coondog,'' I said. ``That's very sweet, but what about the food? I brought you here for a cheap Thanksgiving column.''

``Right,'' he said, and I could see his eyes brighten and his grin grow sharper. ``Thanksgiving is one of the few days when I can do some serious eating without having to worry about prize money.''

I flipped to a clean page in my notebook. This is the Coondog I was expecting. But then, he started talking about his kids again and how thankful he is for them.

I was getting desperate. Just as he was slipping into a reverie about the fleetingness of life, I stopped him.

``Coondog, I need you to tell us how to eat a Thanksgiving dinner really fast.''

``O.K.,'' he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. ``You tell 'em to bring a pitcher of beer here and I'll show you how to eat Thanksgiving dinner. You gotta have a lot of liquids, right?

``First, go for the bread. Dunk it in your wine or beer or whatever you have. That softens it up and it goes down faster. Then I'd go for the mashed potatoes, the softer stuff. Use your hands if you have to.''

He began mimicking the act of shoveling mashed potatoes into his face. He demonstrated a ``scooping'' technique to ram more into the cheeks, pausing with a hammy grin, as if he were waiting for an imaginary photographer.

``You always wanna put your neck back, like a goose,'' he said, jutting his chin toward the ceiling. ``It goes down better. A lot of pros do this.

``Last but not least, go for the turkey -- dark meat first, cuz it's usually a little moister. Hope to God your wife knows how to cook a turkey and it's not dried out, or you're gonna need another pitcher of beer.

``It's a dangerous day to be eating with a competitive eater. See? Now you got me going. I really would like to take you on again, Giffels, just to show you the genius that is competitive eating.''

I realized that he'd risen from his seat and was kneeling on the booth. The waitress approached cautiously. Coondog turned to her.

``You got a turkey?''

``I don't,'' she said hesitantly.

``Can you order one?''

He turned back to me without waiting for an answer.

He winked, as if to ask if we were done. Yeah, I nodded. I got what I came for.

``Here,'' he said, settling back. ``I brought something for your little girl.''

It was a red rubber bracelet stamped with his motto, ``Just Eat It.''

I was touched. Next time I might let him win.