Hanover, NH:

…It was an interesting weekend all around. I arrived into Lebanon Friday afternoon on a US Air turbo-prop piloted by a couple of teenagers. The fact that the pilots were probably born during Regan’s second term didn’t bother me as much as the duct tape on the wing and propeller. On the cab ride into Hanover, I was shocked to see snow everywhere…could have sworn it was spring back in the real world. Apparently Global Warming works in reverse here.

After dropping my bags off in what looked at first like some kind of homeless shelter (I was later informed that it is, in fact, a dorm) I was escorted to Stell Hall – a beautiful room filled with numbered balloons. I found my balloon (#45) and was met underneath by a beast of a man who introduced himself as “R. Kenneth” but told me I could call him “Tender Vittle” or “TV” for the rest of the night. Once the rest of our group showed up, Tender Vittle led us to his car and sped back to his home in Vermont. On the way, he muttered that the grill had been going all day in anticipation of our arrival and that we had several hundred hot dogs waiting for us back home. I thought he was joking, but couldn’t have been more wrong.
 

A picture of my dinner plate at ASW weekend.

We were met at the door by Tender Vittle’s wife, Angel. She welcomed us while passing out bibs and whispering to keep our hands away from her husband’s mouth once the food had been served (apparently someone had lost a finger last year during a chicken wing extravaganza at 5 Olde).

We weren’t quite sure what to make of all this but after exchanging some uneasy glances, the group strapped on the bibs and moved into the dining room. The table was covered with platters of hot dogs, buns, mustard and plastic cups of beer. At this point Tender Vittle, who was standing next to me, began what appeared to be some kind of meditation exercise – breathing deeply in through his nose and out his mouth – while his wife rubbed his stomach and asked if he was ready to start dinner; he nodded affirmatively.

That's me on the right, trying not to throw up.

She produced a stopwatch from her pocket, looked rather forlornly at us and said “On your mark…get set…GO!” In a blur, Tender Vittle had several hot dogs jammed into his mouth and began dunking the buns in beer. Angel began shouting words of encouragement while Vittle mumbled for us to get going. We each picked up one of our dogs, put some mustard on them and began to eat.

The Tender Vittle looked horrified at our slow start and pounded the table with his fist while pointing out that he had by this time consumed 12 dogs and was vigourosly working on 9 more. Not wanting to be rude, we each decided to join the fun and began stuffing our mouths full of hot dogs and buns.

In about 6 and a half minutes it was all over. Tender Vittle’s plate was empty, his grinning face covered in beer, sweat and mustard. The final tally (according to Angel, who appeared to be entering the numbers into some kind of logbook): 47 hotdogs and as many buns, with 18 beers to wash them down. She seemed a little disappointed in my work – just 7 hotdogs, 5 soggy buns and half a cup of warm IPA. It was then that I realized I should probably just go to Sloan and crunch numbers for two years…obviously, I can’t hang with these Tuckies.

Posted by Joey Chestnutt at 5:03 PM