Man vs. Food

[wrestlingguy]

Just wondering if anyone has seen this show on the Travel Channel. I watched my first episode last Wednesday evening, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The host, Adam Richman is a very likeable, and dedicated foodie who refuses to be intimidated by a 72 oz. steak. If you haven't seen it, here's a short clip from the show:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iE_gmsWG4yY

Most of the shows are taped, however, on February 3rd, the show is scheduled to air live on the Travel Channel.

Here's an article on the show & host, from doublex.com:

On the Travel Channel’s Man vs. Food, plump and genial host Adam Richman sits at a table, surrounded by screaming fans, and expertly herds a giant stack of doomed hamburger patties into the slaughterhouse known as his mouth. Or he drinks a milk shake so large a small child could drown in it. Or slaps the table in agony as habañero-infused barbecue sauce commits arson in his gullet. Richman, in short, is paid to overindulge—ritually and recklessly, with no regard for saturated fats or that blob of half-chewed pork on his cheek, until, like Rocky at the end of a 15-rounder, he’s sweaty and punch-drunk, eaten into a stupor and yet somehow on the cusp of greasy, ketchup-smeared, masochistic victory.

Richman sins to save us—or at least give us voyeuristic reprieve—from the virtuous restraint men are now expected to impose upon their desires. We drive gas sippers, not gas guzzlers. We drink lite beer. We can’t smoke in strip clubs, much less our offices. Our corporate sponsors dump us after just 10 mistresses. Where’s the manly appetite in any of this? Where’s our Roger Sterling?

The closest thing we’ve got to a three-martini lunch is the 830-calorie Baconator—and yet even such meek excess is increasingly discouraged. “Fight Fat & Win!” Men’s Health shouts from every cover. Mirdles were the year’s most publicized undergarment. Not so long ago, the Bratwurst Pack—Seth Rogen, Jason Segal, and Jonah Hill—were ushering in a new era of Husky Chic. In recent months, however, they’ve been brushed aside by consumptive glampire Robert Pattinson and his New Moon nemesis Taylor Lautner, a 17-year-old slab of extra-lean beefcake who looks like he was raised by a pack of wild fitness video extras.

As cultural taboos against ungoverned appetites intensify, porn inevitably follows. And thus we have the phenomenon of expert gluttony. One manifestation of this phenomenon is the professional eating contests that take place under the banner of organizations like the International Federation of Competitive Eating and the Association of Independent Competitive Eaters. Another is that brand of television that showcases promiscuous mastication, with Man vs. Food being the current darling of that genre.

In the eating contest, what society deems a weakness—an unruly appetite—is recast as masculine virtue. When eating combatants line up for battle at the long table that is their playing field, they stand rather than sit—they’re athletes, not diners! They typically look less interested in socializing with one another than gladiators at the Colosseum. They’re intense, focused, hungry for victory. When the gurgitation begins, no silverware gets between the men and their appetites. Hands become shovels, and chewing’s for sissies. In one memorable contest, world-champion Takeru Kobayashi took on a 1,089 lb. Kodiak bear, and the bear was the more civilized eater.

On Man vs. Food, the pleasurable aspects traditionally associated with dining are somewhat more apparent than they are in the more raw iterations of competitive eating: Richman spends most of the first two segments of every episode hugging fry cooks and bonding with restaurant patrons over, say, a shared love of bratwurst seasoned with bacon. But even with such warm, homey moments, Man vs. Food is still served with a generous dollop of testosterone, with Richman in the role of nomadic urban hunter, venturing from diner to rib joint to burger shack in search of the biggest flapjacks, the most dangerous ramen, the omelet only an alpha-dog eater can conquer.

Watch Richman grab greedy fistfuls of moist and tender brisket straight from the smoker. He doesn’t have to seek refuge in mirdles, sustain himself on broccoli, or suffer humiliating public interventions via The Biggest Loser. He’s a star because of his ample gut, not in spite of it. And he’ll claim his hedonistic license and masculine privilege Mad Men-style.

Like many rebellions, however, competitive eating has a desperate edge to it. It transforms the feast—usually a leisurely, convivial affair—into a grueling competition. The point is not exactly pleasure. Chewing becomes a mechanical, joyless act, like doing reps at the gym. To hide an Oprah-like vulnerability toward the foods they’re powerless to resist, competitive eaters ruthlessly assault chicken wings and plow through hot dogs like loggers clear-cutting a forest.

While Richman has described his gig as a “dream job,” there’s at least a few minutes in every episode of Man vs. Food in which he looks more miserable than any minimum-wage wretch tasked with cleaning the bathrooms at Taco Bell. Eating the first couple pounds of a 10-pound hamburger, for money, in front of a roomful of spectators cheering you on, must be a rush. Eating the last couple pounds is clearly torture. It strains the belly and plays even more infernal tricks on the mind. If you love food, what could be worse than consuming so much of it you start to hate it? If Richman could just stop halfway through the challenges he must undertake each episode, his job would be far more enjoyable. Stripped of his status as conqueror, however, he’d be just another glutton.

 

[SoVerySoft]

 

[Isa]

 

[OhLaLaSoSexy]

 

[indy500tchr]

 

[PamelaLois]