Mmmmm....tacos.....

So my friend Mark is going to be in a taco eating contest on Saturday as part of the fundraiser for his son's daycare. The contest is who can eat the most crispy tacos in 15 minutes. The tacos will have taco meat, tomatoes, lettuice, and cheese. We decided yesterday, that he needed a practice run before the big day, and our friend, David agreed to act as his competition.

We had a shaky start when David got to my house and nearly screamed in horror at the sight of the Taco Bell shells I had bought. Now, in fairness to David, he did tell me in advance that he didn't want Taco Bell anything. But I stopped at a grocery store on the way home to buy the stuff, and that's all they had. I figured he was really only concerned about the seasoning, so I got the shells. Yeah...not so much. Apparently, any sort of fast food anything sends him straight over the edge. But, David was perfectly willing to go get different shells, so the contest was only briefly delayed.

Carole fried up three pounds of taco meat, and had 36 shells. We started with 20 tacos, and were ready to make more if needed. We didn't want to kill Mark before he got to compete for real, so we only went for 10 minutes.

The scene:

The two boys---nay, men---are sitting face-to-face at Carole's kitchen table. Playing in the background, "You're the Best," penned by Bill Conti, made famous by Joe Esposito in The Karate Kid. Between them, twenty lukewarm tacos. David licks his lips in anticipation, as Mark wipes the sweat from his brow. Their determination is fierce, the tension in the room is so thick you can cut it with a knife. None of us are mere observers; we all have a crucial role to play during this historic event. Kelvin stands ready, camera in hand...perhaps playing the most crucial role of documentarian. Tara clutches Ben, who holds the marker firmly in his grip, ready to make record of the final morsel of each taco as it passes the lips of his two idols. Carole's index finger hovers over the "ok" key of her cell phone, ready to begin the timing.

The next ten minutes will define these men's lives. One will go home a hero; the other, a shell of his former self.

Carole gives the signal. Ready...set...EAT!

They're off. No, wait...they're laughing. Ok, they both have taken a bite. Now they're off. David seems to be nicely pacing himself. Mark is still laughing. David takes a quick lead, but Mark is hot on his tail...let me rephrase...no, no, that's about right.

The seconds tick by, as the men contine to dive head-first into the tacos. They've had them before, but never this many, this fast. As Mark sputters through the remains of his first taco, he looks up at his wife with fear and sorrow in his eyes. "I don't know if I can do this," he cries; "I've really only ever had just one taco...certainly never two at one time! How do I know which one to eat first?"

David, more experienced in eating tacos forges ahead, determined to eat more tacos tonight than he's ever imagined. But as he reaches for another taco, the pressure starts to get to him...or maybe Mark's repeated attempts to play footsie are starting to wear him down. Either way, with each gulp, he feels his victory slipping away.

Meanwhile, Mark is starting to break as well. The veins on his forehead throb as his mouth engulfs yet another taco. The strain of the evening shows on his face.

Carole, counts down the seconds. The score, David 10, Mark 9, there's less than a minute to go. As the moment of recokening approaches, a hush falls across the room. Then, David sputters...Carole lunges for a bucket...but it's too late. Game over. At least for one man. As the final second vanishes, the winner is clear. David raises his hands in victory; the sweat stain on his armpits a testiment to what he accomplished tonight. He entered this house a man, but he's leaving as a mountain. A crispy-crunchy-beefy-cheesy-mountain.