Hungry?

'Political correctness'. Good grief, it's everywhere. Just ask the embattled defenders of the Fourth Estate, the purveyors of quality, objective reportage at the Daily Mail. They'll tell you. Fat controllers who can't be referred to as fat, gnomes with big ears who can't be called 'Big Ears' - the whole world has officially gone mad. Oh for a place free from it; a place where you can leave the requisite 21st century guardedness at the door. A place where you can consume food so rich and artery-clogging that it renders you immobile for about three weeks. A place where you can park your horse and 18-wheel truck in the same 'lot'. Oh for the Big Texan.

You heard it here first (probably because it isn't true) - Tony Christie wasn't looking for 'Sweet Marie' when he asked for directions to Amarillo. He was looking for the place where, at least according to the website (I know, I'm not sure I believe it either), 'entertainment is better known as EATertainment'. Hmm. Anyway, not to worry, their punnage gets a lot better in a minute. The Big Texan isn't just about puns, though - oh no. It's about good ol' fashioned American 'family values' - and in particular the family value that focuses on consuming as much beef as is humanly possible, in the shortest amount of time.

Just having a cursory glance at the menu is enough to send your cholesterol level through the roof. A 60-oz. pitcher of whatever beverage you fancy at 7am? No probs- it's on the breakfast menu. As is a 16-oz. T-Bone steak. For breakfast! Then there's the 'appetizers', including that old family favourite 'fried rattlesnake'. No doubt in response to lessons hard learned, the good folks at the 'Texan are quick to warn that deep fried Kaa doesn't contain too much meat, but rather lots of bones - still, at only the equivalent of about three quid, I'd give it a punt.

This place is a certified wild west theme park, except it's still kind of real - I imagine it'd be like spending time on the set of Back To The Future 3. The on-site motel has parking spaces large enough to accommodate everyone, even if 'your rig is bigger than most' (and I bet most of the rigs are already mighty big), there's a shootin' gallery and a dance barn, and even, fabulously, an adjacent 'horse hotel' where you can park your little pony or noble steed for the night. How cool is that? Very. Wouldn't fancy the return journey, though, especially if I'd just tackled the pièce de résistance of the Big Texan, the king of steaks, the one whose 'robust flavour' has earned it 'the Royal title of 'Sir Loin'' (officially the greatest pun of all time), the patented 72-oz. Big Texan steak.

This gargantuan beast started life no, not as a cynical marketing ploy playing on the uniquely American concept of gluttonous endeavour as personal achievement (you cynic you), but as a homage to a cowboy known only as 'a cowboy' who 'came through the front door bragging that he was so hungry that he could eat the whole cow'. As the anonymous but (I would imagine) highly respected Texas food historian continues:

'Bob (R. J. 'Bob' Lee, the founder of the Big Texan) grinned as he put the first one-pound steak on the grill and the contest was on. When the cowboy finally hollered 'calf-rope' (I'm assuming that's Texan for 'Help me, I can't breathe') he had consumed four and a half pounds of tasty Texas beef. Bob vowed (I imagine solemnly) from that day forward the dinner would be served 'free' to anyone who could complete it in one hour. In those days, the dinner - shrimp cocktail, salad, baked potato, bread and 72-oz. steak- only cost $9.95. Today, challengers pay $72.00 for the experience.'

And what an experience. On accepting this grave challenge, you are led to an individual table on a podium, the timer ticking above your head, where all the other diners can watch your struggle. Kind of like the boy in Matilda, except this time you've asked for it. Of course, you can't leave the table, or have any contact with anyone else - to do so, I imagine, would be considered an insult to the memory of the great cowboy. On completion, not only do you get the usual T-shirt, certificate combo that Harry Ramsden's used to do when you finished their insignificant-by-comparison 'Harry's Challenge', but you also have your name placed onto the 'hall of fame', where it will stand for all time alongside some 8,000 other heroes (out of 42,000 challengers), including 'an 11-year-boy and a 69-year-old grandmother'. If you really want to achieve beef-eating greatness, then the all-time record belongs to Frank Pastore, a former baseball pitcher who ate the lot in nine and a half minutes.

Have a look at the website. You can buy Big Texan merchandise, read all about their very own 'epicurean masterchef' Daniel Lee, and see which celebrities have stumbled across the place, presumably while also trying to find Amarillo (Patrick Swayze and James Earl 'Mufasa' Jones are but two). You can even watch people attempting the challenge on a live webcam! It makes you wonder why on earth our good Reverend ever left the Lone Star State. Fantastically, you can also now have one of these behemoths delivered to your door - I personally think it would make for fabulous last-week-of-Index entertainment. Doubt it would be allowed though, on health and safety grounds if nothing else. It's political correctness gone mad. go to main page