Damien Galeone

“So you take the fork and poke it into the forehead between the eyes, then you drag it along the spine back to the tail. Strip off the skin and scales and separate the top half of the meat and pop it in your mouth.” Mr. P is stripping the meat off the fish and washing it down with black coffee. I am doing the same. “That’s how you eat a chubb,” he says. It is 8:30 a.m. “Do you like gin martinis?”

“Yep,” I say.

“We’ll have those at lunch.”

Being a Philadelphia native I have always been proud of my city’s exceptional ability to make one fat through food. We are the owner of the cheese steak, which is the filet Mignon of fatty foods. There are a thousand world-class pizza joints with some of the most-delicious, cholesterol-filled pizza and hoagies on Earth. We have scrapple, which is a hotdog-quality breakfast food for which I would kick a puppy in the nose. We have Tastykake cupcakes, soft pretzels and deli sandwiches that will end your life ten years earlier than planned.

My pig to truffle-like ability to find unhealthy cuisine led me to Prague. Gulaš, pork and dumplings, liver dumpling soup, Svíčková, cakes and, of course, beer. These two cities satisfy the gluttonous goblin that lives within me with their different varieties of fat-laden grub. I figured that I would have to look no further to quench this urge.

But then I visited Wisconsin. And what’s interesting is that in Wisconsin not only have I found a cuisine that will add to my waist size, I have found a new cuisine that will add to my waist size.

In the five days I have been here I have washed down deep-fried cheese curds and fried perch with Old Crow Old Fashioneds. I have eaten cheeseburgers and chilli fried in lard. I have breakfasted on smoked fish (chubbs) and Miller High Life and covered pretzels in cheese spreads. A bartender in River Falls gave us some ribs in sweet chilli sauce. We didn’t order them and he didn’t sell them. He just gave them to us. Gave.You can not throw a dart in Wisconsin without hitting a sign that reads: Cheese or an actual block of cheese. I have discovered a New World of Fat.

This mythical new world has taken its toll. During my morning runs I have chastise myself for the week’s indulgences as cheese comes out of my pores. I think I sweat yellow now. My heart has been sending me urgent requests for fruit and vegetables via palpitating chest tremors. I breathe audibly.

After our chubb instructional Mr. P informs me that he is going out to run errands but that I have a reading assignment for the morning. He hands me a newspaper and I sit by the pool in the garden to read, soaking up the sun like a human cheesecake. The article is about the leading strategies on how to win the cheese curd eating contest. Evidently the most tried and true method is to not chew but simply stuff as many curds into the back of your mouth and swallow them in large clumps.

Maybe I’ll waddle back this way again in time for next year’s contest. Think I’ll bring some prune juice.

What is your favorite world of fat?