Overflowing

Sometimes too much is, well...simply too much. Your stomach can be like a host throwing a party. At first, everything is going as planned; you know who is coming by, if they are bringing friends, when everybody will arrive, everything copacetic. But then, guests start calling people outside your tummy party - "Dude, you've got to come by! EVERYBODY is here!" Time passes, more people show up, a fight breaks out. The landlord demands the music to be turned off, all of you get the hell out of here. Nope, not that door, the way you came in. NOW!!!

Yuck! I thought the analogy would soften the reasoning behind what I found at an all you can eat/drink restaurant in Taipei on my quest for interesting signage. Some locals invited me to dinner at a bustling, modern BBQ spot on the east side of the city. Soft blue LED accent punctuated the ultra white driftwood splayed along the walls and ceiling. A DJ in a faraway booth was spinning very mellow, downtempo melodica really underpinning the atmosphere of hip. I'm pretty sure I was way better looking in this restaurant, definitely funnier. Every edible animal is available for your enjoyment, vegetables I'm still looking up on Wikipedia and personal table attendants to help you cook your food on your tabletop grill. He'll even give you recommendations. For example, once I found out that it was all you could eat bacon, and after I wiped away tears of joy, a friendly staff member showed me how to wrap bacon in other things. Like scallions, or more bacon.

Casually excusing myself for a quick visit to the WC, I enter the men's and pass a little enclave in a separate area.

Vomiting Area.

Chic, contemporary front of the house where smiles and enjoyment is shared. Shameful, embarrassing back of the house where discomfort and breath mints are shared. I mentioned that this is an all you can eat place; you have two hours to pack, or in the case, over-pack you stomach with every kind of food you can imagine cooked to your exact specifications. How can theses scallops get better? Wrap 'em in bacon. What could make this lettuce wrap more tantalizing? Add bacon. What is this salad missing? Vegetables, but who cares, we got more bacon! At this restaurant, the words "I'm full" don't get you off the hook at all.

Strangely, this place wasn't a ruckus, with people getting drunk off grease and cholesterol only. If I was at the Uncle Pete's Roadhouse Texas Tequila Taco Shack located behind the interstate rest stop, I would be begging for such aforementioned area (seriously Uncle Pete, gross). But not the case. Clean, professional, well-known were the only words used to describe this place. I guess some Taiwanese have difficulty with moderation. Maybe there was a bacon fan like myself that was overcome with adrenaline, forgetting the limitations of a digestive system, putting 78 strips of bacon in a stomach meant to hold 14. Like trying to fit an anaconda in a fish bowl, it just isn't going to happen.

Two hours of eating is a marathon. In my excitement, I started off the race sprinting. But, over the years I have found it wise to listen to my body when it says, "if you eat this, I'm going to punish you dearly." Of course, I did not visit the vomiting area, instead I visited my couch area for the next 4 - 6 hours while I dozed in and out of consciousness. Besides, I'm on good terms with my belly landlord and I wouldn't want to upset our relationship. Pass the Lipitor, please.

Some Turkey, One Drinking Contest, No Football

I suppose two out of three ain't bad. The last Thursday in November is always the best one, other Thursdays don't even come close. The Pilgrims called it "Thanksgiving" and Squanto's people called it "these idiots have belt buckles on their hats." Silly Pilgrims. Modern America has taken the premier American feast to new levels since the it's inception - Indian corn has been replaced by potatoes, a variety of fowl replaced by one gigantic genetically modified so-fat-and-juicy-we-redesigned-ovens turkey and Pilgrim smallpox replaced by pumpkin pie.

In Taipei, the excitement of gastrointestinal discomfort, bloating and pure bodily fatigue does not resonate with the population. The ideas of moderation, useful energy and activity are still strong within these fine people. Hopefully, they'll see the light. And the light is gravy.

This was the second Thanksgiving (from here on, Fakesgiving) I have celebrated abroad in the past three years. Two years ago I was in Sydney, Australia with a terrific group of Americans and we were able to make an unbelievable meal that was enjoyed for days. Here in Taiwan, little bit different. In fact, this Fakesgiving...I had to...EAT OUT! And it was...at...A BAR!!! Instead of my aunt and uncle's cozy, quintessential New England home in Massachusetts, Brendan and I stuffed ourselves into a dimly lit, noisy, foreigner bar filled with intoxicated nincompoops. Let's go to the footage...

The Food: Yeah, pretty good! The starter was a soup, like a tomato chowder. Tiger beer? Delicious, of course. Next was a Fakesgiving plate with all the usual suspects present and accounted for. I know for a fact the cooks are Taiwanese and they did a spot on job of recreating this American masterpiece. I'm sure they asked each other if foreigners really eat this crap and the answer is YES! We love it. In fact, I eat until my pants don't fit correctly. We eat until our cholesterol level goes up a minimum five points. We eat until our B.O. smells like cranberries, stuffing lingers on our breath, food gets into our hair AND THEN WE EAT MORE.

And then we do it for the next 2 - 4 days until there is nothing left, not even our dignities.

Oh, and we got a slice of pumpkin pie. Back to quaint, colonial New England.

The Drinking Contest: Right from the get-go, I do not advocate this type of behavior. It is irresponsible, dangerous and totally awesome so unless you want to be a total bad ass and totally be like the Motley Crue video you saw on MTV where the dude gets all the chicks, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! Do it at a bar, much safer.

It wasn't even my intention, idea, or choice to participate. As it happened, Brendan and I tied another team in the Fakesgiving trivia game, ten correct answers to ten correct. The bar owner said the only way to settle the score was a drink-off. Now, I didn't want to get deported, and of course, I'm a stickler for following rules. After a quick team meeting, and a comparison of belly bloat, it was decided that I would represent us.

Nervously, we went upstairs to stare down our opponents. Who is my competition? We were pointed to a group of men around their fifties, busy selecting their prize-fighter. They chose a Taiwanese, a bit taller than me, nicer hair but definitely not funnier, I could tell. Age is on my side, but is experience his advantage? Two glasses of Carlsberg, the bartender explained the rules and cries "3...2...1...DRINK!" And I'm off! The first two gulps go down faster than a lightning strike, almost losing control. I'm not looking at my enemy, just focusing on my dissolving glass and looking like a bad ass. At this point, I know I'm a bad ass, I'm almost done. Glug glug glug, winner! This guy didn't stand a chance, apparently going to college in the United States is useful in many applications.

Conclusion: Unfortunately, I didn't get any chicks. I did not sign any autographs, rip my shirt off or smash any guitars. But I did win more alcohol! Even better, our names are on the bottle and the bar owner said he'll hold it for us. This Fakesgiving turned out to be sweet; we ate, we drank, we enjoyed the company of others and we looked like bad asses - exactly the way Pilgrims and Indians had wanted it.