Nothing in Vancouver?
There's one I know of in Maple Ridge - the 'Witch of Endor Pub' has a burger that is worth a look if you think you've got the skills.
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Slaying the monster burger
Reporter takes on the big burger challenge
Tom Barnes
Maple Ridge - Pitt Meadows Times
Monday, March 29, 2004
Tom Barnes tries to bite into massive, $30 burger that includes ham, eggs and 24 ounces of beef.
"You'll need a soup bowl full of gravy to act as lube and a Diet Coke to serve as a grease cutter," my brother Scott advised me over the phone from Victoria.
Lube...grease cutter? I'm eating a hamburger, I replied, not rebuilding the axle on my car. But no. He was adamant the gravy and Coke be present at the table at all times when attempting to eat what I was about to eat.
My brother is wise in theses matters having tackled some of the bigger burgers to be found.
Until Wednesday, I too had emerged successful when faced with the challenge of swallowing the largest dishes to be found on pub menus. I was confident. I was ****y. And above all, I was presented with the chance to break new ground.
Since the Witch of Endor Pub in Maple Ridge introduced the Witch-Sized Burger three months ago, a mere seven hearty souls have accepted the challenge.
All have failed.
Here's the deal: Eat the whole thing in under an hour (including your choice of fries or salad) and the pub picks up the tab - a good thing considering this behemoth of a burger runs a wallet-draining $29.95.
Now you might say that anyone willing to pay $30 for a hamburger, should they fail to eat the whole thing, should have their heads examined.
You would likely change your mind, however, if you ever find yourself sitting in front of a Witch-Sized one.
As my support crew and I sat down and informed our server that I was accepting the challenge, we were presented with a parts list of ingredients in the burger.
Until that point, my arrogant attitude provided me with a vision of being carried out of the pub on the shoulders of the bartenders in burger-beating victory -as patrons banged their beer mugs on the bar in recognition of my triumph.
Then I read the recipe. My vision of bartenders now turned into paramedics and the patrons of the bar no longer held beer mugs, but the paddles of a defibrillator.
Here's why:
Generous slathering of burger sauce and mayo.
four large dill pickles
not a burger bun but a sourdough loaf about the size of a five-year-old's head
four burger patties combining for a total beef weight of 24 ounces
an entire head of lettuce
seven tomato slices
six thick slices of cheese (two Swiss, two mozza, two cheddar)
20 onion slices
Four ounces of ham
Five strips of bacon
the fillings of two fajitas
two eggs
eight ounces of mushrooms
Upon reading this the pangs of hunger I once felt were replaced with a feeling deep in my gut that curiously resembled that same feeling I had at age 15 just before my first date.
Regardless of what I might have been feeling at the time, it no longer mattered because just as I allowed the first bit of doubt to enter my brain, the swinging doors of the witch's kitchen swung open.
It was now, as they saying goes, "on."
As the platter made its way to our table, others in the bar stopped what they were doing and gawked at the mountainous concoction as it passed their tables. The three guys at the bar who, until that moment, had been engrossed in a soccer match forgot the game and stared.
I couldn't hear what they were saying but I had a pretty good idea because it was likely the same thing the table beside us was saying: "Oh...my...God...someone's really going to eat that thing?"
As it was laid before me, I could feel the heat from the bacon and beef on my face as my nose was filled with the myriad smells emanating from the onions, pickles, ham and eggs. "Why eggs," I wondered for some reason.
"Usually, a table of around four people order it and share it," our server informed me.
After a brief discussion with my support crew surrounding strategy, it was time to get down to business. Start the clock.
Strangely, I was filled with that sense of confidence I was riding earlier that day. I felt strong. I sized up the bartenders to see if they would be able to carry me once I was done (especially since I was very quickly about to gain four pounds).
I settled on the knife and fork method - which was really my only option because, unlike a snake, I don't possess the ability to dislocate my jaw in order to eat things far bigger that my mouth.
The Witch-Sized burger is served open faced. I thought it was best to get through the four burger patties first. I could graze on the cold stuff later. As for the bun, well, I'd cross that bridge when I got there.
The conversation around the table was light as I ate. I whipped through the bacon like a pro; it seemed like as my stomach filled, my confidence swelled further. After the bacon, I moved over to the other side and downed some of the 20 onion slices and took advantage of a few moist pieces of tomato. Back over to the meat, I suffered my first setback when I lifted the blanket of eggs to discover the stack of meat wrapped in cheese was deeper than I was first led to believe. Someone at the table must have seen it in my eyes because I remember hearing, "are you OK."
"Fine," I replied and cut off another chuck of meat. But the reality was I was not fine. I was only half-way through the beef and already the burger was taking its toll.
Was I to become victim number eight? Was it all a pipe dream that I would claim victory over this burger?
At around the 45-minute mark my molars started to get sore - a reaction to all the cheese I told the table. I was around three-quarters of the way through the meat when my stomach began beerhall putsch. Things did not look good. I was tired. The ability to swallow became a challenge. There simply wasn't any more room.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
It was then I decided to pack it in. I was beat. Victim eight.
Our server carried the victorious burger away to its final resting place. I didn't even say goodbye.
There is no shame in not finishing the Witch-Sized Burger. All eight of us that have tried are champions in our own way, and while we will likely never meet, we are like brothers.
And to whoever tries next, I say good luck and welcome to the family
