Mike Tyson used to say that he knew whether or not he would win the fight before the bell even rung. One look at his opponent’s eyes when he stepped into the ring, and he could tell right then.
I have never related much to Mr. Tyson in my life but earlier this morning, as the pancakes emerged all steamy and terrifying from the kitchen of Mason Eatery, I understood his point.
See, I thought it might be fun to try my hand at a Miami food challenge I’ve seen making the rounds on Instagram. The new Midtown diner, Mason Eatery, has been touting its pancake challenge by posting photos of the losers (there have been many) and winners (there have only been two) on its Instagram page. It all looked like good, wholesome fun.
So when my editor suggested we give it a try in the name of breakfast journalism, I said sure. And about 48 hours later, there I was, sitting in Mason’s booth mentally calculating how many carbohydrates it would take to kill a man.
I love pancakes. Part of the reason why I wanted to do this was because I can’t remember the last time I had pancakes, which made me much sadder than I expected. I am not a competitive person but I do like to win more than I enjoy losing. So I was ready to give the stack an honest effort. I even created a special pancake workout to do in the morning before our 10:30am reservation, which I will share with you now because this is my article and I can do what I want:
- Two minutes Cat-Cow to stretch the stomach.
- Five minutes upper-back foam rolling while scrolling through pancake Instagram accounts (I suggest the titular @pancakes though beware of @pancakethefrenchiee because it is not a pancake account but a French bulldog and will only distract you).
- I honestly can’t remember the rest because I’m still so full.
When the pancakes arrived at the table, my heart sank for a couple of reasons. First, I knew failure was imminent and, second, I now had a decent-size audience watching me, which is never ideal when failing.
One must consume all four pancakes in under 30 minutes to win this challenge. If you do, the pancakes are free. If not, you pay $19. Either way, you are snapped for Mason’s Instagram and labeled with either the words “FAIL” or “COMPLETE.” Four may not sound like a lot but keep in mind these pancakes are literally bigger than the plate they are served on. They hit the table with a dreadful thud and jiggle there for a second as steam rises into the air. As far as pancakes go, they’re horrifying. But also really, really good—light and fluffy but still dense enough to soak up the syrup. According to pastry chef John Maieli, the pancakes are among the restaurant’s most popular late-night Uber Eats order. They’re made with King Arthur flour, fresh eggs, buttermilk, baking soda, baking powder, salt, a bit of sugar, melted butter, vanilla extract and what must be several heaping scoops of Vibranium because the four pancakes weigh (and this is pure guesswork) 76,316 pounds.
Needless to say, I did not finish. Not only did I not finish, I didn’t even finish one pancake. It was embarrassing. My editor stared at me from across the table like an unhappy customer who wanted their money back. If it was legal to fire someone over their pancake-eating ability—and I'm not entirely sure it’s not—this may be my last article for Time Out. The record for the challenge is apparently 10 minutes (the gentleman allegedly dipped his pancakes in milk to make them go down easier). But with a little over 13 minutes left on the clock, I tapped out, my only consolation a to-go box that possibly gave me a hernia.
I could act like this was all a sneaky ploy to get my employer to pay for a week’s worth of pancakes (and that is undeniably the silver lining of this story) but the truth is, I was disappointed. I am not the pancake eater I fancied myself to be—not even close. But, I suppose, it is nice to know this truth. Life is easier when we know our strengths and weaknesses. And life, I learned today, is also easier when you are not two-thirds pancake.
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