Dig in, suckers.
Not long ago, I found myself in a filthy diner at Irving Park and Ashland at 3 a.m.. The sign at the end of the counter says, “SLINGER, $7.50, Don’t ask, just eat.” Below the text is clip art of a boy on the toilet and a man crying.
Why would anyone order this thing? Peer pressure. Works every time
A slinger starts with a large pile of hash browns drowned in oil (the cook used a full pint of oil on our three slingers). Next, two hamburger patties with cheese and two fried eggs. Up to this point, it’s edible – like something you might get at Waffle House, except twice as large. Then, the cook slings a heaping portion of drippy chili, at once meaty and viscous. Without the chili, it’s filling but bad for you. With the chili, eating it is nothing more than a way to punish yourself for ordering the thing.
At first, you try to pick out the identifiable bits, like the hamburger patties and the few bits of hash brown that aren’t covered in chili juice. But as soon as you tuck into a slinger with your fork, the illusion that it’s a layered dish falls away. The egg yolks bleed, the chili saturates everything and the oil from the hash browns pools with all the other detritus at the bottom, permeating most of the hash browns and making them too dense with grease to eat more than a few strings per bite. The bottom line is that it doesn’t taste very good at all and has the texture similar to how I imagine that of vomit.
Unlike the Fat Darrell, the Garbage Plate or other greasy mash-ups, there is no pretense that it's going to be good. I should have known when I was talked into going by being told repeatedly that "you've just gotta try it." But there's still something endearing about the lowly slinger. One eating companion remarked that the whole situation was emblematic of America: a bizarre but creative concoction served in an unassuming diner serving a diverse group of night shifters and drunks. The waiter, wiping down the counter in front of us, heard what she was saying and said, "Yes, yes, America. Chevy!"
The slinger isn’t drunk food. It isn’t some sort of hangover cure either, since you’ll probably walk away from a slinger feeling worse than when you walked in. It’s more of an adventure food: an impossible dare completed not because it accomplishes anything or provides any satisfaction other than the achievement of eating such a thing.
Terry Pratchett is famous for warning against eating anything that's foisted upon you as a 'local delicacy.' Sounds like you fell for it.
ewww
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