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Idol Mini-Season 2018-19
Week 17.3
Topic: Fatberg

THE FATBURGER CHALLENGE

Klauski’s Bar and Grill proudly billed itself as “The Unhealthiest Place on Earth!” Its food was oversalted, overgreased, and served in portions so large that “We Dare You to Finish Your Meal” was emblazoned on its menu. This was the dark side of American cooking.

Klauski’s was a highly successful sports bar owned by Steve “Fat Santa” Klauski, former All-Pro offensive lineman. Retired offensive linemen rarely owned bars. That was the retirement plan for quarterbacks or running backs, the glamour boys.

But Fat Santa was different. For fifteen years he had dominated the game. He had been big, slow, and overwhelming, inexorably moving defensive linemen back down the field. Any runner lucky enough to be behind him had been guaranteed at least five yards a carry.

He had been happiest on the football field, and it had showed. If he had knocked you over, which had been often, he’d extended his hand, and with a big smile, pulled you up. On the sidelines, even in the worst games, he had found something to laugh about. Fans and players throughout the league had loved him.

His restaurant had the usual big screen TVs and memorabilia, but what packed all the tables was the Fatburger – two full-pound all-beef patties, four massive slabs of Cheddar cheese, eight thick slices of bacon, all slathered with a special chipotle bacon BBQ sauce and wedged between two huge grilled hamburger buns, plus a half-pound of double-fried, double-salted, extra-crispy French fries. Lettuce and tomato were available, but discouraged as too healthy.

It was all free – if you could eat two. This was the famous Fatburger Challenge.

Only one person had ever done it: Klauski himself, to the great joy of his fans and the dismay of his doctor. “I don’t care if it’s ‘just a snack,’” Dr. Abernathy had said. “Those ‘snacks’ will kill you.” Klauski had just laughed him off.

The only problem in this paradise of gustatory excess was that Klauski was missing. No one had seen him for weeks, and business was starting to suffer. Fortunately, someone had started looking for him.

Frost the Elf had been sent to Klauski’s by Mrs. Claus to find her missing husband, who masqueraded as Steve Klauski whenever he could. Mrs. Claus was worried, and Frost was the only elf she could spare this close to Christmas.

With more and more mechanization at the North Pole, Santa’s role over the years had long been diminishing.

“I’m just a Christmas mascot,” he had frequently complained.

“Have some more cookies,” had been his wife’s usual response.

But with the demand lessening for Santa at the North Pole, he'd had the chance to pursue his other interests, and he was a big-time sports fan. He loved them all, even curling.

“Look at those brooms go!” he had once yelled at a group of boisterous elves watching the annual Hebrides Curling Tournament with him, which had featured some of the best sweepers in Scotland.

Mrs. Claus had banned curling after the elves had become so excited that they had tried to play indoors using her broom and pots. The game had quickly gotten out of hand, as things with elves usually do.

For years, Santa would sneak off to attend games in person, but he hadn’t been satisfied to be just a spectator. He had wanted to play.

His first attempt had been a huge success. He had played baseball as Babe Ruth, who had excelled at the sport despite his girth. Santa could alter his appearance at will, but he had never changed his basic build.

He had also dominated basketball as Charles Barkley, the Round Mound of Rebound. But his true passion had always been football, which he had played as Steve Klauski. He had loved the offensive line, where his size was an asset.

“Force equals mass times acceleration,” he had once told a reporter, smiling. “I may be slow, but I’m massive.”

Mrs. Claus had encouraged these alternate lives. It had gotten Santa away from the North Pole and let her handle Christmas.

Santa had gotten all the glory, but the real elf behind Christmas had been Mrs. Claus. She had taken care of production, the naughty or nice list, the Christmas letters, and all aspects of a global toy enterprise. Sure, Santa had still been needed for personal appearances and the splashy final delivery of toys, but the rest of it he had let his wife handle.

Santa and Mrs. Claus had had one important rule. He always had to be home for Christmas, no matter what. But Christmas was now looming and he was nowhere to be found.

For several years he had been taking a break from sports and had been enjoying life as a football legend and restaurant owner. It had suited his gregarious nature and had made his Christmas commitment easy to honor.

But now Frost had been sent to bring him back. He started at Klauski’s, where he had last been seen. Frost stood out from the regular crowd. He was shorter, thinner, and he had pointed ears, which he tried to hide under a stocking cap. His voice was higher as well, and when he spoke to the bartender, he got carded.

This was awkward, since elves don’t have driver’s licenses, and he’d been thrown out. In the back alley, he practiced lowering his voice. Satisfied, he snuck back in through the kitchen, acquiring that smell of grease that marked the true Klauski’s regular. Now he fit in.

He circulated among the crowd and the staff, buying drinks, and always asking “Have you seen Fat Santa?” No one had.

He was wondering what to do next. He couldn’t alert the police or hire a private investigator out of fear that Klauski’s true identity would come out.

Frost happened to be looking at one of the smaller TVs, which was showing a sumo competition in Tokyo. Accounting for some physical changes, one of the wrestlers looked suspiciously like Santa, minus the beard.

“His eyes twinkle,” thought Frost, “and that belly looks familiar.”

Santa was competing as “Hageshī Tsume,”[1] and he was clearly a fan favorite. During his match, the crowd was chanting “Tsu – me” over and over. Frost watched as Santa dispatched his opponent with ease.

“Time for a trip to Japan,” he thought.

Frost contacted Mrs. Claus and she sent Comet to take him to Japan, which took only a few minutes. He made it to the arena just before the tournament ended. Santa placed third. Frost waited for him outside the locker room.

As soon as Santa saw the elf, he bolted. It was a slow-motion run and Frost caught up to him quickly.

“You’ve never been fast,” said Frost.

“Don’t like it,” said Santa, panting. “Ever see the Babe run the bases? That’s why I had to hit all those home runs. Charles Barkley rumbled more than ran. I liked being Klauski – I just had to push defenders downfield.”

“Mrs. Claus sent me,” said Frost. “It’s getting close to Christmas.”

“Everything under control?” asked Santa.

“Of course,” said the elf.

“Then stick a red suit on someone else,” said Santa. “You don’t need me.”

“Of course we do,” said Frost. “What would Christmas be without Santa? Look, I was sent to find you. Come back and work this out – you can always leave again.”

Santa didn’t want Frost to get in trouble at the North Pole, so he agreed to return. He laid his finger aside his nose, gave a wink, and vanished. Frost rode Comet back.

Everyone was glad to see Santa. The North Pole just hadn’t been the same without him. His jolliness had infected everyone – without him, the elves had stopped singing, there had been no games, and Mrs. Claus had missed him the most. With no Santa, the North Pole had become just a huge toy store, where the toys were free and everyone was cold.

Mrs. Claus hurried up and gave Santa a big kiss, which made the elves giggle.

“Cookies and hot chocolate for everyone,” said Mrs. Claus, smiling for the first time since Santa had left.

“Cookies are great,” said Santa, “but what am I doing here? I’ve got a sumo tournament coming up.”

“Can’t you see how much we need you?” replied Mrs. Claus. “You’re the heart of Christmas. You’re in Halls of Fame in three sports – isn’t that enough?”

“It isn’t the fame,” said Santa. “In sports, people depend on me, and when I succeed, they’re happy. Here, all I contribute is a hearty ho-ho-ho, and then once a year I deliver toys to kids, most of whom don’t believe in me.”

“But what would make you happy here?” asked Mrs. Claus.

Santa thought, then thought some more. It was too cold for a sports festival. Then he had an idea.

“Let me open a Klauski’s here, for the elves,” said Santa. “They need something more than moonbeams and cookies to eat. Wait’ll they taste the Fatburger – it’ll take ten elves to eat one!”

Although skeptical, Mrs. Claus agreed.

“I miss my Santa too much,” she thought.

It was an especially happy Christmas. No one had seen Santa this jolly before. Children everywhere received extra toys, except for the naughty ones, who woke up to double the usual coal in their stockings.

After the holiday, the construction elves quickly built the North Pole franchise of Klauski’s Bar and Grill. The kitchen elves had to learn how to fry everything and that there was no such thing as too much sauce on a Fatburger.

Santa enjoyed mingling with the elves and spreading good cheer, and the North Pole finally got cable for the big screen TVs showing every sport imaginable, including sumo wrestling and curling.

“Fat Santa” Klauski still visits his original restaurant, much to the delight of the customers, and he can still eat two Fatburgers when he needs a snack. But Santa is back at the North Pole making everyone happy, especially Mrs. Claus.

[1] “Fierce Claws,” according to Google Translate.