While the leaves turned orange and red in the city, the Lower Field was filled with green on Sept. 27. Students enthusiastically gathered for the fourth annual lettuce eating contest, and this year, competition was more fierce than ever. Although midterm season was right around the corner, a dedicated crowd turned out to compete and cheer on the participants.
The McGill Lettuce Club lays out clear-cut rules about how to participate in their event crowning the fastest lettuce eater—and they are very specific about their lettuce. Of course, the competition is BYOL (Bring Your Own Lettuce), but not just any type of lettuce is welcome. The head of iceberg lettuce should weigh around 600g. Cheating is not an option as a weigh-in period is scheduled starting 30 minutes before the countdown. Still, word spread about how some dipped a smaller lettuce in water to make it heavier. Participants are also allowed to bring dressings and utensils, depending on the technique they plan on using.
This contest has become an iconic part of McGill’s annual rhythm for some students. While some were regulars and knew the event well, the peculiar absurdity of the competition is what truly captured the attention of most spectators.
Bee Budrean, U2 Arts and Science, underlined the importance of having such an event to break the daily academic monotony in an interview with The Tribune.
“As university students, we are really able to find joy in the most absurd, innocuous things.” Budrean said, “One can be a Rhodes Scholar, and one can be the Head of Lettuce, and we are here to celebrate that.”
Participants had a variety of backgrounds in terms of their relationship with lettuce. Some had been training for the event, others randomly decided to join at the last minute. In fact, a highlight of the event was Anwyn Li’s, U1 Science, spectacular run towards the last lettuce available. The Tribune had a chance to ask her why she decided to race for the last spot.
“Vibes! I was thinking about ‘Oh what a shame, I wanted to do this next year!’, but why do it next year when I can do it now?” Li said, panting after her mad dash.
Malak Oualid, U1 Engineering, also jumped on the occasion without notice.
“I was with my friends and I said ‘If you do it, I’ll do it’, because why not?” Oulaid told The Tribune.
As the contest finally started, participants rushed to their lettuce and began digging in. The leading lettuce eaters quickly stood out from the crowd. The competition was ferocious, but it was James Levitsky, U1 Science, who pulled ahead, and secured the title of Head of Lettuce, finishing in just two minutes and 58 seconds.
Surprisingly, Levitsky did not prepare at all. “I didn’t know the strategies, I didn’t know what to do; I tried to eat the lettuce as fast as I could,” he said.
After his victory, the new champion stood proudly, having the honour of wearing the exclusive lettuce suit—a white lab coat with green fabric hanging like lettuce leaves—and signing it like his predecessors had done in previous years.
“I’m feeling ecstatic, I’m over the moon right now,” Levistky said. “[This new title is] going on the CV, it has to, [but] I’m not eating lettuce until like ever, I’m never having a salad again.”
While Levitsky lets the fame sink in, The Tribune cannot wait to meet him again for next year’s lettuce event (which he is expected to organize—the prestigious Head of Lettuce title doesn’t come without its responsibilities).
