The pie is brought out to be weighed on a Yale GP-VX Lift Truck. |
A unique event took place in New Bremen, Ohio, on Saturday, October 8, 2005. For serious reporting on the world-record-setting effort, please read The Evening Leader's article, ""Going For the Record", or The Lima News' "A ton of pie: Pumpkin growers in New Bremen bake 2,000-pound pastry."
To read something less than serious, continue.
NEW BREMEN, OHIO -- Ten months of planning led to two hours' worth of dessert for 2,000 lucky people here Saturday, when Budweiser, in cooperation with the New Bremen Giant Pumpkin Growers, baked what they hope will be officially declared the Guinness Book World Record Blandest Pizza.
"We love pizza," explained Giant Pumpkin Grower and Budweiser imbiber Stan Shunpike, who at 6 foot 8-3/16 inches tall and 295 pounds is club president until someone bigger joins. "But when we saw that the record pizza was bigger than a quarter of an acre we despaired of getting rid of it in one meeting. So we decided to go for a record that no one else had heard of."
"To be sure," intoned Guinness spokes-statue Sir Leonardo Odie-Cologne, "we were compelled to consult the rules cabal, half of whom had to be exhumed for the meeting. But upon investigation it was discovered that there indeed is a category for "World's Blandest Pizza," the current record-holder of which is one Maria Santa Della Exclamatorio of Honduras, who was attempting to bake a corn-flour tortilla substituting termite dust for corn. The decision to declare it the least flavorful pizza of all time was unanimous amongst the surviving judges, although their speech was impaired. We believe the New Bremen Giant Pumpkin Growers have an excellent chance to exceed Miss Exclamatorio's accidental level of tastelessness with their artfully designed paste."
The pizza was baked in a custom-designed and constructed pie pan worth in the neighborhood of $1,289.15 at current scrap aluminum rates and representing 13,000 man-hours of fabrication. The oven was especially engineered to be obsolete after one use and cost less than $100,000, according to Les Moore, who built and donated the unique appliance.
"Damn glad to do it!" Moore ejaculated when pressed. "Events of this significance are rare in these parts, and it's great to contribute in some small way to putting our little community on the Bland Pizza map."
 La prova é nel gusto. |
More than 2,000 spectators thronged the baking arena on Saturday, from the 2:30 a.m. timer-setting ceremony until the last stomach was pumped at midnight.
"I can't believe the crowd!" cooed little Cindy Lou Who, looking somewhat breathless from the excitement. "I mean, they was all asses and elbows all day long. It was impossible to hold a full Budweiser without getting it jostled right out of your grip, so a girl had to drink fast."
Components of the pizza were kept a carefully-guarded secret, and the curious and just plain nosy were sniffing the air throughout the marathon bake for clues.
"No sir, we're not telling," said New Bremen Giant Pumpkin Growers five-foot eight-inch, 375 pound secretary, Becky Thatcher, with a mysterious wink. "We grew the ingredients ourselves so no one would know what was in it."
 Properly ground, this young girl would have added disqualifying flavor to the recipe. |
Public health authorities arrived at signs of pizza fan unrest, however, when rumors of ground human flesh in the pizza threatened to embroil the Budweiser-sponsored event in controversy.
"We have inspected the ingredients thoroughly and can assure everyone that there's nothing in there you haven't eaten before," Western Auglaize County Assistant Coroner Shelby Darke announced. "However, this pizza must, I repeat must, be consumed before the moon rises. The Health Department has opened a wooden stake concession stand to my left for those who wish to stay after dark; I urge you to purchase at least three. Thank you, I'm getting out of here."
 Champion shoveler Elroy Jetson (in hat). |
The ban on moonlight bland pizza consumption threw the multitudes into turmoil, as that would leave a mere two hours between timer ding and moonrise to slice and serve the 16,000 2-ounce servings. Dire times call for drastic measures, and champion snow-shoveler Elroy Jetson, with his prize silver snow shovel, was enlisted to expedite the service.
"Damn glad to do it!" Jetson said, in an odd coincidence. "Events of this significance are rare in these parts, and it's great to contribute in some small way to putting our little community on the Bland Pizza map."
 Servers wisely protect their hands. |
To help defray the estimated $523,892 cost of the event, pizza fans were charged a dollar for each slice of pie. Many were happy to pay the dollar, with more than one person stating they were only going to blow the money on hurricane relief, anyway.
Event organizers, heeding the health department decree, decided to stop selling the treat after moonrise, and instead overturned the barriers and let the pie fans eat at their own risk.
"I don't mind telling you, I was afraid for my life right then," president Shunpike said from somewhere above in the darkness. "Some of them had been waiting for 20 hours for a piece of pie and the scene could not have been uglier if there had been anchovies. Which," he added with a mysterious wink, "there might or might not have been."
 "We have a record! Also, the M*A*S*H tent is open." Note NBGPG president Shunpike in foreground. |
The event was a resounding success by any measure. Less than 1000 pounds of edible food had to be disposed of at the end, and only 3,187 man-days had been lost, including planning.
Waiting as patiently as possible in line at the M*A*S*H unit tent, New Bremen native Albert Einstein put it best.
"That's got to set the record," he stated confidently between pangs. "If there's anything more tasteless than that [stuff], I don't want to know about it."
Photos provided by Michele Laughman of New Bremen, who did not know this would be written as a satire.
