(MONEY Magazine) – If you're a fan of The Simpsons, you've probably seen the episode in which Homer attempts to eat a 16-pound steak, aptly referred to as the Sirloin-a-Lot. That scene is loosely based on a real restaurant, the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, Texas, which serves a 72-ounce steak that's free if you can finish it in an hour. It's a daunting yet oddly irresistible challenge, which has been attempted by about 30,000 people since 1960. Oops, make that 30,001--I gave it a try a few weeks ago.

No, of course I didn't finish it--I couldn't even get halfway--but I had a blast trying. So please, let's not have any expressions of disgust, any outcries of "That's gross!" Face it: Plowing through huge piles of food is fun. True, gluttony may be one of the seven deadly sins, but it conveniently cancels out a few of the others (trust me, after tackling a 72-ounce piece of beef, lust will be the furthest thing from your mind). More to the point, eating challenges fit squarely into the American tradition of competition, and jibe with our unofficial national ethos of "Bigger is better, and biggest is best." It's no accident that the annual Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest takes place in Brooklyn on the Fourth of July. Eating challenges are as American as, well, an apple-pie-eating contest at the county fair.

The Big Texan Steak Ranch (7701 E. I-40, Amarillo, Texas; 800-657-7177; www.bigtexan.com) isn't the only eatery that dares its customers to overindulge, but it's probably the best known, in part because it's the most theatrical. If you decide to take on the 72-ouncer--as well as the salad, baked potato, shrimp cocktail and dinner roll that you must finish in order to qualify for the freebie--you're not allowed to eat at a regular table. Instead, when your steak is ready, you'll be moved to a little stage near the center of the large dining room (which has a capacity of several hundred and is decorated with countless taxidermed animal heads), so that everyone can watch you make a pig of yourself. Eating on display may seem a bit weird at first, but hey, no guts, no glory. As you prepare to dig in, the manager announces that you're attempting to win the free steak, which generally prompts a round of applause and, if you're a relatively smallish gent like me (I'm five feet, eight inches tall and tip the scales at 145--or at least I did at the beginning of this assignment), also occasions a few peanut-gallery comments like, "That's a pretty little fella to be eating such a big steak." A clock on the stage begins counting down the 60-minute time limit and off you go.

As for the steak itself--a massive double sirloin--frankly, it's nothing special. But the Big Texan isn't about fine cuisine. It's about reveling in excess, and eating as a spectator sport. The staff inexplicably neglects to offer post-meal cholesterol tests but is otherwise extremely congenial, and the novelty of the experience somehow makes the place feel more playfully conversational than kitschy. Quite a few fellow diners moseyed on by to take a look at the steak, and I ended up having a running chat with the folks seated closest to the stage, who kept urging me on and offering suggestions. ("Don't drink that beer--it'll just fill you up!") When it became apparent that I wasn't going to make it, they seemed genuinely crestfallen, which I thought was rather sweet. I would have felt bad about letting them down, but I was too busy wondering if I'd ever stand up again.

The Big Texan averages four or five contestants a week, and about one in five is successful. Assuming you fall into the other 80%, the dinner will run you $50--not bad considering that you probably won't need to eat again for a week (plus you'll have one hell of a doggy bag). But for those searching for cheaper thrills, smaller-scale eatery challenges abound throughout the country. If you know of one you want to share with MONEY readers, you can post it on our website (see the address below). Here are three others I recently tried:

Crown Candy Kitchen (1401 St. Louis Ave., St. Louis; 314-621-9650; www.phobia.com/crowncandy). This magnificently preserved soda fountain and confectionery, which still makes its own ice cream and candy on the premises, has had a standing offer since opening its doors in 1913: If you can drink five malteds in half an hour--that's nearly a gallon's worth--they're free. All the usual flavors are available, as well as an unusual fresh banana malted, which contains one entire crushed banana and a dusting of nutmeg on top. This was the yummiest dare on this list, although I wasn't up to the task. $16 if you fail.

Sal & Al's Diner (2261 Cooper Foster Park Rd., Amherst, Ohio; 440-282-4367). This relatively nondescript luncheonette located about a half-hour drive west of Cleveland offers the Bet U Can't Burger, a one-pound bacon-cheeseburger about 10 inches across, topped with the equivalent of a large tossed salad and presented on a bun the size of a birthday cake. It's an unwieldy affair--I could barely pick it up, much less finish it--but it's free if you can down it in 20 minutes. Successful contestants are immortalized with a Polaroid on Sal & Al's wall of fame, which is worth a trip all by itself--some of the past winners are, shall we say, rather remarkable physical specimens. $8.99 if you fail.

Pete & Elda's (96 Woodland Ave., Neptune City, N.J.; 732-774-6010; www.peteandeldas.com). A Jersey Shore mainstay since the 1950s, Pete & Elda's serves delicious pizza with a matzoh-thin crust. If you can finish a large pie by yourself ($12.50 and up), you're rewarded with a T-shirt announcing your membership in the "Whole Pie Eater's Club." This challenge is much more winnable than the others. The pie is a standard 16-incher, no toppings are required beyond the basic sauce and cheese (although I recommend the excellent fresh sausage), there's no time limit and the thin crust is less filling than typical pizzeria fare. Moreover, it turns out that the T-shirt, because it's a tangible trophy of sorts, is a surprisingly effective inducement. I was plateauing about three-quarters of the way through my pie, but I had to have that shirt, dammit, which gave me enough of a second wind to finish the job. Too bad the T-shirts come in only one size--XL, of course. Travel writer Paul Lukas is looking forward to writing about the other six deadly sins.