Is The Never Ending Pasta Bowl At Olive Garden All You Can Eat

Every fall Olive Garden unleashes the beast that is the Neverending Pasta Bowl promotion. By far it's the Italian chain's most popular marketing schtick, one that was created to boost the company's slow season. Unsurprisingly, the extremely limited VIP passes sold out instantly—in less than a minute to be exact.

Somehow the brand thought it was a good idea to mail one to me. With my name engraved on it and everything.

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Of course, this sparked my entire team to volunteer me as tribute for a little experiment to try and eat my weight in spaghetti for an entire work day—or longer. But also for the journalistic purpose of testing the accuracy of this "neverending" deal. Would they truly never stop serving me?

Here's what my boss had to say: "Bring your laptop, work from there and make sure to get it on Facebook Live."

A few days before embarking on my carbo-loading journey, I found out some people were forking over $4,000 to get their hands on this coveted card that grants you unlimited pasta, soft drinks and bread sticks for seven weeks straight (they originally sold for $100 from OG directly). I also knew my friends weren't going to do much other than laugh at my funeral, which would likely be on a bed of penne. So the pressure was on.

BOWL ONE

I've only been here for 10 minutes (12:10 p.m.) and the dread is very real. I feel like once my first bowl arrives, I'm locked into a prison cell made of spaghetti and breadsticks. Our Facebook Live editor assures me everything is going to be fine: "No matter what, it's going to be funny. If you get kicked out, it will be funny. If you pass out, it will be funny." Thanks, Sam.

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Holy cow, this is super filling. Crispy chicken may have been a bad choice out of the gate. But it tastes like a creamy, super cheesy version of chicken parm and I can't stop, won't stop. I'm fairly confident I'm going to crush this assignment ... as long as I pace myself.

calorie count: 1,010

BOWL TWO

It's 1:29 p.m. and I've moved tables so I can get some actual work done that isn't stuffing myself with carbs. I'm in the way back of the restaurant, like where you'd want to hide a screaming baby. OMG, am I embarrassing this Olive Garden?!

Thirty minutes later I order my second bowl. Deep breaths. You can do this, kid.

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I already have to pee. On my way to the bathroom—it's like walking through a freaking corn maze at this location—I notice that this OG is lit. It's a Thursday afternoon but the dining rooms are packed with people having *actual* business lunches. Like not ironically. And then there are tourists with suitcases and one couple who took a selfie at their table. WHERE AM I?

calorie count: 2,270

BOWL THREE

The carb coma is already setting in. My server, Brook, tries to encourage me by sharing a story about how she's seen people get through ten bowls of pasta. "Except they were college football players." ARE YOU KIDDING ME, BROOK? Apparently I should just quit now.

But nope, my momma taught me better than that (*sung in Destiny's Child harmony*) so I ask for another refill. When it arrives, I make Brook take a Boomerang of the cheese grater because I'm a #millennial. Also a Delish editor.

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Just as I dig into the angel hair, a friend doubts my abilities and goes so far as to bet against me. I am NOT having it.

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To be honest, though, the smell of this meat sauce is offensive. I swear to god I never want to look at another noodle again.

A little after 3:30 p.m. the general manager comes over to my table. Apparently he heard about me. I am the OG of this OG.

calorie count: 2,990

BOWL FOUR

By 4 p.m. Brook tells me that she's heading home and another server named Rahman will take her place. "You're gonna meet the whole staff," she jokes. Yup, we're all gonna be BFFs after this.

I just realized it's going to be dark when I leave here. How depressing. I've spent my entire day in this dimly lit restaurant designed to look like a Tuscan villa with $10 wine bottles on display like it's your grandma's curio cabinet of Fine China. Maybe I should just cut my losses and move in to this Olive Garden.

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Jokes aside, I must be a masochist because I sign up for round four. The thick-cut pasta gets here at 4:41 p.m., completely drenched in cheese and garlic and extra toasted cheese crumbles on top. What was I thinking?!

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At 5:17 p.m., my favorite conversation goes down:

Rahman: "Aren't you having more breadsticks and salad?"

Me (pretending/praying this isn't true): "Oh, I get refills on that, too?"

Rahman: "Everything. When you are here, you're family."

OMG, YOU GUYS HE SAID IT.

I somehow find the strength to power through the rest of this papparadelle. But not without gagging and developing a headache. All I want to do is go home and eat raw vegetables. And to also cleanse my ears of listening to soft jazz for 5+ hours straight.

calorie count: 4,450

BOWL FIVE

Before I can move onto my next opponent I decide to take an intermission. I walk through the cornmaze of a route to the bathroom and thank the heavens for every step I'm able to take. Because maybe I'm working off like at least one spoonful of ziti. Probably not, but that's all the hope I have right now, okay?

I feel like my stomach is going to explode. Or, more realistically, that I'm going to lose my papardelle all over this faux-rustic table. NOT TODAY, SATAN.

By 5:45 p.m., the dining room is hoppin' again. Meanwhile I've discovered Bloated Town, population: Rhe.

Believe me, you DO NOT want this life.

At 6:29 p.m., I file an article with my editor and watch as every server in the restaurant crowds around one table to sing the second "Happy Birthday" of the day ... with a lot of clapping. I pretend this clapping is for me, because honestly, I need a cheerleader right now.

Nah, maybe I just need some wine. So I cave and finally order a glass of malbec at 7 p.m. after dreaming of one for three hours.

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Then I must have become clinically insane because I ask for yet another pasta punishment. My cavatappi—with giant-size meatballs—gets to the table right on cue, AKA when I least would like it to, AKA literally ever. (The time was actually about 7:30 p.m.)

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I didn't know it at the time, but this would be my last bowl. I only took a couple bites, gathered myself for the FB Live recap segment, and held back from passing out.

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Sigh. So much sighing.

calorie count: 5,310

FINAL THOUGHTS

I learned the hard way that OG is definitely not effing around with this offer. You can literally sit there all day and night until you (presumably) die. On the bright side, I made $10 from that bet with my troll-friend, but have ask myself: At what cost?

Other than that my lesson is, as a much wiser friend forewarned via Twitter: The pasta never ends, but it will end you. Attempt at your own risk.

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