Terry Flanagan: I Can’t Believe I Ate the Whole Thing

For those of you too young to remember, there was a commercial for Alka-Seltzer back in 1972 that featured a man sitting on the edge of the bed who kept saying, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing," while his wife made sarcastic remarks. The man was in obvious gastric distress. Friday night I was that man. The reason – 60 Men Who Cook.

For the previous two years, I was one of the “celebrity” chefs. Yes, they apparently take the same liberties with the term celebrity as ABC’s Dancing With the Stars. Being a chef at 60 Men Who Cook is a wonderful opportunity to help out in a worthy cause, and I would encourage anyone who, unlike me, has some culinary skill and name recognition, to participate. There is, however, one downside.

As a chef, you have a lot less time to sample the bountiful spread since there are unreasonable expectations that you spend some time preparing a dish and serving it to the attendees. So this year, I decided to forego the rigors of such culinary discipline and instead try all of the goodies I missed out on in previous years.

My cousin warned me that I needed to pace myself, but it was already too late. In the first ten minutes I had sampled more different dishes than I had in the entire two years I had volunteered as a chef for the event. After a half hour I had swept across the arrayed delicacies like an insatiable horde of South American army ants devouring everything in its path. Within an hour of arriving I was permanently ensconced at a table unable to move or eat another bite, a victim of my own excess, just waiting for the end to come.

I blame my condition on taste sensory deprivation. Having heard about all of the mouth-watering delights that I missed at the previous two events, I must have been overcome by madness. I was determined not to miss out on anything this year. When asked if I had tried this dish or that, I would no longer be forced to whimper a disappointed no. Not only would I have sampled the dish in question, but five other dishes in the same category. And my expert analysis of the quality of each dish would be dazzling enough to leave the judges on Chopped looking slack-jawed and amazed. I would immerse myself in the event.

I think I’m better now. And I have a game plan for next year. When I get there, I will get a drink, sit down at a table, and calmly go over the menu. I will take my time and visit each station, talk with the chefs, talk with other guests, and sample a reasonable number of dishes, taking plenty of time to savor each one. I will not let the aromas and variety of foods overwhelm me. I will exercise restraint and self-control. And if that doesn't work I may just have to beg one of the Geneva police officers there to handcuff me.