“Cookery – it’s not just the new rock and roll, it’s the new pornography,” Britain’s bad boy celebrity chef Barry O’Flingel told The Sleaze, as he lay naked on a huge silver platter, adorned only with a light salad, ladling gravy over his genitals during a photo-shoot for a lads’ magazine. “There’s no bigger turn on for a bird than a lovely blue-veined steak followed up by a big slice of marrow pudding! I’m having to beat them off with a fish slice these days!” The photo-shoot is to publicise Dublin-born O’Flingel’s new book, Cock Au Vin, which lifts the lid on the wild world of Britain’s celebrity chefs. If O’Flingel’s literary revelations are to believed, the life of the average celebrity chef is just one long orgy of drink, drugs, sex and haute cuisine, with even their most bizarre peccadilloes satisfied by an army of adoring fans. “It’s bloody brilliant! Those foodies who hang round outside our kitchens are better than groupies – they’ll do anything for an advance taste of your latest culinary speciality,” he says, as he poses for another publicity shot, this time involving a scantily-clad young woman in a chef’s hat whipping his salad cream-smeared buttocks with a stick of celery. “Only last week I had three of ’em, stark naked, licking my new parsley and chive relish off of my body!” However, as O’Flingel’s ribald recollections make clear, the life of a foodie can be highly dangerous, with several fatalities having been incurred on the culinary party circuit over the past few years. Amongst those chronicled in his salacious memoirs is the tragic case of thirty-six year old foodie Marjorie Muffler, who perished at one of top TV chef Gary Rhodes’ infamous ‘kitchen parties’, after sampling his chestnut stuffing. “It was terribly tragic, it was never really established for sure whether she choked to death while he was ‘stuffing’ her, or whether it was her nut allergy which did for poor Marjorie,” O’Flingel told us in a break from the shoot, as he picked fish scales from under his foreskin. “Whichever it was, she went a horrible purple colour and ballooned up! They had a terrible time covering it up, I’m only surprised that something like that hadn’t happened before! Those ‘kitchen parties’ were bloody wild!”
According to O’Flingel, Rhodes’ parties – held after-hours in the kitchen of his London restaurant – involved his celebrity guests dressing as chefs and ‘preparing’ willing foodies for cooking. “It was like something from the last, decadent, days of Rome,” he says, lightly glazing his scrotum with honey, as he prepares for the next part of the photo-shoot. “It was an amazing sight when one of those parties was in full swing – at one end of the kitchen you might see ex-gameshow host Tom O’Connor sticking an apple in the mouth of a foodie whose buttocks he’d just tenderised, whilst at the other former TV presenter Frank Bough iced the knockers of another! In between there’d be every form of culinary perversion imaginable going on – all presided over by the fiendish Gary Rhodes!” With the foodies whipped up into an erotic frenzy by the application of large amounts of gourmet cuisine to their bodies, the parties would culminate in a wild debauched frenzy of sex and dining. However, whilst Rhodes culinary career survived this tragedy, O’Flingel knows from bitter experience that such incidents can destroy a reputation. “That business with the dead butcher nearly finished me,” he concedes, whilst pretending to spank a female model with a frying pan. “The press tried to make out that we’d had some kind of sado-erotic relationship prior to his death. Completely untrue! I like a bit of beefcake as much as the next man, and that was the extent of our relationship – he simply used to personally deliver the meat to my rear entrance.” O’Flingel found himself ostracised by the culinary community when twenty-three year old trainee butcher Harry Hogger was found dead inside a giant lemon jelly at one of the cook’s celebrity parties. At first it was assumed that Hogger had drowned when he mistook the giant outdoor mould in which the jelly was setting as a swimming pool, but an autopsy revealed that he had suffered severe internal injuries after being sexually assaulted with a giant knockwurst. “It didn’t bother the press that no charges were ever brought against me – they just kept up the innuendo until no-one would touch me with a barge pole,” he told us, a turnip between his buttocks. “I lost my restaurant, everything. I was reduced to running a burger van in Southwark!” Nevertheless, within three years O’Flingel had fought his way back and re-established himself with his current venture: ‘Cafe Sex’.
“I got the idea when I was running the burger van – watching the expressions of ecstasy on the faces of the punters as they bit into their burgers, the grease tricking down their chins like cum,” he explains. “It was obvious that eating has become the new sex! Sex used to be fun because it had a certain mystique to it, but since the 1960s it’s lost that edge. You can discuss it openly and see it on TV all the time! As for perversions, there just aren’t any left which can truly shock! Consequently, people in the affluent West have become like neutered cats – they can’t get a kick from sex anymore, so they eat instead! Food has become the new ultimate sensual experience! Like sex, which although primarily for procreation, most people actually did for fun, so people are eating now, not just for sustenance, but for the orgasmic high it gives them! The spread of obesity surely bears that out! So, I decided to openly combine the two: eroticism and food!” Notoriously, ‘Cafe Sex’ features topless waitresses serving soup by pouring it over their breasts and allowing it to drip from their nipples into the customers’ bowls. There is also a persistent rumour that all the chips served there are fried in oil which O’Flingel has previously had rubbed all over his body by a bevy of naked girls. “There’s no doubt that the customers like to think they can taste something unique to the chef himself in their meal,” he grins. With ‘Cafe Sex’ now established as one of London’s top eateries, O’Flingel has decided the time is right to get his revenge on the celebrity chef circuit which had earlier turned its back on him. “What better way than to expose the hypocritical bastards with my book?” O’Flingel demands. “They were up to all sorts of filth, but I was the one who took the fall!” Not surprisingly, Britain’s celebrity chefs have hit back at O’Flingel’s claims, branding them lies. Not only has Gary Rhodes denied the entire Muffler incident, but Gordon Ramsey and Ainsley Harriot have poured scorn on suggestions that they engaged in a ‘Big Cock Off’, in which they both flame-grilled their penises to try and establish who was toughest. “It’s no good them denying it – I was there,” O’Flingel insists, as he prepares for the last shot of the day. “Not only did Ainsley win, but to prove his point he doused his todger in brandy and set it alight – the fire got out of control and he had to douse it by sticking his John Thomas in a frozen chicken! He might look like a big fairy, but believe me, he’s well hard!” We left an unrepentant O’Flingel sitting astride a side of pork with several pineapple rings on his penis, apparently unconcerned by the prospect of legal action over Cock Au Vin.
