A hot dog and a boat ride saved my life. Well, sorta.
Years ago my wife and I went to New York City and ate out at a nice restaurant in Chelsea. Had the sauteed scallops. Next day I woke up feeling awful. Assumed it was food poisoning, but who knows. My wife was fine. We were there for four more days. And of course, she wanted to go to NY's gazillion restaurants.
For three days I couldn't eat a single bite of anything. I went along with my wife to restaurants and just sat there, staring like a zombie, sipping water or Coke and wishing my gastrointestinal tract would just go the hell away and leave me alone. But I was a trouper and refused to sit in the hotel and mope. Did all the touristy things too.
Then came the turning point. On the ferry ride out to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, I started feeling a little better. Saw the statue, saw the island. On the ride back, I suddenly felt completely cured -- and starving. Three days without a bite, and I was right at this moment DYING of hunger. Literally shaking from hunger. MUST FIND FOOD NOW! Get the hell out of my way, people! I probably knocked a few people down on the way to the snack bar on the ferry. They had hot dogs! MUST HAVE A HOT DOG! Best thing I ever ate. Sweet, divine hot dog, complete with mustard and bun! Who invented this? It was manna from heaven! When I got off the boat at Battery Park I was still famished. First thing I saw was a sidewalk hot dog stand. MUST HAVE ANOTHER HOT DOG! With everything! Right now! Just as good as the first, I tell ya. Magnificent dish, this hot dog. Thank you, Mr. Hot Dog Vendor Man!
So there's my hot dog story. Probably could've eaten a couple more, but I didn't want to take a chance on barfing. And 68 seems excessive, no matter how you slice it.
Next morning we left New York for home. I've never felt that sick since.