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Spring Break: A Reservation for Two with Anthony Bourdain
A sloth-like sensibility may have started my Spring Break, but the unfortunate extraction of two decayed molars guaranteed that no cooking, no consumption of anything solid would occur for the entire week. Cooking was, thus, left as a vicarious experience. And who best to turn to?
Anthony Bourdain.
It should be no surprise that I find his irreverence necessary. It’s a trait I’ve come to prize highly—far above decorum and the ability to use the right fork. Back when I took myself more seriously, I could not distinguish irreverence from arrogance or ignorance. They were all symptoms of the same shortcoming. But now, the lines are clear. Irreverence comes from complete honesty and respect. It’s the ability to step outside a serious situation, see it objectively, and help others understand it with levity. To throw down a much needed reality check just in the nick of time. Tony Bourdain can do this in spades.
Oh, I know—he’s a bully, mercilessly attacking veggies, vegans, and raw food fans. He even recently took Alice Waters to task. (Inconceivable!). And yes, he’s a blowhard too. One could certainly argue that his Travel Channel show “Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations” is basically “All Tony, All the Time” with ____ country as an inconsequential backdrop. But this is not only a criticism he’s familiar with, he himself fuels it. And then works to keep his ego in check.
Regardless, I’ll take him, noise and all. Because he’s honest. He’s fun. And he deeply loves food.
His 2001 book A Cook’s Tour: Global Adventures in Extreme Cuisines served as the ideal companion while I traveled through Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam this past summer. Compared to any edition of The Lonely Planet, his philosophy of “Do as the locals do” proves far more instructive than budget-saving tips or lists of sites not to be missed. Whether experienced through his writing or by watching his show, Bourdain’s curiosity, passion, and enthusiasm are contagious. He reminds you of why you travel and why you eat. To connect, to learn, to feel.
And so I settled in. Soup and smoothies in hand and watched Season Four of “No Reservations.” Thanks to Tony, I visited and "ate" in: Sicily (spleen sandwiches! marinara sauce made on site at the caper farm!); Vegas (scouting out the quality of celebrity chef restaurants); Malayasia (How sad I am that I never left the airport at Kuala Lumpur and thus missed all the curry dishes!); Jersey (Asbury Park is still falling down, but you can get an egg cream with your spicy tuna roll!); Paris (Where to begin?!); Iceland (Now featuring more than Bjork, just don't eat the shark!); and Vietnam (Ah, the coast! How did I miss a chance to eat all that seafood?).
Even with the Vegas show, Bourdain found a way to connect with the real--to find the locals and eat their food. With them. On their terms. While wearing his beloved Ramones shirt, smoking two packs a day, and swearing every fourth word.
More refreshing and necessary than that ridiculous “1000 Places to See Before You Die” show that, when featuring Cambodia, conveniently avoided a honest discussion about the lack of infrastructure, the hundreds of street kids, the thousands of undetonated land mines (not to mention the U.S. involvement in any of these conditions)--and instead pushed this mantra: Hey, it’s cheap! Really cheap! And Angkor Wat is gorgeous at sunset! You must come before you die! By contrast, in A Cook’s Tour, Bourdain’s chapter on Cambodia calls it as it is: A gorgeous punching bag, hit for centuries by China, Thailand, and Vietnam (and us, by proxy) that will break your heart.
But I digress.
When it comes to cooking, skill is not my strength. And a sense of science is certainly not there yet. Instead, I rely on instinct, curiosity, and enthusiasm. Which is why I am drawn to cooks like Anthony Bourdain. Ideas are beautiful. Principles are necessary. But food, food is an experience. Pure and simple, straight-up and honest, shared and savored.
Anthony Bourdain.
It should be no surprise that I find his irreverence necessary. It’s a trait I’ve come to prize highly—far above decorum and the ability to use the right fork. Back when I took myself more seriously, I could not distinguish irreverence from arrogance or ignorance. They were all symptoms of the same shortcoming. But now, the lines are clear. Irreverence comes from complete honesty and respect. It’s the ability to step outside a serious situation, see it objectively, and help others understand it with levity. To throw down a much needed reality check just in the nick of time. Tony Bourdain can do this in spades.
Oh, I know—he’s a bully, mercilessly attacking veggies, vegans, and raw food fans. He even recently took Alice Waters to task. (Inconceivable!). And yes, he’s a blowhard too. One could certainly argue that his Travel Channel show “Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations” is basically “All Tony, All the Time” with ____ country as an inconsequential backdrop. But this is not only a criticism he’s familiar with, he himself fuels it. And then works to keep his ego in check.
Regardless, I’ll take him, noise and all. Because he’s honest. He’s fun. And he deeply loves food.
His 2001 book A Cook’s Tour: Global Adventures in Extreme Cuisines served as the ideal companion while I traveled through Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam this past summer. Compared to any edition of The Lonely Planet, his philosophy of “Do as the locals do” proves far more instructive than budget-saving tips or lists of sites not to be missed. Whether experienced through his writing or by watching his show, Bourdain’s curiosity, passion, and enthusiasm are contagious. He reminds you of why you travel and why you eat. To connect, to learn, to feel.
And so I settled in. Soup and smoothies in hand and watched Season Four of “No Reservations.” Thanks to Tony, I visited and "ate" in: Sicily (spleen sandwiches! marinara sauce made on site at the caper farm!); Vegas (scouting out the quality of celebrity chef restaurants); Malayasia (How sad I am that I never left the airport at Kuala Lumpur and thus missed all the curry dishes!); Jersey (Asbury Park is still falling down, but you can get an egg cream with your spicy tuna roll!); Paris (Where to begin?!); Iceland (Now featuring more than Bjork, just don't eat the shark!); and Vietnam (Ah, the coast! How did I miss a chance to eat all that seafood?).
Even with the Vegas show, Bourdain found a way to connect with the real--to find the locals and eat their food. With them. On their terms. While wearing his beloved Ramones shirt, smoking two packs a day, and swearing every fourth word.
More refreshing and necessary than that ridiculous “1000 Places to See Before You Die” show that, when featuring Cambodia, conveniently avoided a honest discussion about the lack of infrastructure, the hundreds of street kids, the thousands of undetonated land mines (not to mention the U.S. involvement in any of these conditions)--and instead pushed this mantra: Hey, it’s cheap! Really cheap! And Angkor Wat is gorgeous at sunset! You must come before you die! By contrast, in A Cook’s Tour, Bourdain’s chapter on Cambodia calls it as it is: A gorgeous punching bag, hit for centuries by China, Thailand, and Vietnam (and us, by proxy) that will break your heart.
But I digress.
When it comes to cooking, skill is not my strength. And a sense of science is certainly not there yet. Instead, I rely on instinct, curiosity, and enthusiasm. Which is why I am drawn to cooks like Anthony Bourdain. Ideas are beautiful. Principles are necessary. But food, food is an experience. Pure and simple, straight-up and honest, shared and savored.
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