I've read his book, and watched nearly every episode of his show - I'm just in awe of the man, and what he's spent his life doing. I can only imagine that in between episodes, or chapters, he's leading a monastic life of self-starvation, because I don't know how he walks after eating some of the shit he's eaten. He is a foodie god, specifically because he would probably never term himself that, and balk at the prospect.
I love his anecdotes about night after night spent in sweaty kitchens, shooting up heroin to stay awake and banging nameless women-who-may-be-whores in the early-morning hours in dark alleyways before returning to his lair of the week to put together the produce list. It's a window into a world I will never know - New York City in the 1980's - gritty, seamy, dirty fun. And here's the guy who survived it, eating a live octopus in some southeast Asian street shack, choking and laughing and describing the experience moment by moment.
What a sexy motherfucker.
This year he's sticking to the US, which is refreshing and pretty awesome. There is now a Sri Lankan restaurant I HAVE to visit in Staten Island, and I can't wait to get to the remote fish smokehouse under that one bridge outside of Chicago. He and his weird-ass tour guides can make everything look delicious, and sinful, and necessary to experience before I die.
I'm glad he's able to find so much that he loves here in the states - I've always agreed with his biggest complaint, and that is the total lack of quality in American street food - namely, Fast Food Nation. When we want something quick, it's Mickey D's, or Arby's, or something else equally disgusting. When you need something quick in Singapore, it's hand-made noodles, rich broth, fresh veggies. Street does not equal unhealthy - and in turn, the people are healthy too. In that Time Magazine article I posted this weekend, the most fascinating part to me was the moment where the author suggested that McDonalds placed playgrounds inside their "restaurants" just so the kids get themselves a little more hungry by running around a bit, and therefore ingest more crap. We kill ourselves a little every time we eat.
But when Anthony Bourdain eats, he eats like a king. And it reminds me, every time, of what a meal SHOULD be: a sublime all-sense experience, fulfilling but not overwhelming, savory and of course, accompanied by a really good beer. That's the kind of experience I look forward to when I'm lucky enough to have the chance.
Plus, Anthony is sexy as hell, no?
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