33 bookmarks. First posted by edmadrid 12 days ago.
I was still on the sofa at four in the afternoon, still half-dressed, when I decided that my life could not be complete if I did not somehow become friends with Anthony Bourdain. My son, then a young teenager, also in his underwear, was as inert and transfixed as I was. via PocketIFTTT Pocket
4 days ago by dodecaphonic
bourdain food tonybourdain davidsimon treme
"I was still on the sofa at four in the afternoon, still half-dressed, when I decided that my life could not be complete if I did not somehow become friends with Anthony Bourdain. My son, then a young teenager, also in his underwear, was as inert and transfixed as I was. We were both locked into the ninth or tenth consecutive hour of a Labor Day weekend marathon of Bourdain’s cultural-journey-through-food breakthrough show, “No Reservations.”"
11 days ago by grahams
The long, lanky, exquisitely sad-faced visage of a road-worn Bourdain sitting on the broken pavement in a South American alley – Buenos Aires or maybe Montevideo, there is no way to be sure when twenty episodes are consumed at once — his back to a stone wall, arms crossed above his knees, watching children play at rag-tag soccer with a deflated ball. Still prostrate before the Travel Channel two hours later, I was located by my more culturally literate wife who informed me not only that my discovery of Tony Bourdain’s greatness was belated – the man was already a phenomenon in the world of cuisine — but also that we had met and enjoyed part of evening with him at a crime-writing convention in England some years before. His first scene of a kitchen at work crested gracefully in this moment: The worthy Kim Dickens as DeSautel, her restaurant finally reopened, plating a shrimp-and-grits entrée crowned by a crusted brown-red prawn, bug-eyes and antennae upward, praying to whatever deity governs such transcendent perfection. Instead, he was in search of the best pho however far out Chef Menteur Highway that happened to be, or even further afield, he was hours to the west at an Opelousas campground, at a Cajun boucherie where the keepers of that cultural flame battled through a 98-degree day to disassemble an entire pig at fifteen separate stations and make all of it disappear in gastronomic ways that no Royal Street restauranteur could ever fathom. Yes indeed, there he is, firm in12 days ago by sechilds
tags2018 anthony-bourdain anthonybourdain baltimore bourdain chef cooking cool culture davidsimon dharma essay eulogy favorites food friendship ifttt inspiration-list instapaper life longreads memory neworleans nyc obit obituary passport pocket read-later-from-instapaper-during-gdpr-mess tonybourdain travel treme tv us via:edmadrid writing