June 8th, 2018, Newport Rhode Island, one year ago. It was asphalt patch day. The entire eight hours was devoted to driving around the city in a backhoe, digging out 8×8 squares and replacing it with hot asphalt-all while trying not to get hit by idiots who are more interested in their phones than me. I hated patch day. As usual, I was listening to the radio and the always informative Gene Valicenti when the announcement was made. Chef Anthony Bourdain was found dead in his hotel room at Le Chambard, Kaysersberg-Vignoble, France. Cause of death? Suspected suicide.
I didn’t react. I continued to drive, thinking to myself that I heard that wrong. How can a guy who had the best job in the world just decide to end it all? I guess the answer is he just did. Suddenly, I began to feel a sense of loss. Not to the same degree as losing a family member, but like I just found out my favorite teacher had died. For all his aired foibles, Anthony Bourdain was one hell of a teacher. Through his TV shows and books, I learned how to perfectly roast a chicken, why knife skills are so important, and that good scrambled eggs are an art. Even with all the exotic places he traveled and the sometimes-exquisite food he ate, he always seemed to reiterate that simple is best and if you want to understand people, eat what they eat.
It wasn’t just what he knew, it was also the amount of enthusiasm and energy he put into it. Always on the go, he once told his best friend Eric Ripert; “free time is bad for a person like me; I shouldn’t have a lot of free time.” He worked a lot and he expected the same from those around him. He also didn’t seem to have time for pointless BS and whining, which is probably why I was such a fan. I also liked his emotional balance with people and establishments. From understanding to impatience, condemnation to self-deprecation, you never really knew what was going to come out, but you could be sure it was honest.
“But I do think the idea that basic cooking skills are a virtue, that the ability to feed yourself and a few others with proficiency should be taught to every young man and woman as a fundamental skill, should become as vital to growing up as learning to wipe one’s own ass, cross the street by oneself, or be trusted with money.”
― from “Medium Raw: A Bloody Valentine to the World of Food and the People Who Cook”
When I read his books one thing kept popping into my head; “WARNING ALL SNOWFLAKES! You have no chance of survival with this man” and it got me thinking. Maybe high schools around the country should teach a course called, Bourdainistics. Bourdainistics would be a 10-week course that would introduce students to this phenomenon called, “Reality” with emphasis how to move out of Mom and Dad’s basement. Topics would include, but not be limited to the following:
- If you are going to spend your life eating at the clown, the king or the colonel be sure you have a good cardiologist.
- Learn how to wash dishes. Yes, it may be the only thing in life that you will be good at. And with that,
- Embrace your failures and short comings. You will suck at a lot of things you try.
- Understand why Alice Waters is a fraud.
- Buy yourself a good chef’s knife and know how to use it correctly
- If you have any aspirations of getting laid, you should know how to make the perfect omelet.
- Why a passport is more important than a driver’s license.
- Yes, the USA is great, but you won’t learn shit until you visit other countries and the people who live there.
- Learn how to say please and thank you in five difference languages (other than English, stugotts).
- Learn to read. Read a lot and often. Learn to read not only what you like but what you don’t like.
Thank you, Tony, for everything you taught us. Thank you for emphasizing that the reason we have two ears and one mouth is so we can listen twice as much as we speak. It is sad no one saw the pain through your smile. May you be reunited in heaven with your Dad, sitting on a beach in France drinking vin ordinaire and being men of simple needs. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had to spend a little time making Sunday brunch. Farewell Tony.
So, until next time remember; it’s not what’s in the glass that’s important. It’s with whom you share that glass that is.
Ciao’
LAVORO D'AMORE 