How do you mourn
someone you don't know? How do you grieve for someone you've never
met? Anthony Bourdain's passing raises these questions for scores
of chefs, food writers, travel enthusiasts, and food lovers shocked
by his untimely death. I count myself among those in Bourdain's
debt who are reeling from this news.
In 2000, I was taking the first baby steps in my culinary
journey. After moving into a house where I had my first proper
kitchen, one where I didn't get a shock every time I touched the
faucet and where the wires that powered the oven didn't burn in two
inside the fuse box, I was eager to learn how to cook. I devoured
cookbooks like dime-store novels and suffered though costly and
smoky kitchen mistakes.
The internet was not quite in its infancy but had only achieved
toddler status at the turn of the last century. Still, with a
few clicks of the mouse you could find people as obsessed about
cooking as you were, even if you lived in a food backwater as I
did. I happened upon a recommendation for 'Kitchen
Confidential' while browsing an online bulletin board populated by
food geeks.
I blew through the book in one sitting. Bourdain's adventurous
spirit was infectious. I discovered his cooking shows, watching in
rapt attention, and I admit to having impure thoughts while so
doing. No other TV food personality moved me in the same way. His
swagger was irresistable, even if I didn't always agree with his
opinions (like those about vegetarians) or behavior (I yelled at
the TV for him to wear a helmet because he was a reckless and
ungainly motorcycle rider). Bourdain's joie de vivre was palpable.
He was genuine, a rarity in the polished and scripted world of food
television.
As it did for thousands of others, Kitchen Confidential inspired
me to contemplate culinary school. As much as I may have admired
him, however, I could never muster Bourdain's ability to grab life
by the balls. I won't ride my motorcycle without a helmet. I don't
go out in the sun without applying sunscreen. Even though I obsess
over food from morning until night (and even in my dreams), I
didn't have the gumption to leave a stable desk job for the
vagaries of culinary school and restaurant work.
Although I did not make bold decisions, Bourdain's brash
appetite propelled me to continue my culinary quest in other ways.
It prompted me to write about my food experiences and pushed me to
seek opportunities in that arena, resulting in a weekly food column
gig for a (now-defunct) local paper. I was fortunate to find a home
here, too, where I can keep my fingers on the pulse of food via
cookbooks.
I have read dozens of articles by industry professionals and
celebrities reminiscing about their experiences with Bourdain. The
description of each encounter enhances my regret that I never met
him. Even though our paths never crossed, I mourn Bourdain as I
would a friend. Let his passing remind us to take advantage of
every opportunity, eat something new, sit down at the table with
people unlike us, and always remind our friends and family how much
we love them. Godspeed, Tony.