There was a time when Anthony Bourdain could in my mind, do no wrong. Kitchen Confidential, his street prose account of life as a chef in New York, was not only a hysterical white knuckle ride of a read, it brought kudos to those of us who cook, most chefs I know love that book. His food based travel shows, 'A Cooks Tour' followed by the amazing 'No Reservations', for me , were perfect. Funny, informative, he drank, he smoked, he gorged himself on the gastronomic pleasures cooks of the world offer . He never seemed totally comfortable giving his soul to the camera, which to me is the correct and dignified approach. All too easy TV chefs seem to be totally okay doing exactly what the producers say. Resulting in a collection of overly emotional, gesturing puppets, pouters, ranters, caricatures and as Keith Floyd refers to them in his autobiography “ a bunch of cunts”. At the drop of a hat, some TV chefs seem happy to front major supermarket chains or stick their faces on pots and pans, kitchen utensils or product. To be one of the few to make it, to abuse that privilege to take that easy money especially when you have enough already, is quite simply, TACKY. Bill Hicks sums this sentiment up perfectly, if you do a commercial, it’s simple you become a sucker of Satan’s cock.
Anthony Bourdain has never to my knowledge sucked Satan’s cock, or brought out a set of high quality kitchen knifes with skull tattoos on them. So what’s my beef. Well, he began his Edinburgh book Festival gig by apologising to Jamie Oliver for all the unkind things he had said about him in the past. Fuck that, the reason I adore the man is precisely the unkindness he shows to people like that, besides we are talking about the same Jamie that rides into New Orleans calls everyone brother and disrespects cook legend Dooky Chase just because she don’t play ball with the production company.
The gig could have been a bit less staged, most of the questions asked were asked by plants, no normal member of the public delivers questions like that, not even the articulate members of the Edinburgh Book Café, each question a Q for Tony to launch into a reasonably well delivered rhetoric about, vegetarianism, life on the road, etc. Where were all those chefs he adores so much ?, why didn’t the place smell of kitchen toil?, simple, Edinburgh Festival 8 o’ clock Saturday night, most of his most craziest devotees were chained to the stove. If I’m going to be honest with you here the real problem is not anything Bourdain said or done, he mouths off hysterically all the time, contradicts himself always, one of the great joys of his collection 'The Nasty Bits', are the back page comments, the retrospective self criticizing. The problem here is me, Hero envy. My sons hero was better than mine.
Vincent met his hero the previous night, comic book writer Alan Moore, who delivered a heartfelt, intelligent, totally honest, a very credible session, followed by a two hour long book signing. He allocated each excited fan the exact amount of time to express their gratitude, went on to thank each person for waiting patiently and for investing time and money in supporting his achievements, signed each graphic novel meticulously a writer for 30years spending Quality time with those that matter most, his fans. Real classy, cool. My hero, scrawled through hundreds of books in a nano second, reducing a 2 hour Q in fifteen minutes. It’s a chef style to be quick and efficient, not used to front of house, had prior engagements, fuck it, couldn’t wait to get to the pub. I offered to my boy, in defence of my hero. Besides your guy, writes about heroes and therefore has insights into how one should behave, my hero‘s a cook, who struck lucky. I could have argued for hours defending my Hero, it would have made no difference the simple fact was my guy sucked, Vincent knew it, I knew it, end of story.
