For Anthony . . .

“Travel changes you. As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life - and travel - leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks - on your body or on your heart - are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt.”
― Anthony Bourdain, The Nasty Bits: Collected Varietal Cuts, Usable Trim, Scraps, and Bones

June the eight started magnificently. I got to cycle to work on a day when all the conditions for making it the perfect morning for it were there. I had a smile pasted to my face that reflected all that was making me happy and grateful to be alive: the marvellous weather now thought of in contrast to how bitter it was here just two months ago, an end (or at least a blissful lengthened reprieve) from elements of tyranny, my once ailing pet is now recovering soundly, and all the things my sweetheart does, has, or just is, that make me so joyful that I fail to find words for in describing it all deeply and accurately. It was at work where I volunteered to fix up a cable box and reprogram a replacement remote control; where then it felt like this sphere of bliss I was in that morning became shattered by a wrecking ball as the first thing I viewed on this now functioning television was a breaking news report of the death of Anthony Bourdain. He was found in a French hotel; the cause of death being suicide by hanging. I’m trying to write words befitting of his genius and his passionate soul as my effort to remember him.

Even now as I write this three days later, I struggle to sort out the thoughts, and the words to bind them to adequately reflect all my disbelief, my shock, my sorrow about this great and devastating loss of this magnificent curator to all those who want to and dare to experience, appreciate, and dream of, both bliss-laden gastronomy and adventurous wanderlust. He was a unique celebrity: not an actor; a very real person open to exploring any countries or classes: dining along with, and genially discussing things with all sorts, ranging from patrons of Michelin starred restaurants to the humblest of street vendors. He made me want to be that kind of person with that kind of social fluidity, despite my introvert tendencies. He made me appreciate the will to craft the talent of writing better, and to note the importance and impact of honest and simple prose, and beauty of the written word, even when they are used at times to commentate with profanity on subjects leaning towards the vulgar. He reminded me that I once had the cajones to strike off to foreign places not commonly chosen as travel destinations, daring to eat local cuisine, intermingling with the locals; that I’d do it all over again once funding and freedom permits, and that it is a special privilege to be able to do so, and that past experience of doing it ultimately did me good.

One of the best books that one of my friends ever gifted me that was meaningful to my own life was a copy of Kitchen Confidential, with him as the author. His account of his humble beginnings and course of career through the culinary arts, showing all the wild, the humorous, the sultry, the seedy, and the scary behind-the-scenes happenings of the world of the kitchens ranging from eateries to upscale restaurants. It gave me the greater appreciation of improving and daring to amp up my own cooking skills, but yet it also served to scare the living hell out of me from ever wanting to pursue a career as a full-time chef or restauranteur. It also hooked me into wanting to know what his perceptions were of the rest of the world with this sort of background before he even became a traveller and gaining popularity as a TV host.

He, more than anyone, gave me the sense to see where there could be goodness, and even something majestic and exotic, in something ordinarily thought of as crude like offal, and how awful it is having the insidious metastasizing interference of monoculture of fast food chains. His tastes reflected so many of my own. He was an epicurean in the purest sense, knowing that life is lived through the senses; that is why it is so hard for me to stomach the fact that he took the extreme of ending his own life when he so boldly showed us what was beautiful and wonderful to experience in all corners of this globe. It thus must have been an extreme leave of his own senses. Having been through harsh phases of addictions, depression, and anxiety, he no doubt was exhausted of all his remaining energy to mask such things. It was apparent that he mastered doing it well, unfortunately. I can’t begin to guess what personal existential torment he must have had, or what finally made him act on this drastic and final self-destructive impulse. His death comes a month after I was left to process and be supportive to someone grieving the loss of their own child to suicide. Maybe on the subject itself, this occurrence showed me that I’m not yet done with reconciling whatever suffering it brings to those who are enduring the loss of the loved one this way.

In my own fantasy world, there is a list of people with whom I would love to have convened all together for a good dinner party: a group of contemporary celebrity figures (both living and not) for me that I regard as endowed with enough wisdom and style for living well in an enlightened or almost Christ-like manner. They would be like my personal apostles at my very own last supper. Anthony Bourdain was definitely on that list . . . and still is. He would probably would have recoiled at the thought of himself being compared to a Jesus figure, but nonetheless, he certainly was an influence on me in helping me to opt for constructive and hopeful things to do at times when I myself was in a pit of despair; helping me find simple ways to approach rejoicing life with living sensually in the little, but powerful and even medicinal, things and ways that honestly good food can possess. I wish that point of enlightenment was realized by himself and had rescued him before whatever demons he felt he was facing had led him down this dark path.

Thank you, Tony. You deserved a finale better than this; but thank you all the same for this journey you shared with us all. I know my words are nowhere close to being in the same league of mastery as yours in comparing our styles of writing, but please know that they are genuine and heartfelt. Bon voyage et bon appetite . . . and rest in peace.