This week we 86’d Anthony Bourdain. Selfishly, I am really sad. He was a solid gritty writer that seemed to tell the truth about the underbelly of the culinary world that many of us who worked that side, simultaneously loved and loathed. I also loved the sheer weirdness of the kitchen and the consumptive people that I shared that space with. I love and miss those people the most as I look back. Some of those relationships are still my closest.
He took me to places and food that I might not have always had the courage to go. From him I learned to have the courage to order outside my box and eat everything at the chef’s table. I may not have liked everything, but I gained insight into the journey the chef wanted to take me on. I envied his ability to just tell it like he felt it. A celebrity chef, that loathed celebrity chefs. A chef that came up from the bottom and found what his passion was. There was much to envy as we look at his life from the outside. I am grateful to have read his writing and to have traveled with him to parts unknown via his show. I will remain inspired to take the road less traveled to parts yet still unknown thanks to him.
His suicide along with others should serve to raise awareness. It is sad from the outside looking in. There is a part of me that cannot help but think though that he died like he lived, strictly on his terms. We will never know his mind, but we will miss him. I hope he is resting in yet another part unknown.
