we’d crowd around the couch, green beans and whatever meat was on sale toppled high on our plates. not that high. but we never went to sleep hungry.
my dad’s nig paunch is enough proof for that last statement.the same smells wafted into our nose, but we all dreamed it was the food we saw on screen. or at least i did.
the kebabs of Istanbul, crackling over flames as fat dripped from skewers.
or the smooth, silky wheel of raclette, apples and ham and chunks of fresh bread dipped far in.
maybe we’d get lucky and seesomething that’d make you squeal, like natto or chicken feet.
(i tried chicken feet in 2024, over a decade after being exposed to it as a food. it’s not bad. not my favorite, but not terrible either.)
but even as we dreamed of exotic places and far away lands, the thing we came for was the guy in front of the camera. the guy cracking jokes and making everyone smile. the guy in charge of being paid to criticize towns and describe food and complain and travel around the world.
the guy who showed us what can be.
bourdain.
anthony bourdain.
my father always loved Parts Unknown. it wasn’t till years 8 or 9 years later, older and not so much wiser, when I revisited the show and experienced the joy he must’ve felt watching the episodes live.
i love anthony’s shows.
the crazy music mixed in with the fast, handheld camera angles, jokes here and there and the oh so sharp voiceover. it’s incredibly simple, yet so satisfying. and each episode feels distinct. over 20 seasons of television. probably over 150 hours of footage. yet each minnute felt unique. special. just for me.
___
loving the show so much, of course i yearned to learn about the man himself.
and as someone who’s kinda lacked role models in my life, every man who lives a cool creative life is another person for me to learn from.
so i listened to interviews. read his books. dove into documentaries about him. tired endlessly for his articles of op-eds in 2000s forgotten media companies. anything bourdain related, i ate it up.
and there was a lot to soak up.
he’d read novels and write stories from an early age(just like i did).
as a young teen, he’d travel to Europe with his family and eat great food and laugh a lot and have flings with pretty french girls(like me, minus the french girls).
he’d hangout with a mix of crowds, always looking to find new people after he harshly judged the last batch he was with(very, very much like me)
a lil bit insecure, so he’d rely on humor and self-deprecation(that hits close to home)
and most of all, he had a discerning taste, a sharp mouth, and a grit to him that it seemed very others shared.
i may not be articulating it 100% perfectly, but I’d always felt a bit of a kinship with bourdain.
and the nail in the coffin was his addiction.
first alcohol. then heroin. women too(married twice, prostitutes in whatever hotel room he was istaying in on the road, and his girlfriend Asia Argento was something).
but most of all, anthony was an addict to fantasy.
he was a writer first. an idea-guy, first. a man who lived in his mind, always critiquing, judging, thinking, perceiving, peering into the world.
in the documentary, Roadrunner, it was mentioned that Anthony had these crazy mood swings. he’d go to sleep all happy and drunk, and wake up the next morning with a hangover, angry and ready to snap. and god forbid you were slow with a camera movement or asked for an extra second, he might fire you on the spot.
yikes.
and this is where i really felt a pull towards anthony.
his bipolarity due to the world not working out the way he wants it to be.
there were rumors his girlfriend, Asia Argento, cheated on him towards the end of Parts Unknown. they broke up. a few days later, Anthony killed himself.
_____
im easily addicted to things.
substances. women. pleasure. and most of all, work.
on film sets and shoots, i tend to be exact, usually with a scowl on my face if i can get away with it.
it’s not that im annoyed or upset, just focused. very focused. and i want things to be my way.
im working on this. but it still exists.
but most of all, i fantasize. i envision the ideal. the best case scenario. the way things “should be” in my head.
it’s my greatest superpower and worst enemy.
and ultimately, all these parallels have led me to be very aware of this inclination i have towards bipolarity. towards madness. towards suicide.
___
i haven’t been close to suicide. but i’ve contemplated it. and i know if a few dominoes in my life fell, it wouldn’t be a thought too far away from my mind.
__
to me, bourdain is a cautionary tale.
addiction is a poison you willingly self-inflict.
know that before filling up the needle.