Anthony Bourdain
The Untimely Death of Anthony Bourdain
The Loss of My Mentor
It all started for me with his book, Kitchen Confidential, in 2000.
Tony, as he liked to be called by his friends and colleagues, was the culinary mentor I was always looking for. In my world, Tony was a beacon to culinarians everywhere, and a brilliant writer who shot from the hip, took me to exotic locations, and, like most of us, was deeply flawed.
Tony was a self-acknowledged, reformed heroin and cocaine addict. He confessed back in 2003, “I would have robbed your medicine cabinet had I been invited to your house.” Whatever you may think of Tony, he was controversial and, from all appearances, seemed to have everything he ever wanted.
He cheated death multiple times and created the job of a lifetime, or so it seems. I guess he could never really shake his demons, no matter how successful he became.
He also was a superb storyteller, who had an acerbic wit, with a love of adventure, great food, and travel. Anthony wasn’t a media creation celebrity chef. He came up the hard way, and he could really cook. He worked in many kitchens on the East Coast, eventually working his way up to Executive Chef at Les Halles in New York City.
Tony was compassionate, hopelessly human, and yes, he had a potty mouth, but so what? I loved the guy, and he had an enormous impact on me. He opened my eyes to the world of food and travel from a completely fresh point of view.
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”
~ Mark Twain
On Friday, June 8, 2018, I heard the news that Anthony took his life. I couldn’t believe it. Shaking my head, I was thinking, what the hell could have happened? The fucking guy had the world by the balls and killed himself? “What”?? In the kitchen where I was working then, was all we talked about.
It really shook me.
Finally, on Saturday, I cried. Yes, folks, I cried for someone I didn’t know. That’s how much the guy meant to me. I cried for Tony, his daughter, his family, his good friend Eric Ripert, and those who feel they can’t go on.
I will miss him.
*I do not own the photos above,
