Words: Chris
There was once a tall, hard-drinking, tattooed chef from New York City. After twenty years of rabble-rousing, the chef — a punctual and principled man, despite his troubles and addictions — worked his way to a respectable role at the Manhattan restaurant Les Halles. He was a talented storyteller. And in 2000, he wrote an exposé on his industry called Kitchen Confidential.
To the surprise of the chef, the book was a hit. Everything happened quite quickly. He was on Oprah. He could pay the rent. People asked him for more. So, he proposed the absurd: I travel the world in search of the perfect meal. We film it, I write about it. And A Cook’s Tour was born.
The chef had been given a new chance. After eating and filming his way through Hanoi, Morocco and St Petersburg, he stepped onto a bigger stage with the Travel Channel’s No Reservations. A cult following emerged. Fans made lists from his trips and lived through him, enamoured by his authenticity, his openness to try new foods, and his humility to strangers. The chef, now a TV star, continued writing books and making shows. In 2006, he was stranded in a war in Lebanon. It changed him forever. It changed the kinds of stories he wanted to tell. He decided to use his platform to learn more about the people he ate with.
In 2013, CNN gave him that platform. Parts Unknown was as much about current affairs as what was on his plate. By now, the chef was not only a writer and a TV star, but a father too. He had been softened by the things he had witnessed in Libya, Palestine and Hong Kong. He was widely adored. But his soul still bore the scars of his previous life.
Bourdain in the kitchen of Les Halles, New York
In 2018, Anthony Bourdain died by suicide. It seemed to be the end of a story that had gripped us for nearly two decades. His voice, so relished in the culinary industry for articulating the sublime relationship between emotion and food, felt irreplaceable. It has been much imitated, but never bettered. (See Somebody Feed Phil.) Bourdain’s death happened as his fandom hit a fever pitch — and just before a pandemic where his words on travel, dining, and tolerance would resonate more than ever.
This month, the Oscar-winning director Morgan Neville announced his new documentary, Roadrunner, a behind-the-scenes look at Bourdain’s life. It comes three years after his passing, and just before his birthday on June 25th — a day now celebrated in the culinary world as Anthony Bourdain Day. Along with the film, new books and documentaries produced by his friends are scheduled for release, each offering retrospectives on a figure we may not have met, but had certainly grown close to. The stories pay tribute to his compelling life. As he transcends into his icon, what is driving the enduring cult of Anthony Bourdain?
“He had a unique talent to make an impact on people,” producer and broadcaster Zamir Gotta tells me, “it was as though he was infused into your life and psyche. You joined him on-screen.” On his travels, Bourdain interviewed some of the world’s most interesting people — a surreal roster of dream dinner party guests, including Barack Obama, Christopher Doyle, Iggy Pop, Marco Pierre White, Boris Nemstov, Francis Ford Coppola; the nouveau riche in Shanghai, and the kings of the Congo River. But it was Bourdain’s extended universe of supporting characters and friends that weaved his narrative together. Over ten appearances, Zamir (along with Eric Ripert) was the fan-favourite, becoming a warmer, comedic foil to Bourdain’s cynicism. The pair became friends during the St Petersburg episode back in 2001. It’s easy to see why. During our phone-call, the Russian regales me with stories from his fascinating life — his time as a translator at a power station during the Iran-Iraq war; his stint as a production assistant on the 1993 film Orlando; his work with Ukrainian Olympic skater Oksana Baiul. Zamir explains how he and Anthony were once blacklisted from Romania. It was after one of the most popular, disastrous episodes of No Reservations. “The newspapers said I was a KGB agent and alcoholic sent to ruin the country’s reputation,” he laughs.
“He had a unique talent to make an impact on people. It was as though he was infused into your life and psyche..."
Zamir is currently working on an upcoming documentary called Zamir Discovers Bourdain’s America. “I wanted to keep his torch alive and help people find their way out of their caves,” he says, referring to Bourdain’s mission to open up worlds and cultures many of us were never exposed to.
Each year, Zamir organises a toast at five pm EST on his Instagram to celebrate Bourdain Day. In Buffalo, he will work with local chefs to do something special. The 25th of June — Bourdain’s birthday — is just one of the ways he keeps his friend’s memory alive. “I want everyone, no matter where they are, to get involved this June. Meeting Anthony was one of the milestones of my life,” he says, “One of the reasons we named our son Anton was because of him.”
Bourdain with his friend and collaborator, the Russian fixer Zamir Gotta
Zamir suggests these new stories are only the start. Aside from Roadrunner, Bourdain’s associate and producer Tom Vitale is also apparently working on a related project, and Ecco will publish a more official Bourdain biography late this year.
Laurie Woolever, who worked as Bourdain’s assistant and co-author, will be writing the book. She can’t give too much away just yet, so we’re discussing last month’s posthumous release of World Travel: An Irreverent Guide, a book Anthony had planned since 2017 but did not finish. It includes more of his unpublished travel writing and personal accounts from his companions (including his brother, Chris).
With the blessing of Anthony’s estate, Woolever went ahead and compiled his writing: “I think I felt an obligation to finish what Tony started,” she tells me. Fans might be relieved to read Bourdain’s inimitable voice again, but for Woolever it wasn’t always easy. The pair met at Les Halles restaurant in 2002 and had been close friends ever since. The process, she admits, was an “emotionally heavy lift,” despite the book’s often light and comedic tone. “I certainly felt a sense of relief that I was able to complete it.”
I ask the questions many fans are eager to learn. With the restaurant industry brought to its knees during the pandemic, what stories would he have told? And where would he have liked to have travelled to tell them?
“I think I felt an obligation to finish what Tony started..."
“Tony had always wanted to make a show in Afghanistan — obviously a complicated undertaking,” Woolever says. “This might have been an interesting time for him to revisit Washington, DC, a city he loved. I think he would have also tried, and very likely succeeded, in telling the story of what New York City looked and felt like during our long pandemic lockdown, and how people and businesses were impacted.”
Laurie hopes Bourdain’s fans will see another side of him, too. “I hope people will learn from the book that Tony enjoyed more than just the extreme experiences, like eating a cobra heart in Vietnam. His attachments could be equally sentimental or romantic,” she says. “[Tony’s death] is just one part of the story; he lived a glorious and full life, and opened up the world to so many people who hadn’t previously seen the joy in all types of travel… World Travel is a highly opinionated, curated distillation of his joyful, curious and open life on the road.”
Bourdain in Beirut — a trip that would change his outlook forever
At the height of Bourdain’s fame, he travelled throughout the United States on speaking tours. His set sat halfway between stand-up and a sermon. In front of thousands of people — from the bright lights of Manhattan to sleepy Ohio — he would show up, he would talk, he would be himself. The gospel according to Anthony Bourdain.
Brandon Brown was one of those people. Years after watching Bourdain speak in Albany, New Jersey, he started the Friends of Anthony Bourdain podcast with co-producer Karin Agstam. The first episode is scheduled for release next month. “I was devastated when he died,” Brandon tells me over the phone, “he helped me immensely as a person, and I want to keep his spirit and legacy going.” The podcast will gather members of Bourdain’s extended universe and give them a space to speak. For his viewers and readers, there is a hole where his wit and philosophy of life once was. Brown and Agstam, both fans, are filling that hole. Why not keep his story alive?
“Borneo was my favourite,” remarks Brown, on Bourdain’s 2015 episode. “He was in a rough place, and getting over something. He had made a promise to people he had met there ten years before. In that episode, it’s clear what the show was about. This was a personal journey, not just a travel show.”
"This was a personal journey — not just a travel show..."
“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable… But that’s okay. It changes you; it should change you… You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” — Anthony Bourdain
By the time Bourdain arrived at CNN for Parts Unknown, he was telling a different kind of story. He had evolved from a nihilistic, street-savvy New York chef with an earring (who “could barely pay the rent”) to a world-weary, jiu-jitsu-obsessed, pepper-haired suburban dad. His moveable feast followed. Free from earlier constraints, Bourdain put a bigger emphasis on exploring current affairs, a theme that began with the award-winning 2006 No Reservations Beirut episode.
On location in the Lebanese capital, he wanted to make a happy show about food and culture, “in a city that was regaining its status as the party capital of the Middle East.” Then, out of nowhere, the bombing started.
Bourdain found himself filming in a country that was now at war. Tensions between Israel and Hezbollah escalated. The crew were stranded in a hotel. Waiting to be rescued out of the country (the largest evacuation since Dunkirk) they had to face the very real possibility of not making it home.
“Lebanon was certainly a turning point,” says Ramsay Short, Anthony’s companion on all three of his Beirut visits. The journalist is speaking to me from his home in North London. During our chat, he gets foggy-eyed thinking about his friend. The pair first met in 2006 while Short was editor of Time Out Beirut. “We have this special connection,” he says: “Our daughters were both born after the war.”
Short initially expected Bourdain to be “another American who came to make a show about terrorists.” But sensing his genuine curiosity, the pair clicked: “You could tell he loved food. He loved learning about the people in the Middle East. That endeared me a lot to him.” Once Bourdain and his crew were finally evacuated, he continued calling Short to check he was safe. It’s at this moment that Anthony Bourdain saw his role in a new light: “He realised that whenever he left a country, the people he met had to stay.”
Bourdain with Francis Ford Coppola on an episode of Parts Unknown
Short reminisces over an evening they got “absolutely wasted” in Beirut. It was 2015, Anthony’s last visit. At a communist-themed watering hole called Abu Eli, the proprietor’s son Ernesto pulls out a submachine gun from under the bar and hands it to Bourdain, who looks over it bemused. The barman mentions it’s a replica, raises a glass and they toast. “I could hear the crew whispering. They were definitely a little concerned.”
These are the kinds of Bourdain stories fans love to listen to. The stories that leave us hungry for more. “Bourdain Mania. Call it what you want: I can imagine him becoming a voice we continue to read for five hundred years,” Short adds, “and a book of his best quotes becoming gospel.”
"My cousin said: 'shall we try this Bourdain guy?' And I was hooked..."
“I’m not going anywhere. I hope. It’s been an adventure. We took some casualties over the years. Things got broken. Things got lost. But I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
It was my cousin who introduced me to Anthony Bourdain’s world when I was sixteen. Scrolling through the channels on television one night, he asked me if I wanted “to try the Bourdain guy?”
After three episodes watching ‘the Bourdain guy’ hang out with surly Russian mobsters, shoot vodka, smoke, curse — and then describe, with such truth and poetry, the weaving scooters in Vietnam (how they enacted a “beautiful, thrilling choreography”, a sentence I’ll never forget) I became an immediate fan. This was very different to other food or travel programmes.
Unlike other shows’ hosts, Bourdain himself was a powerfully authentic person. He had that New York attitude where being pretentious was a sin. With his gravelly Manhattan accent, he could gleefully describe a bowl of Vietnamese street-side noodles as though they were precious, and was just as comfortable chewing apart the snobbish theatre of fine dining. He existed across both worlds.
This is what made Bourdain so different from the happy-clappy, absurdly wholesome teletubbies of the Food Network (the likes of Rachael Ray or his ‘nemesis,’ Guy Fieri). Bourdain never tried to be something other than himself. If he did – the Conradian voyage through the Congo; enacting Fellini in Rome – it was self-aware, or at the service of a cultural reference. As his friend, the restaurateur David Chang, said, the shows were never about living through Anthony Bourdain, “… They were about watching him trying to become a better person.”
Obsessed by his philosophy on food and travel, I devoured all of the books. First Kitchen Confidential, then his fiction and travel essays (now tattered paperbacks with creased spines). A hungrier scion of Orwell and Hemingway with the wickedness of his hero Hunter S. Thompson, Bourdain’s writing style was easy to digest. But he also had a streak of on-the-cuff mischief and hyperbole that — after twenty years of trading barbs with fellow cooks — was funnier than most career-scribes. He was a brilliant storyteller. Bourdain inspired me, in part, to become a writer. He inspired that same cousin to become a chef.
As fans, we followed his trail of blood and guts across the world, the restaurants and bars happy to oblige — they’d hang his photo on the walls beside yellow newspaper clippings. The Bourdain-tipped hotspots became so overrun that he’d sometimes refuse to share certain addresses. At an unnamed restaurant in Rome, Bourdain mused: “… I kill what I love.”
"He was a hungrier scion of Hemingway, with the wickedness of his hero Hunter S. Thompson..."
I’ve been to that restaurant in Rome. I’ve followed Bourdain’s footsteps in Berlin, Istanbul, Beirut, Lisbon, New York — almost everywhere. And the meals are memorable, eliciting a nod of approval when described to a local; like learning a few simple words of their language. Many, often small, family-run businesses, now have big queues. The restaurant in Rome may have been unnamed, but Bourdain could have anticipated that the dedicated forums and social media sleuths (groups like Anthony Bourdain Appreciation Society; Anthony Bourdain “The Legend”; Anthony Bourdain RULES) would track it down, using just the tablecloths and plants as their cluse, to a little side street in the Trastevere quarter.
As travel ceases, Bourdain’s words are no longer just commentary. They have the power to bring people together. I realise this speaking with Agstram and Brown. As our phone call comes to an end, that inevitable moment happens between Bourdain fans: we discuss the places we’ve visited from the shows. Me, in London, relaying stories of St John from his England episodes. Karin and Brandon, in New York City, gushing over a bistro he frequented. They ask if I’ve ever been. I haven’t “Not to worry,” they say — next time I come over they’ll bring me. We’ve known each other for twenty minutes and have already made dinner plans — united by a shared admiration of a man none of us had met.
Read next: At home with Marco Pierre White
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