Fixing our gaze down the rabbit hole
I don't typically write in this blog about people I don't know. Hell, I don't write it about anyone but me and my friends and family, but today I'm consumed by the sudden, unexpected death of Anthony Bourdain.
My sister Valentine confessed to me years ago that she had a violent crush on Señor Bourdain. I didn't get it, but what I did see was his amazing lust for life. Here was a man who was in his mid 40s by the time he found his voice, and from there he crafted a life that he lived passionately. No Reservations is right. It was his truth, and he took us on a journey that was less about haute cuisine and more about real people living real lives eating real food.
The eulogies and remembrances are vast and tearful and come from all walks of life, but universally they say the same thing: We loved him. We wanted to live his life. We wanted to BE him. And I think I can say that what we all wanted to be is that version of ourselves that's truthful and blunt and open and FREE to be who we want to be and to say what is in our hearts. He wasn't eloquent by any means, but he was articulate and most importantly, RUTHLESS.
Say what you want about his crafty writing, his people skills, his charm and wit, it was his No Bullshit approach that won the day. At the same time, he was thoughtful, gallant, mean and brazen, and even belittling, toward people he didn't understand or agree with -- vegetarians, famous chefs, even other cultures. Nigerian chef and San Francisco Chronicle columnist Tunde Wey exposed Bourdain's lingering white privilege in his March 2018 essay, "The power of those who get to tell the stories." In it, he collars Bourdain as a self-anointed "patron saint of obscure cuisines, interceding on behalf of the culturally ignorant."
To his credit, Bourdain's storytelling was masterful and the personal risks he took were sometimes shocking and nearly always entertaining. My personal favorite is his visit to Sicily on CNN's Parts Unknown, where the well-intentioned locals threw dead seafood all around him during his dive -- driving him so infuriatingly mad that he got rip-roaring drunk. All on national television. Much like cooking, he was able to mix his visuals, message, and music with a smooth sensibility, easing our palette with digestible chunks of alternatives. Alternative life. Distant. Peculiar. Colorful. Much like Anthony Bourdain himself.
But as he himself said, he was just a simple cook, albeit a cook that opened doors to new ideas, new foods, and new worlds to many. And for that, he deserves enormous credit. It's important at the same time to acknowledge that he couldn't have accomplished what he did if he had not been a Caucasian Male. The chip on his shoulder was righteous indignation and it cut deep if you dared to challenge him. While it offered him the ability to open doors and offered us a taste of what only he could relish, Bourdain's view was justly a bit slender. At the same time, despite the limitations inherent in his approach, format, and viewpoint, he was gently and carefully making his way toward a deeper reflection of his own skewed perspective and recognizing his ability to deconstruct rather than to blend, to question rather than to digest.
Most recently, he'd brokered peace with other chefs and even some vegetarians. He overtly eschewed the bro culture/kitchen life he described so colorfully in his 2000 memoir, Kitchen Confidential. And to the writer Helen Rosner, he finally claimed that yes, indeed, he was a feminist. We don't know where he might have gone and taken us with him, but we do know that he opened some previously hidden cultural doors, showcasing our commonality and our humanity over food.
Wey's observations put a harsh spotlight on some glaring weaknesses in Bourdain's faux reporting. While he was masterfully crafting shots to show startling impressions as an outsider, he was missing a key opportunity -- to perhaps gain a deeper understanding of why a culture is a certain way, and how it got to be that way, through history, economics, politics, or violence. Or all of the above.
My sister Valentine confessed to me years ago that she had a violent crush on Señor Bourdain. I didn't get it, but what I did see was his amazing lust for life. Here was a man who was in his mid 40s by the time he found his voice, and from there he crafted a life that he lived passionately. No Reservations is right. It was his truth, and he took us on a journey that was less about haute cuisine and more about real people living real lives eating real food.
Say what you want about his crafty writing, his people skills, his charm and wit, it was his No Bullshit approach that won the day. At the same time, he was thoughtful, gallant, mean and brazen, and even belittling, toward people he didn't understand or agree with -- vegetarians, famous chefs, even other cultures. Nigerian chef and San Francisco Chronicle columnist Tunde Wey exposed Bourdain's lingering white privilege in his March 2018 essay, "The power of those who get to tell the stories." In it, he collars Bourdain as a self-anointed "patron saint of obscure cuisines, interceding on behalf of the culturally ignorant."
Mr. Bourdain’s real talent, captured in these sharply edited visuals, is the faithful reproduction of any representation of otherness that permits its consumption. At this work, he is a master, breaking sweet people down from complex to simple sugars, all the more digestible, all the more delicious. This is the modern conqueror.
To his credit, Bourdain's storytelling was masterful and the personal risks he took were sometimes shocking and nearly always entertaining. My personal favorite is his visit to Sicily on CNN's Parts Unknown, where the well-intentioned locals threw dead seafood all around him during his dive -- driving him so infuriatingly mad that he got rip-roaring drunk. All on national television. Much like cooking, he was able to mix his visuals, message, and music with a smooth sensibility, easing our palette with digestible chunks of alternatives. Alternative life. Distant. Peculiar. Colorful. Much like Anthony Bourdain himself.
But as he himself said, he was just a simple cook, albeit a cook that opened doors to new ideas, new foods, and new worlds to many. And for that, he deserves enormous credit. It's important at the same time to acknowledge that he couldn't have accomplished what he did if he had not been a Caucasian Male. The chip on his shoulder was righteous indignation and it cut deep if you dared to challenge him. While it offered him the ability to open doors and offered us a taste of what only he could relish, Bourdain's view was justly a bit slender. At the same time, despite the limitations inherent in his approach, format, and viewpoint, he was gently and carefully making his way toward a deeper reflection of his own skewed perspective and recognizing his ability to deconstruct rather than to blend, to question rather than to digest.
Most recently, he'd brokered peace with other chefs and even some vegetarians. He overtly eschewed the bro culture/kitchen life he described so colorfully in his 2000 memoir, Kitchen Confidential. And to the writer Helen Rosner, he finally claimed that yes, indeed, he was a feminist. We don't know where he might have gone and taken us with him, but we do know that he opened some previously hidden cultural doors, showcasing our commonality and our humanity over food.
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| Illustration (c) IrenHorrors/deviantArt |
Our great eye is fixed on global culture, but what are we seeing and what does it mean?
This is where we need to take his mantle and move it forward. By fixing our gaze deeper into the rabbit hole, we too can journey where Bourdain did -- fearlessly, righteously -- and then take it a step further. If, by turning our spotlight on the deeper meaning of culture, we might be able to clearly see our own complicity and at the same time envision and take part in crafting a better world, a world where we can all sit at the same table and share a good meal, not necessarily out of hunger, but out of a shared love of community among our brothers and sisters. Then we grow and change. And learn. And love.
Rest in peace, our sharp, funny, troubled friend. You led a delicious and disarming life. We take your challenge, and we salute you.
I originally started this post to mention Bourdain and rave about my chef friend Michelle's ability to save people with food, but as I read more about him, the post transformed to a larger and more poignant topic. I will, someday, share with you all the story of how she saved me with her smoked turkey sandwich.
I originally started this post to mention Bourdain and rave about my chef friend Michelle's ability to save people with food, but as I read more about him, the post transformed to a larger and more poignant topic. I will, someday, share with you all the story of how she saved me with her smoked turkey sandwich.
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