Breaking Up With Anthony Bourdain

I was a fan of Anthony Bourdain.

I read Kitchen Confidential over a decade ago, and immediately was hooked. Memoir is such an indulgent genre, one that by its very nature lends itself toward self-congratulation. But Kitchen Confidential was different. It struck just the right balance of hilarity, self-criticism and insight. In fact, in the canon of great memoirs, I’d put Kitchen Confidential right up there with Elie Weisel’s Night. The subjects couldn’t be more different, but Kitchen Confidential is every bit as unforgettable and cautionary– when’s the last time you ate out and ordered fish on Wednesday? Point made.

I also enjoyed A Cook’s Tour, the basis for Bourdain’s subsequent TV shows, which also used to be fabulous. I loved Bourdain’s humor, his pirate-y crassness, his unapologetic on-camera smoking, his ascerbic tongue. I also loved his in-your-face presentation of how the real world works – and, by extension, eats. It was a breath of fresh air.

It is because I loved Bourdain so much that I am about to rip him a new one.

He broke the rules.

Like a spouse who gains 100 pounds after having children, or one that suddenly discovers some culty religion 10 years into the marriage, Bourdain has changed. And I don’t particularly care for the new Tony.

I call this the Billy Joel effect. Remember when Billy Joel got married? And what happened to his music? If you’re like me, you remember and adored The Stranger and Glass Houses, and then it’s all a bunch of acapella 80s schlock and commercial jingles. No one wanted to hear Billy Joel sing songs of contentment. His draw was that he was a funny looking malcontent who drank too much, made an ass of himself and documented his self-destructive tendencies in song. We could, in short, relate.

And I believe the seeds of Bourdain’s destruction similarly lie in his new life as husband and father. So this screed was a long time in the making.

Sin #1 took place on No Reservations – the Washington DC episodes. Bourdain has been to DC twice, and both shows are criminally negligent. The first was total cliché, with Bourdain exploring how DC is a city of haves and have nots. Of power brokers, and the desperately poor. Gee, no one knew about that, Tony. Great show! And where does he eat in DC, for the 10 minutes of the show actually devoted to food? Fucking Chadwicks. That’s not a typo. He ate at CHADWICKS! Followed by two places in Arlington – not DC. He does pop over to Mini Bar, which is worth a segment, and eats crabs at the waterfront. But, I’m sorry … CHADWICKS!

The second episode is oh-so-preachy and dedicated to exploring the racial divide in DC. Again, how lazy and obvious? And what are the two great marvels of black cuisine featured on the show? Ben’s Chili Bowl and … wait for it… Busboys and Poets. Did anyone working on this show spend a millisecond actually researching DC? Ben’s has already been on every food/travel show known to man, so it was an obvious choice. But Busboys and Poets? Not so obvious, for obvious reasons. It’s a terrible place! It’s not known for its food, just its heaping portions of pretention.

No references in either show about what makes DC fun or unique. No mention of our diverse immigrant culture, particularly Hispanics. No discussion of our thriving punk scene – and this from a Ramones fan! In an episode devoted to questions of race, go-go – black DC’s self-invented musical genre - is not explored. Nor are places like Colonel Brooks, where upper middle-class black and white eat together in a racially mixed northeast neighborhood. No Komi. No Kaz Sushi Bistro. No Salvadorian food. No DuPont farmers’ market. No. That would have required actually talking to someone who lives in DC and eating somewhere other than a strip mall in Arlington.

Sin #2 was the Haiti episode, where Bourdain sucks off Sean Penn for having the “courage” to live in a tent until all the sins of post-colonialism can be righted. And this is done with a straight face. Sean Penn, who can buy and sell the entire nation, is choosing to live in that tent – almost solely for the purposes of enhancing his wanton narcissism. It’s not brave, it’s bragging rights. “You sent a check to the Haiti relief fund? Well, I went there and lived in tent! I’m better than you! I care more deeply.”

Sin #3 is the subject of this post, Bourdain’s latest book, Medium Raw. This is a hot mess of a “book,” part memoir, part enemies list and part cutting room floor essays from the show. Clearly capitalizing off the Bourdain name, Tony’s editors have become very relaxed, agreeing to publish the disorganized, random musings from an ex-chef with the greatest job in the world. Ability no longer matters. Just throw his picture on the front cover and collect the checks – Tony will be kicking it in Sardinia.

And that’s why I’m pissed. Because he has the greatest job in the world. He… gets… paid… to trot about to exotic ports of call, eat fabulous food, drink like a fish and write about it. So, when you phone it in for a book like Medium Raw, what does that say? You can’t even be troubled to do a job that most people, myself included, would kill for? Are you experiencing my tooth gnashing anger yet?

The problem is that Bourdain has become everything that he once criticized with such aplomb in Kitchen Confidential. He’s become lazy. And he’s buying his own publicity. He has no right to fight with celebrity chefs anymore – he’s just as bad. He just whores for the publishing world as opposed to developing his own line of frying pans.

That’s why it’s positively insulting when Bourdain anoints “heros and villains” of the food world in Medium Raw – without even a passing thought to the irony implicit in demonizing people for exactly the crimes he committed with this lazy, self-indulgent, piece of crap book.

And what’s the point of fighting with Food Network stars anymore? Once it was charming because Tony wasn’t one of them - they were the “other.” But now, The Travel Channel, which carries No Reservations, is owned by the Food Network! He IS a Food Network star. He’s been on Top Chef, seated right next to Tom Colicchio, whom he busts on in the book. What level of cognitive dissonance is required to ignore that? What hubris to think you’re still somehow above it all?

And yet, he continues. This week, waging war with Paula Deen. Say what you will about Paula’s food. Personally, I won’t eat it because I’d be better served nutritionally with a box of Hamburger Helper. But at least she’s not out there calling people assholes for the unthinkable act of earning a living exactly the same way she does.
 

I’m not against making fun of Food Network stars, but prefer it be done by those with the credibility to pull it off. Like the creators of South Park, who nailed it with one Cartman impression of Gordon Ramsay – “Rustic. Simple. Beef Wellington. You can’t COOK, get out of my kitchen!” It’s not nasty. It’s his own words. The comedy writes itself.

And with Medium Raw, Bourdain has made himself a joke. And not just any joke. A joke that he himself wrote, but doesn’t seem to get.