Bourdain — the known unknown
Bourdain and I have a few things in common: Vassar, a love for meat, and Boyle and Burroughs. I adore the man, and if you don’t, I suggest you watch Parts Unknown. From the outset, it is a travel show unlike any other, taking on the politics of food from Copenhagen to Palestine. It took me a long time to write this because it took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that Bourdain has left the scene.

Bourdain, throughout, is jarringly frank, refreshingly honest, and the perfect host. Before Palestine (great fucking title), he remarks: “by the end of the next hour, half the world will think I’m a Zionist sympathizer, the other half will think I’m pro terrorism. Here goes nothing.” That sets the tone for the most nuanced, openly inadequate portrayal of one of the most complex regions of the world, and it speaks volumes about the man.
Bourdain was, Bourdain is incredibly flawed. He’s an ex-addict, a 90s bad boy, by his own admission a former asshole, a mediocre chef, and one half of numerous failed relationships. What sets him apart from the litany of macho men on TV, however, is his self-awareness, his honesty, and his insistence of laying all of it bare. On cable TV nonetheless. He purposefully ditches the blazers for jeans and boots, a half unbuttoned plaid shirt routinely revealing a beer belly. There is no pretense with the man, what you hear and see is usually what he is. For me at least, that is courageous, and worthy of an immense amount of respect.
You will be missed. So, so much.
