This will be the toughest thing I’ve written in a long, long time.
Anthony Bourdain was a hero of mine. Hero isn’t a word I throw around at random. There are very few people I place on this pedestal. Heroes are humans who inspire me to be better, who open my mind, who touch my soul.
Anthony Bourdain was one of those people.
While Anthony Bourdain was a mere mortal; to me he was so much more. He was a legend, a larger than life being. Yet, concurrently he was the everyman. The type of guy you wished was your crazy uncle, or that older brother, or that out of this world boss and/or mentor. He was basically a mythological character that you could bang back shots of Jameson with at a dive bar in Asbury Park like it were a scene from American Gods.
Anthony Bourdain shared a major trait of one my ultimate hero — my late dad. Both were a reborn men. Not in the religious, bible thumping sense, but a person he rebuilt themselves from the literal bottom of the barrel. Bourdain conquered heroin addiction to raise himself from a lowly line cook into the celebrity he was; while my dad raised himself up from being a drinker, into a family man, and a man of faith. It was this trait that drew me to the chef/author/TV personality. Their mutual love of food, and South Asian culture, would’ve made those two fast friends.
Bourdain’s talents were enviable, and emulative. His mastery of the English language was staggering. His narration, on any of his shows, was a thing of beauty. The man knew how to talk. His writing was a work of art. His chapter from Kitchen Confidential about a busy Friday night dinner rush is legitimately still one of my favorite chapters of any book ever.
His shows are must-watch. They weren’t just “travel shows” that took someone to a far-flung country and put the host in the tourist-y situations. They were, as he put it, essays on culture by way of food.
Oh, and the food. The lessons he taught us about street food, noodle shops, not eating rancid shark in Iceland, and what exactly a duck press was. Can we forget about the music? How much cool music did he open us up to? After every show he did you wanted to run out and try a radical new meal, or add new music to your playlist. He was tastemaker, literally and figuratively.
But what Anthony Bourdain did better than anyone else was tell a story. And he only told one story — the story of human connection. Bourdain told this story at the table — whether it was at a 5-star restaurant, a plastic table in a noodle shop, or in someone’s home. At the table, Bourdain was our proxy to new worlds we may never have the chance to visit. His show broke down preconceived notions — including his own — through his shows.
And I think, even in his passing he’s telling us a story. He’s bringing us to the table — but there’s no food here, there’s no exotic location. It’s a global table. A table where people are dealing with mental health issues. And Bourdain, like in his show, has brought us to the table, and he’s showing us that anyone, literally anyone can be struggling — even the man who seemingly had the best job in the world, and life everyone wanted to have.
With his and Kate Spade’s passing, we’re hearing the reports of the suicide rate climbing in this country. Now is the time for everyone to stop being on the sidelines and taking an active role in the lives of our friends, and loved ones. A simple check in, a shoulder to cry on, and ear for venting — all of these literally can save a life.
Admittedly, as someone who has battled with depression throughout his life, the kindness, understanding and patience of others has pulled me out of my darkest of downtimes. So trust me when I say, even when we don’t feel “up for it” — being there for someone can help save a life, it can help prevent a great loss.
Anthony Bourdain is a man who told us stories of life, and culture. He inspired so many throughout the world. It’s now time to take up his mantle — go out into the world, connect with people, break bread, share a smile, and live life.
On a personal note, I wish I could wrote more eloquently, and at greater length about this man. I wish my words could literally do justice to how much he influenced me justice. I wish I could convey how much his shows picked my spirits up during some extremely tough times. It’s never easy to say farewell to a hero, but, farewell sir, you meant to a lot of people, myself included.
If you or a loved one is considering suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at (800) 273-8255.
