Anthony Bourdain

People die every day, and celebrities are people. Even though they live at a distance, famous people have human emotions and flaws just like anyone else. We might admire them, wish we lived their lives, put them on pedestals, and even hold them to standards we would never expect from someone else, but famous people are just like everyone else once the doors are closed. They have anxieties about being worthless and worry about failure. This really hit home for me when Anthony Bourdain killed himself.

Anthony Bourdain was/is the greatest travel writer of the modern era. I love Anthony Bourdain. I love his curiosity, his excitement to learn about new cultures through food, and his bravery to do things differently and use a human approach – often slugging it out in the back of a van or on board a packed train compartment instead of flying first class. I remember he described his approach to learning about how the average person lived in the places he visited. He said – and I’m paraphrasing – that he liked to go to a local bar and ask for the cheapest or most popular beer on tap. Even if the bar had expensive imports that tasted better, Bourdain wanted to know what the factory worker who clocks off at 5 came to drink. And if the bar served good food, he ordered by looking around the room at what most people were enjoying, not by looking at the menu. And then he would talk to whoever was next to him, so that he could listen to them.

I have always tried to have this approach whenever I travel. Because it is people like Anthony Bourdain who have made me want to travel, and who have made me love food and learning. In an ideal world, I would have Anthony Bourdain’s job. He literally went everywhere and connected with cultures through their food. Everywhere excited him, and he was always up for going off road. He didn’t just go to Paris for the bread or Tokyo for the sushi, he went to Congo, Nigeria, Afghanistan – everywhere. Because those places have unique cultures of their own, and the western world tends to depict those places as exotic or quirky. But they’re normal and accessible and filled with insights and lessons to be learned, stories to be told and great food to be shared.

Bourdain never had a plan when traveling, or a very detailed plan. Spontaneity was his mantra, and most of his documentaries revolve around him going with the flow and seeing where he ends up – usually in great eating spots. In one of his documentaries he goes to Naples. While there, he learns that one of his local crew members working behind the camera has a mother who cooks a traditional family meal every Sunday of slow-cooked ragu and pasta. So he asks if he can join them for dinner. No frills, no fuss, just genuine local people eating everyday, amazing food.

Bourdain respected each culture and never acted like the white man who needed to be impressed or shown a good time. He just wanted to communicate, listen, learn and share. I honestly couldn’t think of a better job than Anthony Bourdain’s – traveling the world while eating and learning. I admired him so fucking much. And then he killed himself.

He died because he was unwell. There must have been such an underlying mental illness breaking him down. Every day he must have fought to overcome his depression and eventually he lost the battle. When I heard he had died I was genuinely shook. Someone wrote the news into my lads WhatsApp group, and I went straight to Twitter to learn more because I didn’t believe it, or didn’t want to believe it.

It’s bizarre how much another person’s death can affect you if you have never actually met that person. I admired Bourdain from a distance, but felt personally aggrieved when he died. And that’s the impact he had, because he was such a good person.

Bourdain didn’t became famous or universally loved until his 40s. He was a chef in New York working his arse off, paying bills, dreaming of traveling, doing drugs, reading books, living life – being a normal person. And then he wrote a brilliant exposé about what chefs are really like that got published in the New Yorker and it was turned into a best-selling book called Kitchen Confidential. And his whole life changed. Kitchen Confidential is an amazing read and so full of humor, lived experience, food and philosophy.

Anthony Bourdain was a hero of mine, and I wanted to be just like him, but he didn’t want to be like him. And that confuses me. But it goes to show that we never know what’s going on in someone’s head. His death was such a loss for the world, and it’s tragic he couldn’t see that. He just couldn’t be Anthony Bourdain anymore, though we all wish he could.

He has been dead one year now, and I still think about him quite often. I have re-read Kitchen Confidential, and whenever I want to rewatch something on Netflix, I tend to go for his travel shows. His episode on Dublin is probably one of the only examples of somebody visiting our city for a travel documentary and getting it right. He drinks pints in the Gravediggers, visits Howth, shops in book stores, eats coddle, seafood, breakfast rolls and a full Irish, then he gets locked on George’s Street and ends up in a chipper eating spice burgers and taco fries. That’s something every Dubliner can relate to.

So, if you’re looking for something to read or watch, I would highly recommend Anthony Bourdain. He’s on YouTube, Netflix and in any decent book shop. I fucking love his buzz so much. And I wish I could have met him to tell him that over a pint. What a man.