THENASTYBITS (37 page)

THE
HUNGRY
AMERICAN

My love affair with Vietnam continues. What I failed to mention in this piece is that on this, my second trip to the country, as soon as I arrived (with Chris and Lydia in tow), as soon as we stepped through the airport doors, saw Linh, looked out at that enchanted place we'd previously come to adore, we all burst into tears. Why Vietnam, above all other countries I've visited? Maybe it's pheromonic. Maybe every person has a special place, a place that's just right for them. Maybe it's Linh and Madame Ngoc and the friends I've made there. Or the simple good things there are to eat, everywhere you look. Or the women in their
ao dais
pedaling by on ancient bicycles. Or the smell of burning joss, jasmine, and
nuac mam.
Or that it's beautiful. Who can really describe why they fell in love?

DECODING
FERRAN
ADRIA

This was written at and about a real turning point in my life. A number of turning points, actually. Chris, Lydia, and I were about to head into what we'd thought would be season three of
A Cook's Tour
for the Food Network. During an earlier book tour, I'd met Ferran Adria for the first time, and I'd managed (amazingly) to get him to consent to let us into his life and his restaurant and workshop and do a show about it. We'd scheduled a shooting period, which I rightly understood to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Then things started to go sideways . . .

The network didn't want any more foreign shows (or not nearly as many). They wanted more barbecue. Tailgate parties. Dude ranch shows. They were completely uninterested in some guy named Ferran Adria in Spain, no matter how good or how important or unique everybody said he was. People who talked funny, with accents, or (God forbid) in foreign languages—and expensive shows about them—did not, they insisted, "fit their business model." As the scheduled shooting date approached, negotiations dragged on. The production company, New York

Times Television, were (to say the least) unsupportive. Chris, Lydia, and I felt that this was going to be one amazing show, so in the end, we just said "Fuck it," and using entirely our own money went ahead and spent a week with Adria, producing a stand-alone documentary we remain very proud of (it's now been shown all over the world). It was the beginning of an enduring relationship—and for better or worse, an entirely new life. We broke with NYT. We ended our relationship with the Food Network and determined that we'd wander the media hustings until we could work together again, making the shows we wanted to make, the way we wanted to make them. Thankfully, the Travel and Discovery Channels happily took us on.

This was also a time when my feelings about "molecular gastronomy" and cuisine and my craft in general underwent a tectonic shift. I'd previously been very hostile to the idea of laboratories and food science and the very notion of Ferran Adria. It was a deeply traumatizing moment of clarity when I realized I was enjoying what Adria was doing. And I still have yet to figure out fully what it might mean in the grand scheme of things—and for the future of cooking. But then that's what the piece is about: the acknowledgment that there are things you don't know, an acceptance of the possibilities and pleasures of the new.

BRAZILIAN BEACH-BLANKET BINGO

My first assignment of travel/food writing, written for
Food Arts.
I'll never forget getting the call, in the middle of my first book tour, while still working at the restaurant (with extended breaks). "You want me to go . . . where? Brazil? And you'll. . . like
pay
me for it?!" I've since been back to Brazil a number of times and have come to love Sao Paolo more (I didn't the first time), Rio less (a friend was shot to death there shortly after I last saw him), and Salvador more than ever. Sushi Samba has gone on to become an empire of restaurants all over the country. Michael and Taka are no longer with them.

THE OLD, GOOD STUFF

I love the "old school" stuff and tend to wax sentimental about it. Michael Batterbury, the publisher of
Food Arts,
took me to Le Veau D'Or, knowing I'd love it, and over many glasses of wine, and the kind of food I've always believed to be the enduring glory of France, inspired me to write this piece about "dinosaur" classics and some of the few places you can still find them. Pierre an Tunnel closed its doors in August 2005.

DIE, DIE MUST TRY

Like I said, I've really come to love Singapore.

A CHEF'S CHRISTMAS

About as sappy, romantic, and idealistic as I could muster, this was an honest attempt to write a children's Christmas fable— but with language that children probably shouldn't read. In a departure from just about everything else I've ever written, and everything I've ever experienced, for that matter, I wanted very much to write just one story with an unambiguously happy ending.

A
NOTE
 
ON
THE
AUTHOR

Anthony
Bourdain
is
the
author
of
seven
books,
including the
bestselling
Kitchen Confidential
and
A Cook's Tour.
A
thirty-year
veteran
of
professional
kitchens,
he
is the
host
of
the
television
series
No
Reservations,
and the
executive
chef
at
Les
Halles
in
Manhattan. He
lives
in
New
York
City.