I’ve been trying to write this newsletter all week. I tried writing as I went along but I have no idea what I want to say or the lesson I’ve been trying to learn.
It started on Tuesday. I went back to therapy for the first time in three weeks and I cried for most of the session. I cried because I’m frustrated and my situation seems endless. My therapist tells me getting a job will make me happy. Everyone tells me this. I don’t doubt that I’d have less time to think about my problems and maybe that would bring me happiness but I feel lost in a way no directions, sign, person, or job can save me from.
I wanted something to jolt me out of my sadness so I went to see Roadrunner. I didn’t think I was going to like it (I read Alicia Kennedy’s review, amongst others) but the invasiveness of the documentary made me question my feelings about Anthony Bourdain in a way I haven’t done in years.
I started watching Parts Unknown freshman year of college. I had stopped being friends with my roommate and hated my major, wallowing in my own misery while watching Tony galavant across the world. It reminded me to eat and apparently instilled something in me, since I decided to go halfway across the world to Jordan when the school year ended. I thought going to Jordan would provide me the answers about what I wanted to do and inspire my piss poor attempts at Arabic into something more poetic. Instead, I was paraded around the country by my study abroad program, doing weird charity events and almost getting run over by Bedouin teenagers. I finally understood the awkwardness, the power of being American abroad. So I came back, changed my major for the second time, and picked classes that basically revolved around criticizing development and imperialist practices. Useful!
The next summer, he committed suicide. I cried in the bathroom of Cannon, took calls from people concerned about net neutrality, and went to the now closed Momofuku CCDC for a dinner I couldn’t afford after work. I knew he and Dave Chang were friends, but sitting in a restaurant that epitomized the gentrification DC was experiencing, I realized I wasn’t doing anything to make the world a better place either. I wanted to change but I didn’t know how, so I didn’t.
During the pandemic, I started watching his first series, A Cook’s Tour. He wasn’t the person I remembered. He asked dumber questions, seemed less sure of himself, and even has an episode carousing with chefs at the French Laundry who would be named in the MeToo movement he would so vocally champion. I loved it. At a moment when I so desperately needed reminding everyone has to start somewhere, he was there for me. I think I’ve seen every episode twice.
Roadrunner also shows him in an imperfect light albeit a much more critical one. He was a flawed person with an addictive personality. He was tired, burnt out, and cynical about the world. He wanted out of traveling. From the outside meeting Asia Argento was a catalyst for the change he desperately needed, but his friends worried his addictive personality would ruin their relationship. It lets you fill in the blanks.
Unlike the film I don’t think their relationship made him do it. I don’t think you can project intentions onto someone in a documentary and hope they stick. We’ll never know. It really sucks.
What I do know, is food was an accessible entry point into my curiosities about the larger world because Anthony Bourdain made it accessible to me. The frantic restaurant searches, endless food videos, cooking attempts and asking for books about food science for Christmas, it’s all because of him. He showed me how to question the world and instilled an appreciation of food in culture in me I may otherwise have never found in myself. For that, I’ll always be grateful to him. I think that’s all you can do to appreciate your heroes. Accept them as flawed humans, appreciate what they instilled in you, and keep growing.
I think every day you get with an addict after they quit is a gift. I don’t mean this to sound flippant. A person waking up and choosing to stay with you, day after day after day, can only be an act of love.
Everything we do is already set in stone. Tony was always depressed. He was always an addict. He found contentment, then he found fame, then he found passionate love. None of it takes the pain away. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse about the future, but I’m at peace knowing he helped shape it.
Newsletter will be more links heavy next week. Thank you very much for reading and please share with your friends. Now to play us out, Mary Oliver.