As our final episode of NO RESERVATIONS approaches, I’ve been asked to write a top ten list of personal favorites. That’s hard to do. It’s been a mixed bag—and deliberately so. Travel and food shows necessarily tell more or less the same story: somebody goes someplace, eats and drinks a lot of stuff, comes to some kind of conclusion (rightly or wrongly) then goes home. My partners and I—a rotating band of cinematographers, producers, editors and post production people—have worked very hard over the years to mess with, expand, undermine and subvert that basic narrative and the conventions that go with it. Sometimes we succeeded.
Anthony Bourdain
BLUTARSKI: ZERO POINT ZERO
Spend an Evening With Anthony Bourdain
Calling all Anthony Bourdain fans in Birmingham, AL, Memphis, TN, San Antonio and Midwest City, OK: Your time has come to see the host of No Reservations and The Layover up close and personal. An Evening With Anthony Bourdain kicks off Thursday, Nov. 1, 2012. Find a location near you — and quickly, because tickets are selling out fast.
Tune in for the final season of No Reservations every Monday at 9|8c. And don’t miss the series finale of No Reservations, on Monday, Nov. 5, at 9|8c.
LAST CALL
Austin, Texas is one of those cities where any excuse to visit is a good one. Any time of year, there’s great music, an ever enlarging and ever more interesting restaurant scene. One of the best food truck environments in the country. Great bars. Nearby, there’s like lakes and nature and shit (so I’m told). You can buy yourself a pair of very nice cowboy boots. And they have the best barbeque in the country.
Yeah. I know. Bold words. Especially coming from a guy who has said many times that North Carolina whole hog style is his preferred last mouthful—and that Kansas City is the best all-around BBQ Center.
That was before. This is now.
I am reasonably sure—no…I’m damn sure—that I have NEVER tasted barbecue so perfect, so technically accomplished, conscientiously prepared, austerely seasoned (un****ed up), moist, juicy, tender, still shimmering with perfectly suspended internal fat as the beef brisket at Franklin BBQ and the beef ribs at JMueller. You can LOOK at this stuff and tell I ain’t lyin’. And I challenge you doubters to do just that.
It was sort of counterintuitive to try and shoot an episode in Austin during South By Southwest Festival. Already jammed with musicians and crawling with hipsters of all stripes, you’d think we’d want to find a more relaxed time, a less frenzied environment. But my crack team of professionals like a challenge. And there were so many bands in town and the idea was to see how much music we could jam in one episode between mouthfuls.
Of course, I’m exactly the wrong guy to DO a South By Southwest show.
As I was painfully aware, time and again, finding myself sitting next to kids 1/3 my age talking about music. It would have been much more age appropriate, I think, if I’d been selling them drugs. Put it this way: when I was their age? I would have robbed me.
In the end, I made my own, private peace with hipsters I think. God love them—they’re the driving force behind just about every restaurant we want to eat at these days—behind (almost) every positive development in food. We may think we’ve seen quite enough ironically bearded cooks with pig tattoos on their forearms? But let’s face it: we need them for our guanciale. I’d still rather eat in a loud restaurant where I can barely hear my companions over the music than eat in a room with a bunch of golfers.
Speaking of tattoos, I got another one. Let me be clear. At this point, no tattoo is ever going to make me look better or cooler or younger or more relevant. In fact, there’s something tragic about an old dude getting inked in the full knowledge that that thing’ll be hanging off him like a blue smudged mudflap in a few years. I’m just beyond caring. And when those nice kids in Sleigh Bells offered—well…I try and be a good guest. It seemed ungracious to decline. The little black sun was, after all, much more age appropriate than the full back Ozzy Osborne and Angus Young shoveling coal down the crack of my ass one. THAT took some lasering to get off, I can tell you.
Thank you, by the way, to all the bands and musicians who took part in the show: All of them shockingly nice: SLEIGH BELLS, THE SWORD, NEON INDIAN, UME, ALEJANDRO ESCOVEDO, GOLDEN BOYS. I truly don’t know what’s wrong with you all. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to hate and distrust old people? Let me be the first then.
Seven new episodes of NO RESERVATIONS left—interspersed, I’m afraid, by three (count them, THREE) shows made up of “repurposed” material—aka clip shows.
Seven shows seemed like enough to me. Especially since knowing they were to be our last, we put our heart and soul into them. Austin , Burgundy with Ludo Lefevbre, Emilia Romagna with Michael White, Sydney, the Dominican Republic, Rio de Janeiro and Brooklyn. I like the idea of going out on a high note—still doing strong work.
But smarter minds than ours insist that seven is not enough. And that audiences either love—or won’t notice—old footage reedited to look like new—aka “special”– shows. This, apparently, is what passes for creativity in the stratosphere of executive thinking.
I’ve been with Travel Channel for a lot of years now—since back in the day, when it was just me, Samantha—and a bunch of old white guys playing poker. The network, and all four administrations we’ve survived, have been very good to me. Few people in the history of television have had as much creative freedom to do whatever they want, go where they want to go—and tell stories as they wish. Me and my partners have been privileged to be able to make the shows we have over the past 8 seasons—and for that, we’re grateful. It’s a catalogue of shows we’re very proud of—even the failures. We tried always to present—if nothing else—a moving target, to separate ourselves from the herd, whatever it took.
There’s always a right time to leave a party. Any party. No matter how good it is. Some examples of when—exactly—one might consider the notion that one has tarried too long could include:
1) Your host asks you to leave
2) You’re tired.
3) You’re drunk or otherwise inebriated and well on your way to memorably embarrassing yourself.
4) You’re among the last people there and staying longer would make you seem tragic or desperate
5) An unapologetically steaming butthole has just arrived and no possible good can come from you being in the same room with them.
6) There’s a better party down the street.
7) Someone puts Nickelback on the sound system.
- Anthony Bourdain
NEXT
by Anthony Bourdain
Monday’s episode in Penang is, in my opinion, one of the best shot, best edited episodes ever. It helped that we were in what cinematographers call a “shot rich environment”—where it seems that everywhere you point, there are bright colors, characters, beautiful things. The food is generally thought of (even by many proud food nerds in Singapore and Kuala Lumpur) to be among the very best in the Straits— and I think you’ll see why. Penang is the kind of place that ruined me for an ordinary life.
I feel inexorably attached to Malaysia for many reasons, but one of them is that I got there early in my career as a traveler, wasn’t really ready for it, and was changed by the place. It seduced and overwhelmed me at the same time. The smells and colors and flavors—the look and sound of the place, the at times impenetrable mix of Indian, Malay and Chinese cultures—it ****ed me all up.
I tried to capture that in the first scene—a shot of a woman’s fingers, unwrapping nasi lemak from its traditional banana leaf package. That’s a particularly vivid image for me, and it’s yet another testament to the ZPZ crew that they were able to recreate it so perfectly. Scenes like this matter to me. And the ability to imagine a thing—and then see it executed brilliantly, that matters too.
It was never my intention on NO RESERVATIONS to be a reporter, a critic, an advocate. It was also never my intention to provide audiences with “everything” they needed to know about a place—or even a balanced or comprehensive overview. I am a storyteller. I go places, I come back. I tell you how the places made me feel. Through the use of powerful tools like great photography, skillful editing, sound mixing, color correction, music (which is often composed specifically for the purpose) and brilliant producers, I can—in the very best cases—make you feel a little bit like I did at the time. At least I hope so. It’s a manipulative process. It’s also a deeply satisfying one.
As you may or may not have heard, at a point in the not too far away future, the Zero Point Zero team and I will be moving on to do what we do elsewhere. We recently filmed the last shot of our last episode. That means you’ve got 9 new episodes of NO RESERVATIONS still yet to be edited, or waiting in the pipeline to be aired. We have yet to shoot 10 new episodes of THE LAYOVER, which we’ll do this June and July. After that, I’m planning on taking my first extended break in eight years. A “normal” family vacation—where I plan to putter to excess, dote on my daughter—and do what people are said to do on vacation. Also, I’ll be writing a book.
Rest assured that whatever ZPZ and I do in the future, we will not be dumbing it down, we will not change our basic natures, we will not be morphing into something we are not. We will continue to do what we do. And have a hell of a good time doing it.
RAW
by Anthony Bourdain
Generally speaking, there are two distinct audiences for this show: people who like to look at images of food and are interested in where it comes from and how it got to the plate—and people who like to travel—or like the idea of travel—and enjoy watching images of faraway places and cultures. Oh—and there’s also a smaller group who apparently enjoy watching me get falling down drunk and stupid. But that’s another matter.
This week’s episode is about food. More specifically, it’s about the creative process that leads up to the food that will eventually be served in some of the world’s finest restaurants.
COOK IT RAW is an amazingly low key gathering of some of the best and most creative chefs in the world. For the last few years, people like Rene Redzepi of Denmark’s NOMA (recently named best restaurant in the world for the second year in a row), Alex Atala of Sao Paulo’s DOM, Albert Adria (El BULLI, TICKETS), Mauro Collagreco, Massimo Bottura, Daniel Patterson, David Chang, Magnus Nilsson and others have been getting together in various remote and fairly off the main grid locations where they challenge each other to forage, improvise, figure out what’s good in each location—then, using non-traditional methods—make the most seriously ****ed up creative single plate their fevered imaginations can muster. The result does not have to be usable in a restaurant setting. It is not supposed to be a fully realized dish. It is definitely not something that any of the chefs have ever served or even tried before. It should be something so wild, so out there, so purely creative and exploratory that the other chefs will suck wind and issue a collective “wooaaahhhh.”
For a few days each year, COOK IT RAW serves as a combination workshop, field trip, summer camp for culinary hotshots. And it’s a lot of fun.
This year, COOK IT RAW was held in Ishikawa prefecture in Japan—and NO RESERVATIONS decided to look at the area—-and at the event largely through the eyes of first time invitee to the gathering—and first time visitor to Japan, Charleston South Carolina’s Sean Brock. Sean is a young chef from coal country who in a remarkably short period of time has become a big name in the culinary firmament. At his restaurant HUSK, he’s been trying to rediscover traditional American heritage foods, source ingredients entirely and exclusively from below the Mason Dixon line—and redefine what “real” Southern cooking is—or could-be. He’s a very serious guy (except when he’s not) with impeccable taste in bourbon. Watching him discover Japan for the first time was a true joy.
COOK IT RAW is, unlike any food and wine festival I can think of, about the pure spirit of creativity. There are no public events. No free tastings. After days of exploring local culture and food sourcing methods and techniques—and doing a hell of a lot of eating and drinking, the visiting chefs (along with some local ones), gather (by any means necessary) their ingredients—many of them unfamiliar—and cook. The plates or service “platforms” they put their food on, are created by local craftsmen. The chefs have no say in choice of “plate” and have to accommodate some occasionally very freaky designs. The results of their labors are served to a small group of local and visiting journalists.
There are no winners or losers or grading or official evaluating of the meal. Each chef presents their dish, then retires to the kitchen. Presumably, at some point later—probably over many sakes, or while marinating in the onsen, the chefs discuss among themselves what they’ve learned from the experience.
Kooky. Huh?
Anyway, it should be fascinating TV .
I want to thank the organizers of COOK IT RAW, and of course, the chefs. They had not previously had to live with an invading television crew during their adventures. They were—across the board—friendly, inviting, generous with their time, and fun to be around.
I wish I could say the same for one of the “lions” of the food writing community—someone who (until this trip) I had always liked and looked up to. Over the course of a few days, he revealed himself to be the most vicious, abusive, misogynistic, back-biting piece of shit I have ever met in my life. (and after 30 years in the restaurant business, that’s saying something). I’m hardly the nicest or most polite guy in the world. But even I was shocked. When not shouting profanities at the chefs, bursting into noisy and prolonged bouts of flatulence during the traditional tea ceremony, insulting and belligerently interfering with my crew by petulantly flashing his cell phone camera directly into their eyes while they were working (“I’m a journalist! I’m allowed!”), this guy was drinking himself stupid. It was only through their infinite mercy—and perhaps no small amount of pity for this elderly and shambolic creature, that my crew did not punch his face in. They were sorely tempted. Anyone who attended the event will surely recognize which particular steaming dribble of ordure I’m talking about.
Lesson is? **** with my crew, you **** with me.
On that cheery note, be sure to tune in Monday!
BBQ APOCALYPSE
by Anthony Bourdain
I’ve referred only half jokingly over the years to the early days of my television career when, after two seasons of making shows around the world for A COOK’S TOUR, I was advised that audiences just didn’t respond to all those foreign locations where people talked funny and sometimes (horror of horrors) even had to be subtitled. My cruel masters sat back in their chairs and with dreamy, wistful looks suggested how wonderful it would be if I could just confine my interests to shows about tailgate parties, pony rides and….barbecue. “Exotic” locations were problematic, they suggested. They didn’t fit in with their ” current business model.”
Well, after 8 years of NO RESERVATIONS, in which I have been allowed to travel this world unfettered and largely without constraint, I found myself once again thinking, “What’s the most ****ed up thing I can do on the show?” The answer, it seemed, was to embrace the beast. Go right back and do what would have been unthinkable back then (or at any time since): make a show about a subject that every single travel and food show has done a million times, in a place that has been more than adequately covered (as least as relates to slowly smoked meats). Go right to the heart of core Americana—that uniquely All-American genre of cookery called Kansas City Barbecue. And while I was at it, I thought—why not go all the way—attend my very first tailgate party? What could be more unlike me? I’ve been to Saudi Arabia. Tribal Liberia. China. Why couldn’t I embrace this curious and much loved indigenous practice as I had this—just cause it’s American? The plan? To go to Kansas City—and challenge ourselves to making a single subject show—almost entirely about briskets, ribs, pulled pork, sticky sauce—and yet do it in a way that had never been done before. Meaning, I would challenge the fine ZPZ team of talented cinematographers to make Barbecue Porn so extreme, so hardcore, so enticing that we could bring life to even this tired subject. And what would I say about all this? What would be my point of view?
It came to me over late night vodka shots in a Croatian parking lot: ZAMIR!
Who better to explore those most American of subjects than my always optimistic Russian friend? What better way to look at my first tailgate experience than through the fresh, un-jaded eyes of my veteran sidekick for whom America is still a Wonderland of the unfamiliar, strange and fabulous? Lured by possibly misleading promises that he would be trained and groomed to replace me as a television travel host, Zamir was flown to Kansas City where he would be (he was assured) instructed in the dark arts of hosting a food show. On Monday night, you will see the results.
And we would need music. Good music. More importantly, we would need cheap good music. Fortunately, I had recently become aware that the Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney of THE BLACK KEYS were very fond of a good meal and were, after many years on the road, susceptible to offers of free food. In return for a lunch of chicken wings and ribs, they quickly agreed to drive their van from their hometown of Akron Ohio, to Kansas City and join me for an afternoon of bourbon and barbecue.
The tailgate party, by the way, turned out to be something of a mystical experience. The Kansas City Chiefs had not been having a good season when we arrived. Even the most enthusiastic KC fans that day, huddled in the cold parking lot outside the stadium, did not give them much chance against the phenomenally streaking Green Bay Packers. But they hadn’t accounted for the Magical Powers of Zamir. He arrived fully decked in Chiefs colors, waving his giant foam hand and screaming “Let’s Pack the Packers” (while consuming Godawful quantities of Jello shots and bourbon). His unbridled, child-like enthusiasm proved contagious, urging the team on to an unexpected upset. Local talk radio the next day suggested that my Russian friend might have in some way, actually been responsible for this victory. Had he given the Packers the “Evil Eye”? Was he some kind of Eastern European Good Luck Charm? Did he have…”Powers?” The next day, local sports radio spoke in hushed and respectful tones of the bearded Russian who had appeared—supernaturally—in the parking lot prior to the game, spoken in what were described as “tongues” (or possibly gibberish), invoking through some ancient Dark Art, a force that swept across the gridiron that day, and crushed the sons of Lombardi under the Chief’s mighty hooves.
There is a lot more to see—and to eat— in Kansas City than barbecue. But that’s not what we were there for. We had other business: To go where many had gone before. Only do it better. And weirder.
I think, I hope, we succeeded.
Hard 8
by Anthony Bourdain
Eight seasons of NO RESERVATIONS. Who would have guessed? I sure as Hell wouldn’t have. How long could we get away with it? Not very long was the prevailing wisdom. And yet here we are. Nearly 700,000 air miles later, about two thirds of the way through shooting—and it’s looking pretty good. Mozambique—airing tonight—looks SO good, in fact, that our Emmy Award winning cinematographer Zach Zamboni says it’s the finest work he’s ever done. (Personally, I think the upcoming Penang episode is a close contender). Continue reading: Hard 8 »
DARK PASSAGE
by Anthony Bourdain
What do Norah Jones, Christopher Walken, the band “ ****edUp”, Vegan Black Metal Chef, Sam Brown, nightmare of Eastern European folklore Krampus, the Catalonian Pooping Log, Dave Arnold, chefs Lidia Bastianich, April Bloomfield, Kurt Gutenbrunner, Eder Montero, Alexandra Raij, Carlos Llaguno Morales and the voices of Adam Richman and Andrew Zimmern have in common?
They all foolishly agreed to appear in our scandalous, dark, action-packed fever dream of a Holiday Show which airs this Monday, December 12th at 10PM—when, presumably, the kiddies will be asleep.
Frankly, I think it’s our finest (and most disturbing and deranged) hour yet, a holiday classic. The above artists were—all of them—heroically good humored and generous with their time. And I’d like to give particular thanks to Sam Brown—whose appearance is particularly fearless, frightening and so far from her “brand” as to make us all look like wussies. Thank you Sam. Never shall I make another snarky remark. You ****in’ rule. Now wash that mouth out with soap. Your language is appalling! Thanks Norah Jones for learning to sing scatological ditties in Catalan—and for all your work on the show. Christopher Walken. Now I can scratch a major item off my bucket list. And the rest of you…I am forever grateful.
Do NOT miss this. Christmas has never been stranger.
SOUTHERN COMFORT
I just got back from family vacation, where, for ten days, I violated all my rules and everything I’ve ever preached about how to travel. I stayed put. I rarely left the hotel grounds. I ate in the same two restaurants for most of my trip—rarely deviating from pasta, pizza and gelato. Though there was a lake a few hundred yards walk down, I never put so much as a toe in it—spending the bulk of my days instead, splashing around in the shallow end of the pool with a Barbie pail , an inflatable porpoise, and a relentlessly energetic 4 year old girl. It was marvelous. Continue reading: SOUTHERN COMFORT »
SAFETY FIRST
In the end, we were all fine–as untouched and untroubled as we’d been before Iraq.
If anything changed, if there was a single takeaway from what we saw in Kurdistan and what we learned during three days of “Hazardous Environment Training” in what our British instructors called “Virginiastan”, it was the absolutely jaw-dropping realization of exactly how physically difficult it is for our military personnel on the ground in Iraq and Afghanistan.And I’m not talking about the fighting. I’m talking about just being there, moving about in regulation gear, training. the day-to-day. Watching on TV and in films, perhaps you realize intellectually that the standard issue body armor, with the ceramic plates weighs around 45 pounds, but until you actually wear the stuff, much less try and help carry the slippery dead weight of an unconscious man across broken ground, you have no idea. Add the additional burden of an M-16, ammunition, pack and gear, Kevlar helmut and you’re already humping about 95 pounds of additional weight through heat that, in Iraq and Saudi Arabia, reaches well over 110 degrees. The body armor doesn’t exactly breath. You’re running sweat within seconds–just standing still. Presumably, you are being trained to–at moment’s notice, hoist a similarly attired buddy over your shoulder and carry his weight as well. It’s damn near superhuman. And that’s before you’ve ever had to fire a shot in anger. In the back of your mind too, I came to find out, is the certain knowledge that none of this heavy armor–not the Kevlar vest, not the ceramic plates—and not the helmut–will protect you in the slightest from an AK-47 round. Nor will a cinderblock wall. A bullet from an AK, the most widely used weapon on the planet, will cut through all of it like cheddar. Continue reading: SAFETY FIRST »
