Dateline: Miami – The South Beach Wine and Food Festival
Reporting it As It Happens: your humble correspondent, Anthony Bourdain:
Day One:
Ruhlman showed up late for our all-important preparatory session for the Golden Clog Awards Ceremony last night, by which time I was deep into the negronis. I have only the dimmest of memories of who, exactly, is nominated for what–and NO memory at all of who\’s supposed to win. I think we ended up deciding on making half of it up as we go along–mid-ceremony. Our \”celebrity presenters\” have–for the most part, abandoned us for safer pastures.
There has been, I am reliably informed, a terror campaign of late night heavy–breathing phone calls, suggestions of \”you\’ll never work in this town–or ANY town–again\” and a wave of second, more sensible thoughts. The affected parties have suddenly remembered previous charitable commitments: (The \”Putt For and End to the Heartbreak of Psoriasis\” Invitational, the \”Pull My Finger To Stop Chronic Flatulence\” Bowlin\’ and BBQ Party–and the Fiji Water For Peace event claiming the lion\’s share of defectors). Can\’t say I blame them …
The guys who\’ve been hanging tough and not knuckling under? You\’d be shocked to know (and you will..soon). This whole enterprise looks to be rapidly devolving into a shameful and ridiculous sham … My (not unreasonable) fear is that Ruhlman and I are going to be stuck up there for an hour–trapped in some unfunny, Shecky and Dino dinner theater kind of a thing–as our audience squirms with embarrassment, waiting for the right moment to flee …
My other concern, of course, is that Robert (Dinner Inconvenient) Irvine, deranged by his suddenly disappearing biographies and his rudely canceled event–will somehow focus some hormone-fueled rage on … me–and wrap his tiny little hands around my neck while flexing those oversized guns. My brains would squeeze out of the top of my head like toothpaste coming out of the tube …
