The shock and loss to the culinary world is substantial — but to the world at large — the death of Anthony Bourdain is painful because it’s one less human reminding us of what it used to be like to socialize without the crippling tools of disconnect.
As a New Yorker — it was impossible not to be familiar with world-renowned chefs — and the restaurants that demanded a yearly pilgrimage to energize sophisticated palettes. I don’t remember the first time I knew Bourdain existed — but I’m thankful we were re-introduced via Netflix last summer — when I was knee deep in an editorial gig that allowed me to work from home.
That was basically the only thing about those nightmarish months that kept me sane — and I was motivated to add Parts Unknown to my care package.
I had run through the seasons of Law & Order: SVU — Lost and The Office — and needed something deliciously mellow. But — I wasn’t so sure the handsomely scruffy dude with the air of privilege — and a voice that sounded uniquely identifiable — was going to be satisfying enough to transport me from the hours of unpleasantly tedious labor.
I certainly didn’t want to be irritated by his condescending nature — especially during jaunts to the areas of the globe where the natives relentlessly attract systemic snobbery from civilized…
