I thought today I would write about Anthony Bourdain, it being his birthday and everything. I thought, two years since his death, that I would find it heartwarming to talk about his life and how he inspired me in my work.
But is hearing about other people’s heroes interesting at all? And what is there I can add to the constantly resurfacing bubbles of melancholic appreciation for his time on earth? As Alicia Kennedy pointed out in her newsletter this week, “there is just… too much to say“.
In a Medium post I wrote in the immediate days after he died, I wrote things I don’t think I could write now. I was shocked by how deeply upset I was at losing a celebrity. I couldn’t explain why I was so shaken. So, obviously, I wrote about it. I read the piece I wrote again this morning and started editing it, an automatic reaction, but tiding up the messy expressions of grief I’d tried so hard to communicate at that time seemed wrong. I don’t think they should be tidied. Honesty is too often tidied up and made digestible, especially in food and drink writing, critical or not. He was an honest man in his work. I felt for a while I owed him the honesty of my raw panic that a man so long past his addictions and who had lived so long and so strongly with depression, the same mental illness that I suffer with, could decide that he no longer wanted any part in the world he obviously deeply loved.
But I don’t want to remember him that way. He was, in his own word, an enthusiast. I want to be enthusiastic about his legacy. So here is an excerpt I don’t remember writing from a piece I return to every year:
There is a comfortable space inside my head where I retreat to and ask “what would Bourdain do?” I do it as I stand nervously by the steps of an unfamiliar bar, or hesitate to try the oysters, or hold my middle finger poised over the backspace button to delete a sentence that reveals too much of what’s inside. His influence on me has reached into depths of “fuck it” I never knew existed and pushed me into experiences I would never have enjoyed (or endured) without his distant goading. When I ask myself what he would do, I sometimes see him sat at a table meant for people much smaller than him, fingertips tapping a glass of beer that’s frosty in the humidity, waiting in a small moment of quiet thought for something special to arrive. He doesn’t give advice to me. He is a figment of my imagination, which I use as a tool to force myself into doing things I’m too scared to do. I often wonder what his motivation was on his darkest days.
You can find the whole messy, honest piece here.
Other Stuff
Writers having a block at the moment might like this piece by Anna Sere about how she writes her books. It certainly made me feel a bit more optimistic.
I mentioned it earlier but Alicia Kennedy’s newsletter this week is a great and informative read on how even the most well-meaning-seeming food programming centres whiteness and often (and definitely in this case) constant references to the capitalist American Dream.
I supported Gender Euphoria by Laura Kate Dale on Unbound and I wanted to show you the project too — essays from trans, non-binary, agender, intersex and gender fluid people about the joy of being who you truly are.
I’m sorry but this meme about Wetherspoons has simultaneously made and ruined my week.
Mezcal in the lush green hills of Oaxaca, Mexico. Total escapism, beautiful pics, read it now.
I rediscovered the album Orchestra of Bubbles by Ellen Allien and Apparat this week and I can’t stop listening to it. How it manages to sound fresh and yet already have the audacity to be 14 years old, I have no idea.
Reclaim The Block have decided to pause requests for donations and refuse any coming in for the moment, and are instead requesting that people donate to charities and community-led organisations they’ve listed here.
This week was the anniversary of the Empire Windrush reaching Britain. The British Library has some great resources by Black writers and artists in their Windrush Stories collection, including Back to My Own Country, an essay on racism and exploring culture and heritage through writing by Andrea Levy.
I really enjoyed Melissa Cole’s piece Look For The Helpers in Ferment Magazine. As a barperson myself, I’m anxious about bars reopening (not that ours is, any time soon) and hope, as Melissa does, that all service industry people giving you the food and drink you’ve been jonesing for for the past four months are treated well, and with respect. And also that:
“…once we’ve looked at those people who are happy to profit off the back of a pandemic, at the expense of the people whose blood, sweat and tears have made them their money, perhaps it’s also time to look at spending our cash elsewhere.”I love Otessa Moshfegh’s writing so much that for some time now, I’m worried that everything that comes out of my brain is in some way a sad reproduction of her short story collection Homesick For Another World. This critique of her forthcoming book by Rumaan Alaam says she “strives to be gross”, and as a fan, I was ready to jump to her defence. But it’s true. And this is a great review. I still enjoy her grossness, though.
My Stuff
ICYMI: I spoke to Jaeger Wise about Wild Card Brewery, how she got into brewing beer and making beer accessible to everyone. I had a great time chatting to her and I hope you enjoy reading the interview.
ICYMI: I like a pint of mild. So does everyone, it seems. So why is nobody buying it?
Sierre Norte, Oaxaca — Josh Smith for Pellicle
