15. Parts Unknown Theme - Josh Homme and Mark Lanegan

I am not, generally, somebody much affected by the death of public figures.

There’s always that distance between their lives and mine, a distance that translates into a fleeting interest when they pass. Which quickly fades away.

The grief of their people, their family and friends, doesn’t extend into my life.

And nor should it, I believe.

Anthony Bourdain is the exception.

And the theme song to his last show, Parts Unknown, is a song that means a helluva lot to me.

* * *

I’ve watched Anthony Bourdain’s shows for a very long time, since my TGNW showed me re-runs of No Reservations way back when.

His show was fun, it was vibrant and exciting and interesting and provoking and vital viewing.

And we kept on watching, through the years.

I read his books, his blogs and his articles. I was always interested in what he was doing and seeing - because he was always interested.

It became a nice little habit of ours - wait til the season was over, block out a weekend, buy up embarrassing amounts of cheese and small goods and park ourselves on the couch.

Then we would devour the episodes, fascinated and enthralled as he trooped around the globe.

Through cities that we’ll never visit, towns we’ll never see and experiences we’ll never have.

I’ve written before about this period in my life.

Stuck in place, unable to explore the world or indulge in the things we deeply wanted to see.

Bourdain’s shows were a vicarious bridge between where we were and where we desperately wanted to be.

And he travelled the way we wanted to travel.

With an open mind, a full passport and that hunger he was renowned for. He wasn’t rude, or entitled, or difficult.

I mean, I’m sure he had his moments - he was, after all, human - but I find it hard to believe that was all his schtick.

And as time went on, he made really damned good television. Some of the episodes are the best television I’ve ever seen; utter magic.

All of his Vietnam episodes are fantastic.

That tracking shot at the end of his Cuban episode.

Beirut, by God, Beirut.

The one about the opioid crisis in New England.

His LA ones, and the one where he traveled around Sardinia with his wife.

When he returns to Les Halles and shows his viewers more about the reality of life in hospitality than umpteen seasons of Masterchef.  

Others taught me a ridiculous amount about a diversity of topics.

If nothing else, he taught me about pho and that’s enough of a gift for me to be ever grateful.

  * * *

He was also one of the best interviewers I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s because of my work, but I take real notice of different interviewers and their approach.

Most, it’s fair to say, are absolutely bloody awful.

It seems that the ego you need to put yourself on TV precludes you from actually listening to people. There are a few exceptions - Marc Fennell, early Denton - but on the whole, watching interviews is an exercise in frustration.

Not Bourdain though.

He understood - early on, maybe because his ‘fame’ came later in life - that the key to interviewing is knowing when to shut your mouth.

You need to want to hear what the other person has to say - not just use them as a platform to bounce your own words off.

It wasn’t training, either.

From all appearances, it was simply a pure, human curiosity in the world around him, the people in it and the food they eat.

You need to respect people to have that in you, you need to appreciate where they’ve come from and you need to be grateful for what you have.

You can’t fake that. I believe the world would be a notably better place if more people had that curiosity.

Later in his career he started asking some big questions:

Who does paradise belong to?

If we always kill what we love, should we just accept that and enjoy it while we have it?

What’s the price we’re really paying for the food we eat?

What use is celebrity?

He didn’t always find answers to these questions, of course.

Questions like that, it’s the exploration that matters. But as he grew older, more confident, more secure, he started asking them.

Tentatively, carefully, but with real intent and curiosity.  

   * * *

Fittingly, I was in the kitchen when I read he had died.

June 8, 2018. June 9th in Australia.

It hit me in the gut, and I remember being both shocked and embarrassed.

I kept scrolling on my phone, reading the whole article. I was holding my breath, I realised.

I couldn’t tell my wife, so I put my phone down and went about getting ready for the day ahead. In a bit of a productive daze.

15 minutes later I was able to tell her.

We were both in an odd state of sadness, but also embarrassment at the death of a ‘celebrity’ having such an impact.

We talked about how big a hole he was leaving behind, how unappealing a world without Bourdain was.

About those cheese platters and episodes we’d devour.

And we went about our day.

It was later that week, I think, that CNN started collecting the notes and memories people were leaving. Hundreds and hundreds of them.

I read them all, which was in itself unusual – normally I have the patience for three online comments before moving on.

They captured – much better than I could – the true gratitude and appreciation for his legacy.

It was all terribly moving and for weeks, I couldn’t talk about it without feeling utterly sad, and then swiftly embarrassed.

And life went on, as it is wont to do.

   * * *

I’ve put off writing this one for a long time.

Actually, I’ve avoided thinking about Anthony Bourdain.

I haven’t revisited any of his shows and I haven’t picked up my stained, dogeared, beaten up copy of his Les Halles cookbook since June last year.  

I haven’t listened to this theme song until I started writing this.

I’m quite embarrassed about how affected I was (am) about his death. This is someone, I remember, that I’ve never met.

He is basically a stranger.

It feels tacky, as though this sort of feeling should be reserved for people I actually know, loved ones, friends, family.

To have grieved for somebody I’ve only ‘known’ via popular culture makes me feel more than a little foolish.

But he’s had a direct impact on my life, which isn’t something I can say about many other ‘celebrities’.

So I still get a bit shaky when I hear this theme song, these 40 seconds of music.

That’ll pass in time, I imagine.

But until then, I suppose we’ll always have the pho.

PS: Like Bourdain, I’ve been a fan of Hunter S. Thompson’s work. Like Bourdain, I’ve outgrown the attraction to the more banal parts of his ‘image’.

But re-reading Bourdain’s quote about Kissinger reminded me of another part of his legacy I haven’t touched on – the guy could write.

PPS: I also haven’t mentioned his meaningful contribution to the #MeToo movement. Or the power of his story for those dealing with addiction. Or any of the hundred other things that he somehow crammed into his life.