Beyond Reservations: Remembering Anthony Bourdain

Leave the world better than you found it.

I’ve probably pulled this image up a dozen times a year since I found it. Anthony Bourdain came up from the bottom, shined his little light on what was wrong in his world, worked hard to make things better, and used his celebrity to show the world how much we all have in common.

I haven’t ready any of his books.

I’ve barely seen half his shows.

But everything I ever saw from this guy was fucking solid.

I’ve always had a lot of respect for Anthony Bourdain. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to one day be like the Anthony Bourdain of gearheads somehow.

He had a good run. He did good work.

I’m sad he’s no longer with us—but I’m gutted to learn he felt he had no other options.

Avoid and outwit anyone standing between you and making the world a better place.

No reservations needed, Chef. We’ll save you a seat at the table.

Anthony Bourdain
June 25, 1956—June 8, 2018

And then you get a letter from the IRS.

It WAS Monday, after all.

(But it was a genuinely good day up until that point.)

Feeling like Clark W. Griswold right now.

You know what I want for Xmas.

(We’ll try again tomorrow.)

PS: Boss should be implied as President, sitting member of Congress, naturally. I work for excellent people.

Outside it’s America…

And it’s broke, yo.

Today I feel like I should have a gun in the house. To protect my family.

But I don’t want a fucking gun in my house.

I don’t live in tribal Afghanistan.

I don’t live in Somalia.

I live in a quiet suburb surrounded by elementary schools, where kids still play in the street, unsupervised until the sun goes down. Where we all smile and wave at each other and keep an eye out—even if we don’t know each other’s’ names. Where we still leave our doors unlocked.

I grew up believing I lived in the greatest country on Earth. I played by the rules. I did everything they said I should do. And last night, my new neighbor was shot and killed in the driveway across the street.

I didn’t hear the gunshots, but if I’d been out in the garage working on the podcast, I’d have either been an eye witness—or another victim.

I don’t want a fucking gun in my house. This is America, damnit. It’s supposed to be the greatest country on Earth, where life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are supposed to be unalienable.

I want to live in a civilized society that does ANYTHING AT ALL to keep guns away from the crazy degenerates who draw them on other people.

My country is fast becoming one of the war-torn shitholes we’ve spent 20 years fighting.

And the NRA keeps peeling off those dollar bills, slappin’ em down.

One hundred.

Two hundred.

Outside it’s America…
Outside it’s America…