(tony bourdain is an american cook, gone hilarious author, and still a cook. he was one of the first people to "reveal" the dirty/nasty/drug and alcohol "ridden" element of kitchen culture)Basically, he's fucking hilarious.
current excerpt: p.16/17:
context: minor fast food rant instigated by the fact that there is a terribly obese man taking up not just 1, not 2, but 3 seats on the subway. after 14 hours of work, tony would really, really like to sit. (but it aint gonna happen.) morbidly obese man taking up 3 too many seats incites rant about culture, social status, and even ability to participate in a war (read: fox holes are too small for obese people).
here we go...
I wouldn't really care what they put in those burgers - if they tasted good. And though I do care that the rivers of Arkansas are cloggin up with chicken shit to stisfy the world's relentless craving for crispy fried chicken fingers, I don't believe that we should legislate these cocksuckers out of business. My position is kind of the Nancy Reagan position on drugs: "Just Say No."
Next time you find yourself standing slack-jawed and hungry in front of a fast-food counter - and a clown is anywhere nearby - just turn on your heels and head for the lone-wolf, independent operator down the street: a pie shop, a chippie, a kebab join, or, in New York, a "dirty-water hot dog," anywhere that the proprietor has a name. Even that beloved British institution, the chippie, is preferable to the clown's fare; at least you are encouraging individual, local business, an entrepreneur who can react to neighborhood needs and wants, rather than a dictatorial system in which some focus group in an industrial park in Iwoa decides for you what you will or should want. Deep-friend cod or plaice with vinegar, haggis with curry sauce; these may not be the apex of healthy eating, but at least they're indigenous to somewhere - an, washed down with enough beer or Irn-Bru, they're quite tasty. the kebab shop makes food that is at least fresh, and a beef schwarma does not require the addition of beef flavour to make it taste like food.
Whenever possible, try to eat food that comes from somewhere, from somebody. And stop eating so fucking much. A little portion control would go a long way in slimming down our herds of heavyweights in their tent-like T-shirts, Gap easy-fit pants, and baggy shorts. (Apparently taking body-sculpting cues from some of our more humungous rappers, these guys ignore the fact that many of their heroes probably have to wash themselves with a sponge at the end of a stick.)
You may as well stop snacking on crap while you're at it. You don't need that bag of chips, between meal, do you? You're probably not even enjoying it. Save your appetite for something good! Take a little more time. All that rage and frustration, that hollow feeling so many of us feel - for so many good reasons - can be filled up with something, better than a soggy disk of ground-up assholes and elbows. Eat for nourishment, yes, but eat for pleasure. Stop settling for less. That way, if we ever do have to get in there and "smoke evildoers out of their holds," at the very least, we'll be able to squeeze in after them."
p.s. i, too, am counting the minutes. weeee. xox
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