Some Reservations

      i had noticed that the last previous post were all a little on the negative/i hate humans and see no use in emotional response side, i found it only proper to speak on something that really made me happy. a little joy in the life of an individual with burning eyes and a foggy vision. although, what i write is 999.9% bullshit, and i know as it comes out of my mouth it loses all credibility, i find it necessary to at least believe in somethings that are pure, and by far, this, by all means, may be something that i find halfway decent, halfway pure, and most part bullshit.
     Anthony Bourdain, once upon a time, was a leader of some sort. Even though he tried his hardest to play low key, cool, pirate like and outcast, i fear that the time  has come that enough producers, publishers, and bullshit people have gotten into his ear. His book Kitchen Confidential inspired me to cook. I felt that through a life of constant questions, constant denial, and constant self hatred, that a profession in the cooking industry would do me some right. and i did have some of that. I stayed after work to play poker and snort coke with the boys. i banged the waitress and the bartender. i got the blowjob in the back room as i sat on top of a bag of panko. i was living the dream i felt, but my vision was one sided, it was all about he pussy and party but none of it was about the passion for food, it was left out and out-shined by the 24 year old blonde bartender that i got to watch undress daily in the upstairs employee bathroom. But for a young buck, coming out of a serious relationship, i felt that this was the lifestyle that i would find happiness with. Drugs, sex and rock and roll, without all the bullshit glitter and having to speak no more than 100 words a day, it was heaven for me.
      the Chef i worked for was 27, and his coke connection was pure and secure. I'd show up for dinner service, straight out of culinary school and do a line before i even put on the oversize chef coat that belonged to some poor schmuck before me. high and full of pride, i'd chop the case of mushrooms, i'd peel the case of prawns, and i'd prep out his station for him. then i'd watch him cook all night, and in order to not get bored, i'd try and guess his next move before he even went there. i had my chance one night when he burnt the top of his left hand, the grease splashed up and i watched his skin begin to bubble. he handed me $10 and i ran down to the liquor store to grab him a six pack. i finished out the night for him, as he sat behind me and dictated my every move. i felt grown up, i felt like i knew a thing or two about a thing or two, and holy goddamn shit i made it out alive. after that, the crew gave me a new nickname, instead of being called "shit stain" i was given the name "Jeremy Junior" (chef's name was jeremy). i spun like him, i dropped like him, i plated like him, and while perhaps we weren't making the greatest food in the world, i felt content in belonging to a greater cause than me. i was young, ignorant, stupid, and full of cocaine, and all at the age of 21. the world was mine, all i needed was a bag of coke and a saute' pan. full in, full out, full of it at the gills.
      this is what i felt cooking was all about. going to bed late and waking up early, only to go out and do it again day after day. this is what Bourdain wrote about, the passion to be in the dirtiest, darkest corner of the world and do something holy. to give yourself completely to a vegetable, a fish, a meat or a sauce. to be immersed so deep that the outside world didn't matter. eventually i learned that the realm of food went way beyond what i could ever comprehend, i wanted to explore, but still grasp that pirate like feeling, that comradely that happens in a kitchen.
     eventually i grew up and realized that this wasn't the life for me, so i moved on. i watched Bourdain grab his own show and lift off. it was great watching someone who i admired from a young age actually make it. i read his novels, i kept track of his shows, and as i grew i knew that eventually he would give in to the bullshit and join the ranks of top chef, join the ranks of Andrew Zimmerman, and become a well thoughtful great man thrown into the snake pit.
     i wonder now if the man even writes his own blog? or does he just dictate to some poor schmuck who writes in the "style" of him? either way, i do believe that he man has paved the way for many souls similar to him. his cynical, humorous, jaded way of being only further makes me believe that the dirt corporation hasn't gotten a hold of him.
      i take great joy in knowing this: Anthony Bourdain, and "No Reservations" is the closest we'll ever get to pureness on the food level (on network TV). Although he may have people in his ear, and maybe he's gotten somewhat lazy, there's still a small joy i get in watching him fear for his life at times. This may be in part that he's gotten older, wiser, and all that old school bullshit that the spew at you when someone who had their shit together loses their shit. but i do think that Bourdain is the closest you'll ever get to watching a real cook, a real man, a real person with real thoughts on TV. If a man wants to be on TV to spread the word, than he cannot be totally underground, and to this day, whenever i come across some poor schmuck who shows up to work hungover and bangs out his job better than anyone on my crew, i go out and buy a copy of Kitchen Confidential. Because any man, who will willingly go out and get drunk, high, operate on 4 hours of sleep and still show up to work on time to do his fucking job, and do it right, and do it with pride, whether you're making a sandwich or plating with tweezers, deserves to know that he is not on this mission alone, and self hatred, suffering, and love, can all marinate in the same fucking pot together to conjure something great.

that's what it's about.
Not being the best, but being able to do it day after day, no matter how shitty you feel on the inside.