Friday, March 19, 2010

A Love Letter to Anthony Bourdain

Oh dear! Just when I thought it would never happen again, when my heart was won by another and signed, sealed, delivered and married, I discover the divine Mr. Anthony Bourdain, bad boy chef, international food critic, and all around punk. It's not just because Anthony will put absolutely anything into his mouth, because he will, but it is that animal magnetism where he always seems poised to tell some pretentious yuppie gourmet to fuck-off. I just adore that in a man! Oh yes, Anthony is a manly-man, with a devil-may-care attitude toward what he ingests. Whether it be from a street vendor in a third world country or a five-star restaurant, Anthony is that guy swallowing the worm at the bottom of a tequila bottle. Sigh. He is that guy your mother warned you about, that bad boy who broke your heart in college (and is now a fat, balding middle-aged putz)and he can cook. Alas, it is not to be for Anthony and me! We live in different worlds -- I have found my true love and Anthony, I hope, has found his. In another place, in another time, in a parallel universe, perhaps sitting next to one another at a tiki bar quaffing pineapple drinks across from former NY Dolls front man David Johansen, while Anthony begs for my Grandmother's German potato salad recipe, we could be together. But it is not to be in this lifetime. But, oh, my precious Anthony, you will always hold a special place in my heart, right next to the salt shaker, which I can't have either.

P.S. My husband wants to be your best friend.

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