The OG. Anthony Bourdain’s labor of love is probably the book that showed me how fulfilling a good memoir can be. I have an image of Anthony, part made up and part informed by facts, of him waking every morning, lukewarm coffee and a lit smoke on his desk, as he bangs away at a shitty keyboard on an outdated word processor on an underpowered desktop computer (reminder that this was published in 2000, the year of Windows ME). Every time I tell myself I don’t have anything in me or I don’t have the time, I remind myself of this image.

Full of strong opinions, stories of his upbringing, and the occasional veiled apology, this is where you start if you want to know more about - and build a respect for - the service industry. If you’ve seen any of his successful follow-up shows (No Reservations, Parts Uknown), this is the book that started it all and this is where he’s able to tell all the stories that the editors at CNN would get squeamish about.

His writing style is inspiring. Seriously casual and approachable while staying away from simple, low-brow humor. I’m smiling the whole time I’m reading it and I feel like I’ve learned something, become a better person, for having taken the time to read it.

Garlic is divine. Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic.

I love his comparison of East and West Coast culinary scenes, like he’s contrasting the history of Hiphop in different regions. In typical East Coast fashion (or at least a potentially fictional version that I made up but still recognize), he calls out West Coast kitchens for having it easy, what with all the ultra-fresh ingredients and small shipping distances to age and decay the goods, while saying that his kitchen, the one in cold, harsh New York City, has to make do with what came off the container ships that morning. The obvious message being that they work harder, must be more clever, and are, thus, better chefs in the East Coast. I can’t help but relate - sometimes I think people in nicer climates could do with a little snow shoveling in their winters.

His teardown of fresh graduates from the Culinary Institute of America is especially enjoyable. A chef does not care about fancy knifework or that you can carve a little man out of an orange peel. A chef cares about your ability to slice a bushel of onions in perfectly uniform size in less than an hour. If you want to carve fancy oranges, go start your own outfit. Don’t slow down his kitchen with your artistic aspirations.

Changing subjects only slightly, our son slept very little early in life. This led me to driving around town at 2am in the morning or, if it was a little later, putting something on the TV at 4am and assuming a defensive position in a vain attempt to get him to go back to sleep. It was during one of those mornings that I landed on an episode of No Reservations, specifically the Paris episode. I fell in love. With the show, with the style, with Paris. Did you know market workers have bread and wine at 5am? On a weekday? And with their morning smoke! Whether that’s the “right” way to live can be up for debate but it’s certainly one I wouldn’t mind. Maybe replace the smoke for some other vice.

Anthony is probably the only stranger who’s death I’ve actually lamented. The man had such a positive impact on so many people, most of whom he never met. But it wasn’t enough for him. He was never able to manage his demons as far as I could tell. I wish he felt like he could have asked around. I wish he felt like he could have asked somebody, anybody, to talk to for help. Hell, I would have talked with him. It may have taken a shared bottle of red to get me past my star struck condition, but I would have helped. I think anyone would.

Regardless, you’re doing yourself a disservice if you haven’t sat down with this one. Even if food isn’t your thing, there’s plenty of humanity in here for anyone.