Watching each episode of No Reservations is to fall under the spell of Anthony Bourdain all over again. I particularly love when he visits my favorite places, such as London, and Edinburgh, where my sister lives.
(Photo by Entertainment Weekly)
Tony’s a changed man these days. When Marco Pierre White said, “Time for a cigarette,” this new ex-smoker didn’t even wince. His wedding ring’s now a permanent fixture, and he exchanged his beloved leather jacket for a sports coat to prowl through Soho, looking like a mature, world-savvy sophisticate with a wife and child back home – or back at his hotel.
(After seeing him next to that mysterious baby in Greece, I now study every frame for signs of family.)
To please admirers of his hard-bitten style, he did pull out his well-worn leather friend in Scotland.
The man showed true sang froid when they placed before him the head of the deer he’d killed while he was eating its liver. Then again, a severed head centerpiece on a white tablecloth was pretty classy compared to some table settings he’s had.
In Edinburgh, he sampled the nastiest bits he could find, but that was about it. Surely there was enough worthy gastronomy for him in each country to have given them their own hours.
Although I can’t get enough Bourdain, I’m striking out on Food Network’s reruns of A Cook’s Tour. My VCR acts like it’s cursed whenever I try to record it, perhaps manifesting my utter disgust over how FN dissed Emeril Lagasse, my No. 1 favorite (still)-working chef.
Seeing Emeril and Bourdain breaking bread together in New Orleans like old friends was another moment to savor – one of thousands they’ve both given us.