TW: Suicide, Depression, Death of a dog

I don’t usually do TWs in my work, though, if like me, you grew up watching Bourdain, and also have depression and suicidal tendencies, I think this work might effect you.

For everything else, be warned, I don’t know what other TWs are in here.

When the era of 2000s are mentioned, a lot comes to mind. The last era before smart phone age, crocs, but…if you were like me, and didn’t have many friends due to mental health, you turned on the TV after school, and whoever was on there, that was your best friend. For me, it wasAnthony Bourdain’s No Reservations on the Travel Channel. He was carrying Travel on his back before Travel turned into shit by putting back their usual programs about ghosts.

Why am I talking about this on a book review? I think you have to understand a bit about who he was before diving into Medium Raw.

Anthony Bourdain was a hippie, let’s be real. I think he would probably haunt me for saying this, but the bro was a goddamn hippie. But by gods, he was the true essence of the romance of moody and dark edges of life. One moment he will be talking about food from a hole in the wall, and the next moment, he’s shitting on the system, cussing on national television (which was pushing it, for TV standards, frankly I loved the shit that he was pushing the boundary for a travel show.), all the while, smoking a cigarrete. The definition of a moody edge lord, in the flesh. Bourdain would show you what other glitzy travel channels failed to do: show the flaws of the system.

This review will cover the book but, it also crosses as a eulogy of sorts. When I first heard of his death in 2018, I still remember the day clearly.

I came down for breakfast to look across to the morning TV with my father to see…That he took his life. I couldn’t believe it. I sat down and kept rereading the headline and refused to believe it for a solid 10 minutes. I had no words to my father. We both enjoyed watching him for years. And then, out like a light. He said very little. I don’t know if he was shocked as me, but I could tell he was sad.

I promptly went back to my room and refused to come out. It then occurred to me, this was the first time I mourned for a celebrity with earnest.

Admittedly, I did cry for Monty Oum when he passed away, but…it wasn’t exactly the same. Oum wasn’t there for me in my darkest hours, from high school to post-undergraduate. Bourdain was, and reminding me all of the world had to offer and that it was OK, (provided you weren’t harming anyone) to speak your mind. It was OK to have dark thoughts. Time and time again, when I was suicidal, his programs made me forget about suicide for a second to break those chain of thoughts and feelings. And remember, that one day, I do want to go to Kiso Valley.

So, when he passed away in 2018 by taking his life, it felt…hopeless. I had an understanding he had depression, but never…never would I think he would take his life. It…broke me. I didn’t get a chance to put my feelings into words of what I felt…until now.

Let’s get this out of the way.

He was not the most likable person on earth. Granted, he was likable to me, but not to everyone else. Bourdain touted his atheism on his sleeve, though, he was open to a lot of ideas. I don’t know if it was because of his nearly 30 years in the kitchen or his travels that did it for him. Whatever the reason, it turned him into a respectable person. To me, that takes a lot of bravery and strength to even exist as such.

Medium Raw was a wild ride. There are no mincing of words. I can’t tell if Travel and CNN made him sensor anything because TV tends to be more accessible than books are. But in his book, I literally heard his words as if he was still alive, loud and clear. Every curse, metaphor, rambling, was heard loud and clear from my Kindle. His words were that powerful to me.

It is part memoir, part food porn, part giving accolades of heroes (and shit to villains), part forum for unsung heroes in the kitchen, and part venting. When he writes, you can tell he gives two fucks about anyone’s opinions. Cross a line with him and he will explain to you in an entire thesis why you’re wrong.

Part way through reading, I stopped, and realized…he’s no longer around. And I cried again…even though it’s been 5 fucking years since he left us. That’s how much it fucked me over when Day 0 happened. I have fucking no idea how his daughter is doing, I just hope she is doing all right, without constant shit heads trying to remind her of her dad every possible second. You know those people exist.

There was also a chapter on David Chang that kinda fucks with me a little. I had no knowledge of this dude until this year where I had to double take that Bourdain knew of him. I thought he only rose to fame recently. And this book was written in 2010.

Basing from Medium Raw, Bourdain describes Chang having suffered through weird problems with his brain, maybe mental health illnesses, it’s hard to say. Bourdain tries to pinpoint what he’s like, and it’s impossible to get a true grasp of the man. He then throws Chang a curve ball asking him, “What does a perfect day look like to you?” Chang vibes to it and explains to him and you realize…

Shit, he’s fucking tired.

Love or hate him, you have to respect the man’s will to grind everyday.

At some point, a few years after Bourdain passed away, I realized, I will never find any sort of solace of his passing. Why?

It became apparent when my dog of 15 and a half years passed away and it destroyed me. Physically and mentally. To this day, my arms don’t work the same way. I can go into why, but that’s another story. Just know, because of his passing, my arms and fingers don’t work as well. My dog’s death effects me and there is no peace with it. Nothing. The world moves, as cliched as that sounds. It. Fucking. Still. Moves.

There’s a cliché that time heals all wounds, which is not entirely true. What tends to happen is that wound, will still be fucking there. You just won’t feel the same pain. It’ll feel like dying on the first day, but then every so often it lessens, only for the torrent of pain to come back again. A month, a year…it won’t matter. That pain will be there, just in varying degrees.

Cried my heart out at this point of the review.

Anyway, like this review, this book is a hot mess in more ways than one. I don’t read memoirs, or even non-fiction for that matter, all that said. From my previous track record, I do mostly fantasy works, although I like to dabble occasionally away from the genre. As a writer, I want to make sure I get a varied view of the world of literature, and not just be in my own circle jerk of fantasy 24/7.

Therefore, when it came time to pick said genre and book, I chose Mr. Bourdain as ground 0.

You won’t expect perfect prose here, as I said, it’s a hot mess. He tends to segway in a lot of different directions, for better or for worse. Bourdain’s similes and metaphors can go on for pages. Shannon needs to learn from Bourdain as her segways can also last for pages to the point I’ll be in the ground or ocean by the time she finishes.

The people he talks about in this book are interesting and I wish I can meet all of them (besides Waters and Sandra Lee, cause fuck those bitches. From a bitch to a bitch, they’re bitches.) cause I feel you can learn a lot from people outside of your circle, not just from a writing or idea machine perspective, but from a world view. I can’t say if this is the best in non-fiction as again, this is not my forte, but this was an enjoyable book on a weekend, even though I cried my heart out for my dog and Bourdain. They were, and are, real ones.

So, who should read this book? Read this book if you want a different perspective on the world of cooking, or even if you want something different to read. You want to be described to food like it’s sex (it works well, man). Some terms and views are slightly dated, but nothing horribly so that you will burn the book to oblivion.

4/5,

RIP Puppy and Bourdain. I love you both.