I once tweeted @Bourdain, urged him to do a plant-based show in Malibu. Told him Rich Roll could be his local guide to the vegan scene. Rich liked the tweet, but I never heard from Anthony Bourdain. No surprise. Not that I’m a hardcore vegan, but I wanted to see Bourdain truly out of his comfort zone.
No, he was far more relaxed on the Congo River, skinning chickens, maybe eating their feet. I was never in man awe of Tony, he was too dark to be one of my guys, but I admired the way his imperfect teeth smiled at people, all people. The Thai women stirring brains in a bowl, or the men serving aged cheese in the French countryside. He was a true food ambassador, simultaneously common and noble.
Suicide by hanging, people seem to emphasize, but to me death is death. We all go out; slowly, quickly, healthy, ill, sane, or not. The end waits for all of us. It is not how we died, but how we lived. But that might just be me. The Anthony Bourdain that I read and watched on CNN lived truth. Truth of love. Love of food, booze, exploration, humanity. He was once addicted to heroin and to life. I guess all addictions eventually end.