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Trial by Fire | Anthony Bourdain

Bourdain2

Anthony Bourdain
Johnson & Wales University
March 18, 2009

Chef, author and culinary adventurer Anthony Bourdain certainly relishes his role as the bad boy of the culinary world. Striding across JWU’s Xavier stage in head-to-toe black, he was greeted by thunderous applause from the sold-out crowd of more than 500 students. Warming to their enthusiasm, the hyperkinetic Bourdain proceeded with a largely off-the-cuff hour-long talk peppered with pithy, loose-limbed observations and rapid-fire, expletive-laden asides.

And yet, despite this penchant for brutal — if not downright slanderous — honesty and decidedly prickly exterior, the most surprising aspect of his talk was that it revealed him to be a practical and even reflective observer of food culture and human behavior.

Which is not to say that the bad boy persona is all for show. Bourdain definitely walks it like he talks it. Having gone through some very dark times (as unsparingly related in his autobiographical exposé,Kitchen Confidential), he emerged with the hard-won wisdom of someone who’s seen (and been through) it all. As he wrote in Spin, “We had fun for a while, then we all ended up dead or in a methadone program.”

When asked by a well-meaning student whether he thought of himself as a role model for young culinarians, Bourdain could not have been clearer: “Please God, no. Do not do as I do!” Pause. “Have you read the book?”

After the laughter died down, he continued: “Certainly my culinary career was not one that any of you would want to emulate. I’ve spent a lot of time …making some really crappy food at some soul-destroying places.”

Those “soul-destroying places” indoctrinated the young Bourdain into the dysfunctional but unshakable solidarity forged in the anarchic heat of the professional kitchen. Calling it the “last refuge of the misfit,” he noted that cooks are able to say things to each other that, in the real world, would result in a lifetime of litigation. “If being called a goldfish dropping bothers you, you don’t belong in the kitchen. You can’t mind injustice and absurdity.”

BourdainPortrait1Bourdain also summarized the many schools of culinary leadership, most of them involving Gordon Ramsay-like levels of yelling, screaming and intimidation, all delivered with a drill sergeant’s colorful vocabulary and martial sense of justice. “They don’t call it ‘the Brigade’ for nothing.” While the people who didn’t belong were “shaken out like antibodies,” those who stayed behind had each other’s back, no matter what.

Surprisingly, though, Bourdain characterized the worst moments in the kitchen as “not when there’s chaos and screaming but dead silence,” therefore signifying some fuck-up on an unprecedented scale.

While the subjects of Bourdain’s withering ire are legendary (Rachel Ray and her telegenic ilk; his former bosses at the Food Network; Billy Joel), his praise is doled out sparingly enough that you know it’s genuine. He singled out David Chang, the innovative chef-proprietor of the growing Momofukuempire, as “one of the most important chefs out there.” “His food is devoid of bullshit, it’s unfussy, and [most of all], it’s fun.” He also praised Chang’s realistic sense of scale and lack of pretension, two qualities guaranteed to serve him (and like-minded chefs) in good stead in the new economy. “Bullshit will be the first to go,” he noted.

He also praised the Travel Channel’s unwavering support for his globe-trotting culinary adventure show, No Reservations, now in its sixth season. “I have so much creative freedom with the show. I decide where we go, I get to travel with good friends, and I decide which films we get to rip off.”

When asked about whether Julia Child was a formative influence, he turned uncharacteristically serious. “She is easily the most influential person in American cooking. Without her, we’d still be grilling ham steaks with pineapple rings and maraschino cherries. And she never once endorsed a single product.” Huge cheers.

Ultimately, he made it clear that food should be thought of as not simply an aesthetic but also a deeply sensual experience. “Chefs are in the pleasure business. The real artistry of cooking is turning something unlovely and tough into something new, that transformation.” He added, “If you don’t like sex or music you’re not going to cook well.”

His final words of advice to young cooks just starting out? “There’s no way to learn how to cook if you don’t venture outside your comfort zone. So travel, eat wildly, and fear not if it’s something strange.”

PHOTOS BY ANDREA FELDMAN

Happy Songs for Mondays

Wolfonthewall

I’ve so been neglecting this blog of late. Some hideous form of inertia has kicked in. “Oh, I posted last week! I can just kick back for awhile.” Suddenly a week had turned to a month, then two —before I knew it, the tumbleweeds were blowing through. Insidious!

It ends here! (Not so) new year, new leaf. I’m cleaning out the virtual dust bunnies and vow to keep things a bit more up-to-date around here.

And, in honor of what was a pretty good Monday (as Mondays go), I give you two three delightfully happy songs from Tom Cullinan’s Kitty Kitty Corp. Tom, as you may know, was the ringleader of gleeful noise anarchists th’ Faith Healers.

Cullinan’s follow-up group, the tuneful but no less quirky Quickspace (née Quickspace Supersport), have been relatively quiet of late, but there’s no indication they’ve called it quits. Rumor even has it there’s a Quickspace album kicking around with Roxanne Stephen (Faith Healers, bringing it all full circle) on lead vocals.

Until that surfaces, though, how about some Novak (sorry for the static —this is straight from the vinyl) and early Quickspace (“Quickspace Happy Song #2,” natch)?

(And, ooh, I just unearthed a demo version of “Rapunzel” as well. Enjoy!)

MP3Quickspace, “Quickspace Happy Song #2” (from Precious Falling)

MP3Novak, “Rapunzel”

MP3Novak, “Rapunzel” (Demo version)

Beautiful Tumult

KH_HiDry

Throwing Muses
Open Rehearsal
Stable Sound, Portsmouth
January 8, 2009
Some road-trip advice: never, ever say, “We’re making good time.” It’s like saying, “How calm the ocean is today!” Cue the typhoon.

So, yeah, we got a leeetle bit lost Thursday night on our way down to this low-key Throwing Muses rehearsal at Stable Sound in Portsmouth. Not once but twice. Missed first exit. No return exit. Picked our way through dinky surface roads trying to find a way back to 138, then missed the turnoff to the studio… yadda yadda yadda. Thank christ for GPS is all I can say.

We did get to our destination eventually. Following the directive to park along the road, we went in search of the studio. The property was sprawling —it was dark and there were no streetlights, but it looked to be comprised of two huge buildings on either side of the road, each flanked by smaller, carriage-house-type buildings. With very few lights to lead the way, we didn’t exactly know which building to go to, so we set off for the largest one. Slip-sliding around in the semi-darkness, we finally spotted a light —an open door midway— and the distinct smell of …grilling steaks?! It was like a mirage. “We’re here!” we cried. “Come on in and relax!” said the steak-tender, a jovial, sandy-haired guy. “Have a beer!” We stepped forward en masse, more than ready to kick back and eat. We then realized, collectively, that there was no-one else in sight. This was definitely not the studio.

“Um, we’re looking for the studio?”

“Oh! Rizzo’s place?” He points behind the stable. “It’s around the corner. You’re close. What’s going on there?”

“We’re going to see Kristin Hersh.”

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen her since back in the day, when they used to play Harpo’s! The drummer plays with that Kendall kid now.”

“Yeah, they’re playing tonight.”

“Oh, wow, I should stop by.”

“You should!”

We thanked him for the steak-and-beer offer, then slipped and slid our way back to the path, an unholy mix of ice, snow and horse crap that wasn’t exactly welcoming to my high-heeled boots. (Stupid choice of footwear, self.)

By the time we skidded around the corner to the studio proper, we were more than ready for a cozy welcome. Expected it, even, given that this is the place where Kristin has recorded all of her solo albums; she’s called it her “passionate hideout” because its big, beautiful windows and magical, welcoming qualities.

As for welcomes, who should open the door but Kristin herself? “You made it!” Waywardly, but yes. “We don’t have a coat rack, but you can throw your coats on the coat pile!” We stood around for awhile, chatting and drinking wine and nibbling on cheese (there was a lot of cheese). Finally, Billy said, “Hey, let’s start!” And we all filed into the studio, a cozy double room with a huge overstuffed couch on one side, the mixing board along one wall and the band set up in the other.

The chance to see the band in process- rather than performance-mode was fascinating, like poring over film splices in the editing room. Throughout the hour and a half-long set, they joked with one another; debated the relative merits of one song over another; and even stopped and re-started songs to fine-tune aspects, often tweaking the pacing mid-song. Take “Walking in the Dark”: on record, it’s grounded not by guitar but by sprightly piano. Transcribing that to the power-trio format proved difficult, and you could see them struggling with the tone.

Other songs sailed off without a hitch, like a furious version of “Finished.” When it was over, Kristin jokingly proclaimed its suckitude. I had to disagree; then again, it’s one of my favorite Muses songs, and if they’d decided to play it on kazoos, I’d still probably think it sounded great. So much for critical distance.

All in all, the band burned through fifteen or so songs, including three off K’s most recent solo record,Learn to Sing Like a Star, and some surprising choices, like “Walking in the Dark,” “Devil’s Roof,” “Bea” and “Say Goodbye.” “Shimmer” called up a lingering, lovely memory of a long-ago nighttime walk through London with the as-yet-unreleased song on repeat. It was as blistering and sepulchral as always, with its beautiful refrain, “I shimmer on horizons.”

Throughout, we were all transfixed and reverentially quiet. No clapping, a few ripples of whispers and cell phone twitters but that was it. At a club, there’d be the whole dance of encore?/no encore, building up to a crescendo of applause. Instead, when the band finished —ignoring Billy’s entreaties to play “City of the Dead”— Kristin quietly said, “Thanks for coming.”

***

If you like what you hear, I humbly ask that you please leave a little something in K’s tip jar. (It’s over to the right, above the Amazon logo.)

MP3Throwing Muses, “Rosetta Stone” (French radio session, February 1995)

MP3Throwing Muses, “Graffiti” (French radio session, February 1995)

PHOTO BY A. FELDMAN. THIS IS NOT STABLE SOUND, BY THE WAY, BUT HI & DRY IN CAMBRIDGE.

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