`The Nasty Bits' by chef, novelist, and culinary bad boy TV and print journalist, Tony Bourdain is a collection of thirty-six (36) non-fiction pieces and one fictional fragment from various American and Australian English language culinary journals and other miscellaneous mags such as `Playboy' and `Rolling Stone'. The pieces are cleverly, if somewhat arbitrarily divided into six chapters, titled by the five flavors on the tongue, Salty, Sweet, Sour, Bitter, and Unami, plus `A Taste of Fiction'.
Many of the pieces are an update to the subjects Tony covers in his best known book, the memoir, `Kitchen Confidential', plus commentaries on his adventures while doing various TV shows and personal appearances since he hung up his toque as executive chef of Les Halles in New York City a few years ago. I am happy to say that while I was never very impressed by the few Bourdain pieces I read in `Gourmet', almost all of these pieces have something interesting to say to the lover of culinary gossip.
Bourdain is almost unique among the current crop of culinary celebrities. I have often seen it written that he is a better writer than he was a chef. In my reading, I think this is quite true, since I find his pieces as engaging as the very spicy memoir from Gael Greene and `almost' as literate as the writing of the great M. F. K. Fisher. His one cookbook of recipes from Les Halles is worth reading more for the way Bourdain writes about his very simple recipes than for the recipes themselves.
Bourdain's primary interest is as an iconoclast and as a guide to the dirty underbelly of the culinary world. It is no surprise that he quotes as one of his primary inspirations, a passage from George Orwell's `Down and Out in Paris and London' where we see the all the filth and acrimony behind the swinging doors in the kitchens of some very famous restaurants. Bourdain is famous, for example, of dissing the current icon, Emeril Lagasse. He also belittles England's golden boy, Jamie Oliver and even takes on the reputation of the American culinary godhead, James Beard.
My initial reaction to this debunking is to remember the comment that to a butler, the master of the house is always a smaller figure than he cuts in public, because he is only being seen from a butler's point of view. For example, I find Jamie Oliver's contribution to the culinary world to be far greater than the simple body of his recipes. Oliver is pushing the culinary envelope, much the same way as Bourdain, but in an entirely different direction. But then, I read Bourdain describe what he finds interesting and valuable about Oliver and fellow Brit, Nigella Lawson, and I discover that this is exactly what I respect about these and the other major Brit food writers, Nigel Slater and Tasmania Day-Lewis. They seem to capture the `joie-de-vivre' of everyday food in a more genuine way than our favorite American culinary cheerleaders such as Rachael Ray and Paula Deen.
So, while Bourdain's primary currency is strong opinions, I believe he is never so married to an opinion that he does not change his mind now and again. Bourdain is at his very best when he gives us his observations and opinions on life behind the swinging doors on the line at American restaurants and when he reveals that many modern culinary dogmas are as much a political position as they are a reflection of restaurant realities.
One of Bourdain's most interesting topics is the doctrine of cooking by `terroir' celebrated by many today, especially Alice Waters, based on the writings of Richard Olney. The antithesis of `terroir' is `fusion' cuisine where dishes are made up of ingredients from widely different locations around the world. The fact is that today's global produce distribution system is starting to make seasonal cooking from local ingredients look just a bit silly for all but the very well connected venues such as Chez Panisse and The French Laundry. Another glaring hole in the doctrine of using only the freshest ingredients is the fact that in order to survive, restaurant chefs will work with just about anything that is edible to make ends meet and fill in for depleted stores. This confirms the suspicion I had about the `local and fresh' dogma when I read in Jacques Pepin's `The Apprentice' about how his mother would buy all the market leftovers at the end of the day at reduced prices to keep her restaurant kitchen stocked.
Another of Bourdain's common topics, so appropriate to today's headlines, is the fact that so many of the line cooks in America's major restaurants are illegal immigrants from Mexico and places south. The ironies with this subject abound in that while white Anglo graduates of American culinary schools are flooding the market, they tend to be unwilling to dedicate the years as a prep chef to earn the chops to excel in a smoothly running culinary team. The Hispanics who do this work, on the other hand, could not afford to eat in the restaurants they serve and they are totally absent from galas held at the James Beard house.
So, Bourdain's writing is interesting more for his strong opinions about things commonly hidden behind the scenes, while maintaining a reasonably open mind about these opinions. He is probably not always right, since it is obvious that he indulges in exaggeration now and again (such as, I suspect, when he describes a very disheveled colleague, Michael Ruhlman in a dirty T-shirt in a Las Vegas casino). But, he is always entertaining and thought provoking.
Excellent read for culinary gossip junkies and foodies in general.
