In 2007, around the time I started getting interested in food and wine and began writing the occasional restaurant review, I read Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. A decade and change later, I don’t remember much about the book, aside from its whirling-dervish energy. But I do know that it made me want to become a cook. For several months — it’s almost hard to believe now — I seriously considered in enrolling in culinary school. This was the kind of effect Bourdain had: he could make even twelve hours spent cutting onions sound sexy.
As it happened, I wound up becoming more like him than I would have done had I wound up on the line. In 2010 — eight years ago this month — I left the newspaper where I was then working to strike out on the road. Bourdain had already been on it for years, and would remain on it for seven more, though I’d not followed his work very closely after committing myself to journalism. In 2016, when I returned to Sydney, and wound up working for a food magazine, I began to watch reruns of No Reservations on television and was surprised to find that it wasn’t a food show at all. It was something much more interesting than that.
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