How do I explain Bourdain’s decision to abandon his daughter permanently under non-work-related conditions after learning Jiu-Jitsu to protect her? Choking one out to Ronda Rousey wasn’t enough to keep him hanging on. No, I tell my daughter, in the end, when Bourdain posed topless next to Iggy Pop, it was the Godfather of punk rock grunge who looked like the druggy bloaty, lost soul one. But Bourdain questioned whether he was loved by anyone. Construction workers whistled at him on his way to work. David Chang refrained from dropping f bombs in his presence for fear of interrupting his friend’s killer flow on No Reservations and beyond. Eric Ripert couldn’t be bothered to profess what an edgeless hack he felt like in his presence along the French countryside despite his exacting preparation of Dover Sole for Hedge Fund Managers in town to swap tips on when to short Merck after the FDA busts them for selling fake news morning after pills. Killing Mediocrity. Bourdain lives, Challah. Thank you very much.
Michael Kornbluth
Do It All Dad Year Podcast Blog 