I really loved my friend Gareth’s response to Anthony Bourdain’s suicide. Read on and subscribe to his posts.
On a dark March evening in 2013, lying beside a sleeping woman with whom I’d been collaboratively ruining two lives – mine and hers – I was strung out, lit up, crying, and inspired as the hot blue TV played the Hokkaido episode of No Reservations. Anthony Bourdain was sipping soup. The soup was prepared with fish sperm. Absurdly removed from my nook in North Carolina, that scene confirmed my decision that – no matter where I was or who I was with in a year – I’d follow up on a lead to teach English in Japan. In 2014, I did just that. All that is to say: Anthony Bourdain helped me save myself.
So it was a little disorienting that he hung himself last night in a French hotel.
I went to lunch at China Chef for the third time today. It was less crowded but…
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