Disdain for Anthony Bourdain
One night recently, after partaking in a particularly potent tuna melt from the corner diner, I found myself completely immobilized and subsequently stuck watching the Travel Channel as I did not have the physical wherewithal to reach for the remote control which lay cruelly mere inches away at the foot of my bed.
As soon as I began to settle in, my intestines violently flipped and contorted like fleshy slinkies deep within me as I realized whose program was airing that disastrous eve. It was none other than that lurking tack on my chair, the metaphysical paper cut which won’t stop stinging the pinky of my soul, the embodiment of all that I find ungovernably grating…
I cannot tell you how much I loathe Anthony Bourdain. The mere timbre of his voice sends a startlingly irritating jolt up my spine like an angry throng of fire ants storming the castle to my brain. His endless pompous pontifications, now blabbed from the lofty and uninteresting position of fame and privilege, chafe my ass to no end. I don’t know what gets to me more, his unabashed aping of Hunter S. Thompson, his taffy thick pretension or his obvious affection for pointy little cowboy boots.
The ‘too cool for school’ shtick he’s been churning out for years now feels legless and the little cracks he peppers throughout each of his shows, aimed at such soft targets as Rachael Ray, Emeril Lagasse and Lindsay Lohan are as relevant as a Henny Youngman one liner – take my LIFE please!! Most of all he’s a giant BORE. Watching “No Reservations” is like being caught up in a snarky, hipster version of “Groundhog Day” – the same show over and over again – ad infinitum, ad astra and ad nauseum.
Ironically enough, at one point I used to really like Anthony Bourdain. Back in 2002 when “A Cook’s Tour” was airing on the Food Network I was a veritable fan. At the time I totally dug his whimsical style and enjoyed his ironic take on things. Often it was genuinely funny, occasionally even offering an insight or two into the life dedicated to culinary pursuit.
These days I tune into the gastronomic adventures of Adam Richman on “Man v. Food”. The show started off as a shamelessly blatant attempt by the Travel Channel to pick off some of Guy Fieri’s disaffected “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives” viewership, but has recently come into its own. For those that haven’t seen it, each episode culminates with a ‘food challenge’ that pits Richman against some petrifying concoction of which he has to devour within a strict time limit. Some of the tasks he undertakes make my toes curl in revulsion, but that’s what I respect about the guy – he EARNS his paycheck! He lays his pallid, doughy, body on the line again and again for the sole purpose of entertaining little ole’ me. For his efforts I shall reward him with my ratings!
Of course I’m not an actual member of the Nielsen family, but I’d never tell him that.
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