“He taught me early that the value of a dish is the pleasure it brings you; where you are sitting when you eat it—and who you are eating it with—are what really matter. Perhaps the most important life lesson he passed on was: Don't be a snob. It's something I will always at least aspire to—something that has allowed me to travel this world and eat all it has to offer without fear or prejudice. To experience joy, my father taught me, one has to leave oneself open to it.” -p.92 (“How Anthony Bourdain Came to Be Anthony Bourdain”)
“Criminals ‘talk funny’—and seem, even in real life, to get themselves into absurd and often humorous situations. Mobsters and lawmen, it appears, can't avoid the cruelly ironic in their daily work. And they seem at times, from what I can tell, to have a lot of fun exploring the soft and vulnerable spots in each other's natures, looking for areas to exploit. A wise guy looks to take advantage of some knucklehead restaurateur who finds himself overextended, seeing it as an opportunity to lend money at usurious rates, acquire food and property for resale, provide patronage jobs for cronies who need visible sources of legitimate income—or are too stupid to steal—and farm out business to associated criminal enterprises. Prosecutors and cops, on the other hand, are looking for an unhappy criminal—somebody passed over for promotion, under-rewarded by his masters for his loyal services over the years. They want to take advantage of his failings, his feelings of pride, bitterness, spite, or fear. They're looking for a bad guy in trouble to squeeze—someone with a long prison sentence hanging over his head, or a very real concern that one of these days, his best buddy is going to put a bullet behind his ear. The manipulation of sources and informants can be as cruel and as callous, and hopefully as funny, as the workaday business of loan-sharking, extortion, and murder.” -p.275~276 (“I’m a Chef…”)
“It's the little things I want to know about. Before the killers loaded their weapons and dressed themselves in identical raincoats and hats, before they set out separately from their modest family homes in Staten Island and Queens, did the killers kiss their children, jot down brief shopping lists of groceries to bring back on their return? (One box Cheerios... half gallon milk milk... dozen eggs... tampons, large... two cans tuna, chunk style.) Did their voices tighten at all at the breakfast table when they told their wives that they might be a little late tonight? Did they program the VCR to tape their favorite sit-com? And what sitcom was it? It's the jargon of crime—the characters, the rituals, the workaday details—that fascinate me.” -p.280~281 (“Crime”)
“Guys who wake up every morning, brush their teeth, shower, shave, then go to work at the serious business of committing felonies, these are the characters who continue to dominate my reverie and my fiction. Bank robbers, spies, enforcers, contract killers, loan sharks, confidence men, and racketeers...it's their consistency over time, their relentless adherence to the requirements of the job, that makes me, in my way, love them.” -p.282 (“Crime”)
“It's something I'm seeing everywhere in Vietnam; what makes its food so good, its people so endearing and impressive: pride. It's everywhere. From top to bottom, everyone seems to be doing the absolute best they can with what they have, improvising, repairing, innovating. l's a spirit revealed in every noodle stall, every leaky sampan, every swept and combed dirt porch and green rice paddy. You see it in the mud-packed dikes and levees of their centuries-old irrigation system, every monkey bridge, restored shoe, tire turned sandal, litterless urban stret, patched roof, and swaddled baby in brighly colored hand-knit cap. Think what you want about Vietnam and about communism and about whatever it was that really happened there all those years ago.
Ignore, if you care to, the obvious—that the country is, and was always, primarily about family, village, province, and then country—that ideology is a luxury few can afford. You cannot help but be impressed and blown away by the hard work, the attention to detail, the care taken in every facet of daily life, no matter how mundane, no matter how difficult the circumstances. Spend some time in the Mekong Delta and you'll understand how a nation of farmers could beat the largest and most powerful military presence on the planet. Just watch the women in the rice paddies, bent at the waist for eight, ten hours a day, yanking bundles of rice from knee-deep water, then moving them, replanting them. Take a while to examine the intricate interlocked system of Stone Age irrigation, unchanged for hundreds and hundreds of years, the level of cooperation necessary among neighbors simply to scratch out a living, and you'll get the idea.” -p.343~344 (“Highway of Death”)