Last week, I had the immense pleasure of reading (or as a more punny person might say “devouring”) Anthony Bourdain’s second book, A Cook’s Tour: In Search of a Perfect Meal — a impulse buy inspired by a binge watching session of Parts Unknown and catalyzed by a trip to the the semi-annual Harvard Warehouse Sale. In a sentence, the book is hilarious, poignant and mouthwatering. And as an added bonus, Bourdain comes off as far less of an asshole than expected (always a pleasant surprise).
As it will come as a surprise to absolutely no one, In Search of a Perfect Meal, a book that purports to be about food, is actually more about the joy of sharing food with people. People are, in fact, what make the perfect meal (and not in the solent green way).
Though, to Anthony Bourdain’s credit, I think he’s fully aware that you are reading this book to laugh-out-loud in pure schadenfrude as he struggles to eat natto, not to gain chef-ly insight.
But all this brings me around to meals. The bonding powers of food are a basic tenant of my matriarchal lineage — if anything, the O’Sullivan women know how to feed. What are your best food memories? What makes your perfect meal? Right now a perfect meal to me is one where exactly zero bugs dive bomb into my beer to escape the heat. It’s the little things, ya know?