Energetic and fun. I was swept along in the torrent of Anthony Bourdain's life and his experiences from a young boy tasting his first oyster to the life of a professional chef, burn-scarred hands and all. In the context of what Kitchen Confidential tries to achieve, it's a masterpiece, maybe as impressive as any of the Michelin star meals created in his kitchens. One of the biggest surprises was how prolific a writer he was, fiction and non-fiction. Kitchen Confidential is a remarkable experience I will probably read again.

[4.5] Hot damn, Bourdain could write. Despite his legions of fans, plenty of them well-read people, I hadn't expected his prose to be so sparky and propulsive. He definitely wasn't just a TV personality. And this book is so action-packed it deserves to be classified as Adventure.

The structure seems quite daring by the standards of popular non-fiction from twenty years ago, and takes more liberties and digressions within itself than might be expected from the section titles. There's a strong sense here of someone who's confident for other reasons, despite little published experience in the form - and I (and hundreds of thousands of other readers) think he pulls it off. It works as a whole, not only as a series of what we might now call essays. Life provided him with great material to place near the end and then fortuitously added to the structure after publication. His stint in Japan at a branch of his then-employer's small restaurant chain, and the overwhelming enthusiasm he discovers for Tokyo streetfood read like the "to be continued" trailer for his TV travel shows that were commissioned off the back of this book.

Most of us Goodreads regulars probably know of lots of books we'd like to read one day but don't bother shelving on the site because the likelihood of getting round to them seems slight. Even more so IMO if the books are well-known and reminders of their very existence are not so necessary as for obscure titles. "Most of Bourdain" was that for me, but then when you see a book like this on someone else's physical shelves, that can be the nudge towards actually reading it. Kitchen Confidential is a fast, compelling read, and currently I don't have time (especially if I want to catch up with reading challenges) to start a bunch of big old classics.

But there were two or three times when I picked it up and thought "I'm not sure I can be bothered with people like this any more" - quite that crazy and intoxicated and disruptive and loud and laddish, I mean. Maybe reducing it to a metaphorical volume 7/10 would have been okay? At my age, people who used to be debauched and who have somewhat (though not necessarily entirely) cleaned up their act, are better company than the full-on hellraising article. (This is why I didn't give the book 5 stars.) Though one notable thing about AB and most of his colleagues here, in contrast to people with similar lifestyles in other industries: if they were anything, they were reliable.

It made me think a bit about my complicated but largely positive relationship with masculinity. I find a lot of the typical behaviour of groups of women tedious and irritating and try to stay away from it as much as I can. I had to admit whilst reading Kitchen Confidential - in a way that I wouldn't have allowed myself to when I was in my twenties - that the extended banter described there is equally irritating and dislikable (though there is arguably a verbal creativity to it - before it gets too repetitive - that I can respect). If it were possible to do a reverse Orlando and magically become male - as I have daydreamed about at many points in my life since I read Woolf's novel in my late teens - dealing with this stuff would surely be one of the least enjoyable aspects of life. Most men I've known reasonably well as friends, lovers or both, haven't been big fans of extended sports banter and the like either (though seem to have some reasonable skill with it where necessary). I'm just not a group-orientated person, most of the people I get on best with aren't either, and I think there can be something peculiarly suffocating about large single-sex groups when one is expected to fit in with them as a member of the same sex. Men usually learn to have a shell that fits, at least for a few hours at a time, even if they don't really like group banter. It's easier to have a carapace or facade in the conversations of all/mostly-male groups - there is a way to join in without revealing yourself. Whereas women's collective culture is often based on opening up sincerely about things on which either a) I probably feel or experience differently from everyone else there, and about which I learned half a lifetime ago that I CBA with the weird looks and silences, or b) I don't want to share with people like that, and definitely not in a group. (I am now imagining women doing comedy mock boasting about heaviness or lightness of periods - in the style of  this old interview between Will Self & Bruce Robinson where they are messing about with dick jokes - and wondering why that isn't a thing. Easier to deal with than a bunch of women giving you another 'not one of us' look for saying you hardly get any pain, as the things-not-in-common keep stacking up through a conversation.)

Back to the book in hand ... Bourdain later regretted aspects of it, and posted on a blog in December 2017:
To the extent which my work in Kitchen Confidential celebrated or prolonged a culture that allowed the kind of grotesque behaviors we’re hearing about all too frequently is something I think about daily, with real remorse.

Whilst reading it nearly four years later, I thought often about articles, particularly from the Guardian, about how restaurant kitchen culture is changing, especially but not only since #metoo ... I'm assuming that, because it's the Guardian, that the change is very patchy indeed and probably with younger teams in urban areas. (Having, before this year, spent so much time at home ill and on the internet, I used to overestimate the impact Very Online social justice culture had in the real world in general, and am now seeing the difference, between internet and reality, especially in middle-aged centre-left people. I'd assume it's no different in kitchens, and change is probably slower if anything.) Saying that, though, Bourdain admits in Kitchen Confidential that not all chef contemporaries of his were as wild and aggressive as his team.

And his TV shows demonstrate there was more to him than belligerence - unlike, for example, the one-note Gordon Ramsay. The other day I saw yet again that question "which (dead) famous people would you most like to have dinner with?" Based on my experience of meeting a somewhat-famous person I admired (live, obviously), I'd say that with some common answers (especially renowned wits) you risk barely being able to keep up with them and feeling a little embarrassed, or like a mere audience. However, Bourdain - as well as being someone who'd choose, or cook, amazing food - appears to have been good conversationally with different types of people, and whilst intelligent and well-read, was not intimidatingly so like a Wilde or an Einstein.

(I also have some opinions about Bourdain's last days, Asia Argento and media coverage, but I'm not sure to what extent GR still cracks down on posts that discuss authors' personal lives, so to be on the safe side I will refrain.)

This book is maybe not as "of its time" as some would like to think. I'm sure there are still restaurants run this way, and inexperienced staff jumping ship to try and find somewhere friendlier. Regardless, it's a fun read with great prose, especially if you enjoy good food and picaresque adventures, and you have a decent tolerance for accounts of macho bullshit and eating dead animals - though if that's you, you probably already read this years ago.

It is the book that arguably started it all. Gordon Ramsey is a caricature of the ideas proffered here. It is chef as rock star written in a gonzo style and a punk aesthetic. It is the reason I use a Global chef's knife.

This book languished on my To-Be-Read list for a long time. The author’s passing  moved it up, and it finally reached the top. It was my mistake not to have read it sooner.

Full disclosure, I worked several years in a restaurant kitchen in my youth.

The book has all the look ‘n feel of having been written in 2000, with all that entails. I laughed –out-loud several times with the author’s turns-of-a-phrase and the authenticity of the narration. Unfortunately, this is neither a memoir or an autobiography. It’s a collection of essays in chronological order. It posed a frustrating continuity problem for me in developing a picture of the author. Recommended for: foodies, org behavior wonks, commercial kitchen survivors and the fans of gonzo 80-90’s lit.

My copy was a slender (by modern standards) 300+ pages. When I found time to read it, I burned through the short chapters.

Writing was technically good. I suspect my 2007 copyright version had been professionally groomed by Harper over the 2000 copyrighted original? Having written that, the book is very much a creature of its time—80-90’s. I felt the serious influence of  Hunter S. Thompson,  Raymond Chandler and maybe a hint of  Charles Bukowski throughout?

Like Chandler, the author invested a lot in atmosphere. Having worked in a metro-NY restaurant kitchen, the authenticity of the narration warped me back to the: seamy, steamy, greasy, and adrenaline-fueled pandemonium of that past life. I greatly appreciated the writing about food. If a reader likes to cook or has pretensions toward being a foodie, you’ll find plenty of fodder here. I also found some of the author’s use of similes and one-liners (many of them old chestnuts) to be sublime. The profanity was also creative in places.

Note this book contains sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. Its narrative is heavily influenced by the gonzo-style  of writing popular in the decades before the new Millennium. Modern readers with delicate sensibilities may come away with a case of testosterone poisoning from it.

My greatest problem with the book was with its continuity. It was really a collection of essays in chronological order. That made it a peculiar hybrid of memoir and autobiography. It was fine reading the chapters ‘stand-alone’, but it left the gestalt of the book flawed.

For example, periodically throughout, Bourdain made references to his: mother, girlfriends, lovers, and a wife. (He had two (2) wives, although the book’s wife is Nancy Putkoski, married in 1985.) These relationships were black boxed. They were only mentioned peripherally despite their obvious effect on his life. I was particularly irked that he wrote nothing about why and how he wrote. I was gobsmacked to find he’d earlier written two (2), NYC kitchen-based mysteries Bone in the Throat(1995)  and Gone Bamboo (1997). These books received modest acclaim, but were unknown to me. If I’m to believe that NYC chefs are worked like rented mules, where did he find time to write three (3) books? Why did he feel he had to write, given his satisfaction with being a chef? Was he encouraged by his mother, who was an editor at The New York Times? (This was not mentioned in the book.)

I was both satisfied and disappointed with this book. The book had great edu-tainment value for a certain demographic. Bourdain took me down both NYC and Cape Cod Memory Lanes laughing in places during the trip. From the grave, he inspired me to finally buy a  Mandoline. However, The whole is something else than the sum of its parts (Koffka). The book’s individual chapters, and for short runs of chapters, were very good. Unfortunately, large parts of the author’s story were missing. It left me feeling he was being disingenuous in its telling. Finally, this book left me with no inkling of why he'd take his life 18-years later. In summary, this book is recommended for reading as a collection of essays by the author only.

I will likely be reading Medium Raw: A Bloody Valentine to the World of Food and the People Who Cook , but only after I read the mystery Bone in the Throat first.

I had Kitchen Confidential for quite a while lying in my e-reader and I thought it was about time I read it. I wish I hadn't now! I had thought a book about food can never possibly be so boring and disgusting. But Anthony Bourdain's personality permeates throughout the book and put me off completely.

Bourdain appears to have had a decent enough childhood and his chapter about discovering good food in France was nice. But the rest of it was just him being a dickhead. It is no surprise that most industries are sexism, racism, homophobia, and whatever other "isms" you care to mention. These are not unique to the food industry. But the toxic masculinity that Bourdain advocates, and even revels in, is disgusting.

Tim, a veteran waiter, is dry-humping Cachundo—to Cachundo's apparent displeasure. He's blocking the lane and impeding traffic in the narrow kitchen with his thrusting. I have to ask Tim nicely not to sexually harass my runners during service . . . after work, please.

If you are easily offended by direct aspersions on your lineage, the circumstances of your birth, your sexuality, your appearance, the mention of your parents possibly commingling with livestock, then the world of professional cooking is not for you.

I mean, really! WTF? Who would change things if you don't? He goes on and on in this vein for pages. He was kind enough to admit that some tough women handle the sexual harassment very well and are stars of the kitchen. I mean, are you brain damaged? Why should women have to be experts at handling gropers to work in a fucking kitchen? It's not a fucking qualification!

And then, there are all the Ecuadorians, Mexicans, Cubans, etc. whom he specifically chose in order to exploit them. Looks like people who have no expectations of holidays, sick leave, healthcare, and such, should only work in Bourdain's kitchen. He makes it abundantly clear. That's why he didn't hire white Americans, who would never put up with his shit.

The book was disgusting in other ways too. Bourdain is against vegetarians and frankly I am glad he hated us. Bourdain's never ending descriptions of groping and namecalling in his kitchen got on my nerves very fast. He calls a sexual abuser - one who gropes everyone in the kitchen - his best friend because he was oh, so efficient! But it appears he was more bonkers than ignoring just what many other men like to do.

We considered ourselves a tribe. As such, we had a number of unusual customs, rituals and practices all our own. If you cut yourself in the Work Progress kitchen, tradition called for maximum spillage and dispersion of blood. One squeezed the wound till it ran freely, then hurled great gouts of red spray on the jackets and aprons of comrades. We loved blood in our kitchen.

The man was really messed up. I am not surprised he committed suicide. It appears he supported the Me Too movement and regretted this horrible memoir before his death, but it's too little too late if you ask me. A lifetime of promoting toxic masculinity cannot be erased with a few words in old age. And this book would serve better as a coaster.

Okay, so there were some interesting bits if you just skimmed through all the abuse and the nasty bits. He offers some cooking tips and a pretty decent insight into dining for customers. I personally find that restaurants in Pune are mostly useless with loud music, large TV playing sports, unbearably bright lights, and indifferent service. It's like they can't decide whether they are a club, sports bar, or operation theatre. Reading Kitchen Confidential gave me some real insights into why restaurants would make it such a chore to sit through a damn meal.

At the end, Bourdain gives tips on how to become a chef. Assume the worst. About everybody. But don't let this poisoned outlook affect your job performance. Let it all roll off your back. Ignore it. Be amused by what you see and suspect. Just because someone you work with is a miserable, treacherous, self-serving, capricious and corrupt asshole shouldn't prevent you from enjoying their company, working with them or finding them entertaining. This business grows assholes: it's our principal export. I'm an asshole. You should probably be an asshole too.

That just about sums up the book and the man.

What follows is my summary of this book. Blah, blah, blah, drugs blah, blah, fuck everyone, pork chop, fuck you all, mince, veal, drugs, blood, blah, blah, blah.
Maybe you can tell, I am less than impressed. I don't feel too bad writing this review, because Bourdain certainly never minces his words (culinary pun intended;-) I was expecting entertaining anecdotes, but frankly I was bored most of the time and started skimming two thirds of the way through. Bourdain is eloquent and even charming, if quite wry, in his TV shows and I guess I expected more of the same here. That being said, this is an older book and I think he matured quite a bit since then.

DNF. Read about 75 to 80% and while it's well written, it's like spending all day with a serious cokehead: entertaining to begin with but repetitive and unenlightening when all is said and done. I guess it shows its age. If there's a lesson to be learned, it's that it takes all sorts to skin a rabbit, if you'll forgive the mixed metaphor.

There's one very interesting anecdote about the unions in here that almost compensates for much of the braggadocio, but it only serves to highlight the lack of options for resistance available to the workforce. If a workplace is dangerous for employees, it's not an indication of masculinity, machismo, or virility: it's a sign of exploitation and desperation. I still remember vividly my first job in a hotel kitchen and wouldn't wish such a life on my worst enemy. I hope all these first-world sweatshops get shut down soon.

Halfway through this book I remembered I don't have the slightest bit of interest in the culinary arts whatsoever. Luckily, I was listening to it on audiotape. Unluckily, cassette 4 broke and I had to read the rest with my eyes. I'm not sure why I picked this up, I guess because I heard Bourdain was the "punk rock chef," but besides listening to the Sex Pistols and Velvet Underground while he cooked, there's not a whole lot else going on of a punk rock nature. He was a drug addict, but the book kind of skips right over that, which would have been interesting; I'd rather it had been more of a total autobiography than just a chronicle of his history of the restaurant biz, but once again, it's my fault because that's clearly what the book is labeled as. I wanted dirty stories from the seedy underbelly of the high-class dining world, but it didn't really get much wilder than a bunch of cooks making racist, sexist, homophobic jokes. Dude, that's not exclusive to the culinary world, that's pretty much behind the scenes at any workplace, or really any time you get a lot of misplaced testosterone in one room. You're not leading a "pirate crew," you're supervising people who are following recipes. I rented a dvd from his show "No Reservations" and was again surprised at myself for forgetting I don't really care about exotic foods, and that's a traveling show, which I'm also not into. So now I'm watching like 3 hours of a guy I don't like, eating shit I don't care about, in places I'm not interested in going to. It should be noted that I do like Rachel Ray's "Tasty Travels," but that's another story I don't want to get into. The only really funny anecdote I found was when he was in an interview for chef at a new steakhouse in New York, things were going smoothly until the owner asked him, "What do you know about me?" Bourdain thought it over, not sure what he should say, so he said the truth, "Nothing." So then the guy gives him a weird look, and the interview ends with Bourdain knowing he's not getting the job. He walks a few blocks down the street before he realizes the guy actually asked, "What do you know about MEAT."

Smashing book and great to see where and how Anthony got his start. It is a little repetitive as he goes from restaurant to restaurant learning his trade but the characters he meets along the way and just hearing his voice in my head as I read made it worthwhile and a good time.

Extremely well-written and surely a shocker at the time :)

My brother and sister worked various jobs in kitchens and I think were attracted to the dangerous eclectic people therein. I hate dangerous and most people so I'm glad this book exists so I can appreciate kitchens from afar! Though my interest lagged in the middle because I kind of expected the outcome of the each one-note loudmouthed bastard headclash. Also, if your job is so difficult, how 'bout do less drugs? But then the addiction is more to the lifestyle itself. "I can survive this difficult environment, which I find thrilling. Maybe I can ramp up the thrills and the difficulty." Thrills diminish, difficulty ramps up too high, crash, start again.

A lot of men like to tell me stories where they were in a new group of people who tested and berated them, and when they saw that the new guy could take the tests and the berating, they accepted him then and there, and forever after. Men in particular looooove these kinda tests. I hate them. Though I no longer disavow the legitimacy of these types of rituals. because I can objectively understand their purpose. Really they're to make sure people are trustworthy in teams that have to perform tough, unforgiving work together. Ie, jobs I probably couldn't do anyway. So I'd fail the test. Which is probably why I hate it ;)

Just an observation hahaha

Hearing the late Bourdain's voice as he authored this book himself was an added treat!

There were a lot of great stories, but also some pomp that is well-known to be associated with Bourdain.

Overall, It was a great and interesting insider look at a hectic restaurant kitchen and how much goes into getting everyone's food out while not stabbing your sous chef or waitstaff... ;0)

This book was a solid 3.5 stars for me.

کتاب را عاطفه هاشمی به فارسی برگردانده و خوب هم این کار را کرده است. گورِ پدر هرچه اجازه نامچه که باید برای هر چیزی گرفت! متن هم یک جوری است که نمی شود در ایران اشغالی چاپش کرد. دوستان عزیز هم دم شان گرم رفته اند در استانبول چاپش کرده اند و بی خیالِ اخلاق گرایی احمقانه ی از قضا بسیار بی اخلاق، ما را با سرخوشی خواندنِ چنین روایتی رو در رو کرده اند پس سپاس نخست برای ایشان
دو دیگر آن رفیقِ عزیز که کتاب را از نشر مهری خریده بود گرچه دانوب آبی چاپش کرده است و من از او ستاندمش. یک رفیقی که خودش یک جورهایی یک جاهایی بی اندازه شبیه آنتونی بوردینِ سرآشپز است و هر جا که کار ما بلنگد بی گمان نخست می رویم پی او و این دومین سپاس برای او باشد
سه دیگر اینکه یادمان باشد هرجایی نرویم هر زباله ای را در هر دلقک خانه ای به نام رستوران بخوریم. اصلن یکی از ایرادهای اساسی این بی توجهی به خودمان است. این پیش پا افتادگی و بی ارجی که در خوراک خوردن و رخت پوشیدن و جا به جا شدن مان است سبب شده است که زندگی بی شکلی هم داشته باشیم به گمانم خیلی جاها. پس دستِ کم آوازه ی یک خوراک پزی نترساندمان و اگر راضی نبودیم از آنچه خورده ایم به ایشان بگوییم. یاد بگیریم که به وجود و جسم خودمان احترام بگذاریم. مثلن نایستیم مانند قحطی زده ها وسط خیابان های شهرهای بی در و پیکرمان برای خوردنِ آب زیپویی که به نام چای نذری به شکل فله ای در لیوان های پلاستیکیِ کثیف توی داربست های فلزی که برزنت کشیده اند روی شان سِرو می شوند. مثلن فحش ناموس ندهیم به هم برای اینکه دو تا خوراکِ مجهولِ را از پنجره ی یک ساختمانِ سیاه به در و دیوارش کشیده به زور از چنگ هم دربیاوریم که شامِ شب را مفت برگذار کرده باشیم. دست کم منظور به آنهایی است که پولِ شام شب شان را دارند. منظورم به آن نفری است که ناگهان درست در وسطِ خیابان ترمز کرد که آن مردکی که سینی چای را پیش آورده و آن جوانِ ابلهی را که شیرینی پخش می کرد پشت بندش، از مفت خوری اش ناامید نکند. مثلن منظورم به خودم است که اگر جایی بستنی پخش می کردند پشت کامیون یا کیک و آبمیوه پرت می کردند وسط توده ی بی شکلِ دهان بازمانده، شهید نشوم در این راه. خلاصه که احترام بگذارم به خودم و به شما و پیش هر متقلبی نروم خوراک بخورم. آن متقلبْ کسانی که وقتی می خواهند کاری راه بیاندازند و از همه جا می مانند یا کترینگ راه می اندازند یا کارواش یا می روند کافه رستوران باز می کنند. نگذاریم به ریش مان بخندند! پول دادن آخرین مرحله ی کار است برویم یک خاطره خوب با خوراک خوردن داشته باشیم. برویم بزنیم توی دهن آن کسی که می گوید همین مرغِ یخ زده ی یک سال مانده هم برای این مردم زیاد است؛ ناشکری می کنند! بروند خودشان را ببندند به نان و ماست مگر وظیفه ی ما است که شکم شان را پُر کنیم؟ وظیفه ی ما فقط خالی کردن جیب شان است! حالا بماند که ما هم پینوکیو وار همیشه سکه های مان را به راهنمایی این روباهانِ مکار و گربه نره ها چال کردیم که بلکه درختِ سکه برآید
افتادم به پرحرفی که چه بسا اثر متن باشد که می نشینی پای حرفِ انگار یک رفیق چند ساله و او می گوید و تو کیف می کنی، گاهی افسوس می خوری، گاه می خندی، گاه... هر گاه یک جور انگار، یک جور پر از همه ی مزه ها و بوها و خاطره بازی ها شاید. یادت می افتد که چه بسا بهترین غذاهایی که خوردی همان ساندویچ های دونگی، همان خوراک های سبک و ارزان، همان غذاهای دورِ همی بود با خانواده یا رفقا و با خودت می گویی ای دریغ کاش زندگی راهش را طور دیگری پیش برده بود که دست کم خیلی از رفقا حالا پیش ما بودند

پسینِ پنج شنبه - یازدهم اسپند چهارده هیچ یک
جنوبِ بیقرارِ طولانی
بعد از ناهارِ بی سر و تهِ رستورانِ چرکِ اداره