February 2008 Archives
You have to wonder about an ad depicting a dead squirrel--with the caption "Some Things Look Better In HD." Which is pretty much what the geniuses at Travel Promo have subjected innocent members of the public to.
Actually, it was worse: An old photo of yours truly -- after a horrifying night of drinking in Iceland, huddled, near naked in the Blue Lagoon, pondering whether to throw up or simply sink beneath the surface and die.
Actually, it was worse: An old photo of yours truly -- after a horrifying night of drinking in Iceland, huddled, near naked in the Blue Lagoon, pondering whether to throw up or simply sink beneath the surface and die.
Continue reading Adventures in the Ad Trade.
Predictably, a lot of people either hated--or were deeply offended by--the Romania show. Most, I gather, are either Romanian or have traveled to Romania and had a better time there than I did. Quite understandably, no one wants to see the host of a travel show having a bad time of it in their country, griping miserably about how things went wrong--and how utterly fucked up things were.
But the fact is:
Things WERE fucked up. My Russian pal, Zamir, who had helped make such good shows in Russia and Uzbekistan, was definitely NOT a good choice to show me around Romania. I think, if nothing else, we made that explicitly clear.
But the fact is:
Things WERE fucked up. My Russian pal, Zamir, who had helped make such good shows in Russia and Uzbekistan, was definitely NOT a good choice to show me around Romania. I think, if nothing else, we made that explicitly clear.
Continue reading Romania: What the hell happened??.
“Poor Ruhlman,” says my wife, for about the twelfth time today. Michael has just shown her the result of her boxing demo on Friday night; a large, dark purple bruise running from his shoulder to his elbow. A truly gasp-inducing injury. As Mrs. Ruhlman forgivingly pointed out, it was perhaps not such a good idea to suggest--after receiving one playful poke--that my wife “give it her best shot." She’s been taking boxing AND mixed martial arts classes nearly every day for six months and I told Ruhlman that both her left hook and right cross can knock you out. Did he listen?
Continue reading Day Three: The Aftermath.
Well ... the Golden Clogs went pretty much as hoped by the Forces of Evil. Under-attended. Coincidence? Or conspiracy? Many of the people who DID show up were either a) drunk or b) seemingly confused. Ruhlman and I raced through our ceremonial duties as quickly as we could--before the little remaining gold paint left on our awards peeled entirely away--and before a good part of the audience realized we were NOT the warm up to “Paula’s Poker Party” and that there would be no free fruit cup.
You know, I’ve mercilessly and enthusiastically made sport of Rocco di Spirito many, many times. I’ve said--and accused him--of a full menu of truly awful things. Some of them were even true. No matter how bizarre or inexplicable some of his career choices, I always respected him as a gifted cook. He’s also--when not flogging frozen products--a thoughtful and insightful judge on Top Chef. But I have to tell you--of ALL the chefs who said they were absolutely, positively, by all means would be DELIGHTED to show up at our travesty of an awards ceremony--at the end of the day, only Rocco and Aaron Sanchez actually made it.
You know, I’ve mercilessly and enthusiastically made sport of Rocco di Spirito many, many times. I’ve said--and accused him--of a full menu of truly awful things. Some of them were even true. No matter how bizarre or inexplicable some of his career choices, I always respected him as a gifted cook. He’s also--when not flogging frozen products--a thoughtful and insightful judge on Top Chef. But I have to tell you--of ALL the chefs who said they were absolutely, positively, by all means would be DELIGHTED to show up at our travesty of an awards ceremony--at the end of the day, only Rocco and Aaron Sanchez actually made it.
Continue reading Day Two: South Beach Wine and Food Festival.
Reporting it As It Happens: your humble correspondent, Anthony Bourdain:
Day One:
Ruhlman showed up late for our all-important preparatory session for the Golden Clog Awards Ceremony last night, by which time I was deep into the negronis. I have only the dimmest of memories of who, exactly, is nominated for what--and NO memory at all of who’s supposed to win. I think we ended up deciding on making half of it up as we go along--mid-ceremony. Our “celebrity presenters” have--for the most part, abandoned us for safer pastures.
There has been, I am reliably informed, a terror campaign of late night heavy--breathing phone calls, suggestions of “you’ll never work in this town--or ANY town--again” and a wave of second, more sensible thoughts. The affected parties have suddenly remembered previous charitable commitments: (The “Putt For and End to the Heartbreak of Psoriasis” Invitational, the “Pull My Finger To Stop Chronic Flatulence” Bowlin’ and BBQ Party--and the Fiji Water For Peace event claiming the lion’s share of defectors). Can’t say I blame them ...
Day One:
Ruhlman showed up late for our all-important preparatory session for the Golden Clog Awards Ceremony last night, by which time I was deep into the negronis. I have only the dimmest of memories of who, exactly, is nominated for what--and NO memory at all of who’s supposed to win. I think we ended up deciding on making half of it up as we go along--mid-ceremony. Our “celebrity presenters” have--for the most part, abandoned us for safer pastures.
There has been, I am reliably informed, a terror campaign of late night heavy--breathing phone calls, suggestions of “you’ll never work in this town--or ANY town--again” and a wave of second, more sensible thoughts. The affected parties have suddenly remembered previous charitable commitments: (The “Putt For and End to the Heartbreak of Psoriasis” Invitational, the “Pull My Finger To Stop Chronic Flatulence” Bowlin’ and BBQ Party--and the Fiji Water For Peace event claiming the lion’s share of defectors). Can’t say I blame them ...
Continue reading Dateline: Miami - The South Beach Wine and Food Festival.
Well, one can hardly complain about the plumbing here. The toilet seat is a preheated, toasty warm. A menu of warm jets of varying intensities, direction and temperature awaits should I choose to press one of the many buttons. I am afraid to do so. Since Todd discovered his toilet, it’s been very hard getting him out of the bathroom for crew calls. Yesterday, after numerous unanswered phone calls, we had to ask the management to break into his room. After a brief scuffle we were able to drag him, pants around his ankles and a copy of US Magazine in his hand, screaming, to the production van.
“But I’ve never felt so FRESH,” he kept wailing, plaintively from the back seat. His face pressed to the window as he stared longingly back in the direction of the hotel.
“But I’ve never felt so FRESH,” he kept wailing, plaintively from the back seat. His face pressed to the window as he stared longingly back in the direction of the hotel.
Continue reading Notes From the Road: Tokyo.
