Since his death on June 8, 2018, I’ve thought a lot about Anthony Bourdain and what he meant to me.
I was 15 or 16 when I watched No Reservations for the first time. The show lit a fire in me — I used to sit in front of the TV with a legal pad, writing down notes of all the places he visited. I wanted to do everywhere he did; slurp down steaming bowls of noodles in the streets of Vietnam, explore the jungles of Borneo, eat in tiny restaurants in Paris.
Though Parts Unknown ended last year, I only finished it a few weeks ago. Reeling with shock and denial, I couldn’t accept that the show was over, or that Anthony Bourdain was really gone.
It may sound silly that I was so affected by his death— after all, I didn’t know him personally. Despite that,