Unpicky eater

Anthony Bourdain knows he’s got it good

PROFILE. Chef Anthony Bourdain gained a reputation of badassery and snide commentary when he released his cooking memoir “Kitchen Confidential” in 2000; he almost single-handedly changed the perception of the kitchen from a cozy haven to a den of misanthropic drug addicts.

Now Bourdain serves as host of the Travel Channel’s “No Reservations,” in which the 51-year-old hops from Uzbekistan to Indonesia in search of distinctive food, and he’s actually humble about having the world’s greatest job. “I would be an idiot not to do this as long as I can,” he says. “I’m trying to milk it.”

To give fans more insight into the exotic locations and edibles, Bourdain released a collection of behind-the-scenes photographs and anecdotes in “No Reservations: Around the World on an Empty Stomach” (Bloomsbury, $35). He claims the best parts of the show are when he’s not on camera, hence the book’s plentiful crew shots and worst-bathroom roundup. “I keep threatening to put on a T-shirt that says ‘More B, less me’ — meaning more B-roll and less of me yammering on camera,” he says.

When he is on screen, Bourdain is often eating — “The more food the better; I’m not Dan Rather here,” he says — but culture, politics and even war can seep into the shows. In 2006, he and his crew fled Beirut when Lebanon traded airstrikes with Israel, and the nearly cuisine-free episode was nominated for an Emmy Award.

Bourdain will put anything in his mouth when he is dining abroad, including warthog intestine in Namibia that Bourdain calls “the worst meal of my life” (a visit to a gastroenterologist soon followed). He always keeps a straight face, however, and cast and crew alike politely consume as much as their hosts will serve them.

While he’s careful to accept all food and drink with a smile in remote areas, Bourdain is not afraid to let loose with a little criticism when the situation’s right. “I’m less friendly if I’m in an
industrialized country and the restaurant presents itself as hot stuff and it’s terrible,” he says. “They’re big boys, they can stand a little snark from me.”

What Bourdain won’t do is wax poetic about his dinner; a simple “mmm, good” will do. “That’s what kills food writers, trying to come up with new adjectives to describe the same old salad,” he says. “I’ve moved past ‘unctuous, delightful, crunchy, mineraly, tangy’ — it’s like writing porn.”