and quenching their thirst with natural spring water.
"He taught me early that the value of a dish is the pleasure it brings you; where you are sitting when you eat it—and who you are eating it with—are what really matter. Perhaps the most important life lesson he passed on was: Don't be a snob." Anthony Bourdain, talking about his dad, Pierre Bourdain
Over the past 24 hours, my feeds have been flooded with old interviews, quotes, tributes, and conversations* about everything from mental health issues and suicide prevention to how Anthony Bourdain circumvented stereotypes and opened doors to cultures around the globe, all without being patronizing or indulging in poverty tourism. These are all important topics, and I was going to write something about one or all of those things, but there are already so many good write-ups out there it doesn't seem necessary.
I've been lucky enough to do my own occasional travel down paths unknown, usually on the cheap, and Facebook's "On This Day" has been bombarding me today with images from my trip a year ago to Ukraine. I'm staring at these algorithm-forced memories, and I'm seeing landmarks and landscapes that were amazing to behold, and quite agreeable subjects for my camera. But the most intimate, meaningful times didn't come from those postcard moments.
Instead, they were shared with wonderfully snarky, selfie-taking teens who reminded me of my own over an ice cream cone in front of the Lviv Opera House. Or while splitting a bowl of greasy varenyky with colleagues at the Kyiv train station. Or chatting with my host mother, Natalya, in her kitchen and learning about each other's families over a hearty breakfast rabbit stew or after-school bowl of borscht, of which she knew how to make about 100 exquisite varieties. Or eating till I felt like I'd burst with even more borscht, butter-smeared kielbasa, and stuffed cabbage with Marie and Marianna, teachers in the town of Sambir who graciously opened up their own homes to me. Or drinking sulfur-smelling (but delicious-tasting!) natural spring water from a rusted pipe peeking out of the earth during a hike in the Carpathian Mountains. Or enjoying barbecued sausage, fresh vegetables from the garden, and cold local beer in Natalya and Vasily's backyard at sunset while their 15-year-old nephew Oleg grilled me (it was a barbecue) on American idioms and filled me in on some useful Ukrainian ones so I could surprise the kids in my classes the next day. Or downing Odessa wine and horilka late at night with Vasily while watching Bear Grylls on the Ukrainian version of the Discovery Channel. Or even wolfing down cheeseburgers from the McDonald's on the Maidan, a farewell dinner with new friends from India, the Philippines, and Germany before we headed off later that evening on our separate sleeper cars.
So many people loved Anthony Bourdain because he seemed to be just like us—a down-to-earth, self-effacing, non-pretentious guy who also just happened to be a world traveler living the dream life for our viewing pleasure. But I think it's been distressing for many to realize that he was also just like us in a different way: often struggling internally, putting on a happy (or happier) face to the world, fighting off demons that no one really knew the extent of. If he couldn't be happy living the life he led, what chance could there be for the rest of us?
I don't know the answer to that. But what Anthony Bourdain was always trying to tell us, I think, is that we can also be just like him, our much-lighter wallets notwithstanding. The tiny blisses that can help many of us get through the day-to-day drudgery are accessible, simple, and within reach, and if you can throw food into the mix, do it—it's hard not to bond when edible treats are involved.
Make s'mores with the kids, throw a backyard barbecue with the neighbors, meet a friend for lunch at a local eatery you've never tried (and please be extra-nice to the staff), pick a tomato from the garden and eat it like an apple without even washing it (ew, I know, but also—yum!). Shit, even start a conversation with a stranger during the lunch rush at McDonald's. If the back-and-forth is good, the McNuggets will be, too. (OK, maybe that last part on the nuggets is a reach, but you get the gist.)
Make s'mores with the kids, throw a backyard barbecue with the neighbors, meet a friend for lunch at a local eatery you've never tried (and please be extra-nice to the staff), pick a tomato from the garden and eat it like an apple without even washing it (ew, I know, but also—yum!). Shit, even start a conversation with a stranger during the lunch rush at McDonald's. If the back-and-forth is good, the McNuggets will be, too. (OK, maybe that last part on the nuggets is a reach, but you get the gist.)
All it takes to suss out this particular type of joy is a willingness to be open to new dishes and new friends, generous, and appreciative of the moment. And to not be a snob.**
* A couple of my favorites from around the 'Nets:
* A couple of my favorites from around the 'Nets:
https://www.thenation.com/article/bourdain-gave-us/
** I'm also not offering this up as some kind of Pollyanna-ish panacea. I know some of us are dealing with deeper stuff that can't be remedied with a fresh-baked pie. But in the meantime, if something can help us mitigate the day-to-day, I say we go for it.
** I'm also not offering this up as some kind of Pollyanna-ish panacea. I know some of us are dealing with deeper stuff that can't be remedied with a fresh-baked pie. But in the meantime, if something can help us mitigate the day-to-day, I say we go for it.
Tweets and treats at @jenngidman.
