Anthony Bourdain

everything, can be fun.

As for me, I have always liked to think of myself as the Chuck Wepner of cooking. Chuck was a journeyman ‘contender’, referred to as the ‘Bayonne Bleeder’ back in the Ali-Frazier era. He could always be counted on to last a few solid rounds without going down, giving as good as he got. I admired his resilience, his steadiness, his ability to get it together, to take a beating like a man

, always a great motivating force in my life, caused me to become suddenly adventurous where food was concerned

The two hot songs of that summer on the Cazaux jukebox were ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ by Procol Harum, and ‘These Boots Were Made for Walkin’ by Nancy Sinatra

I like to think it was Monsieur Saint-Jour’s fault. But of course, it was me all along

spent most of my waking hours drinking, smoking pot, scheming, and doing my best to amuse, outrage, impress and penetrate anyone silly enough to find me entertaining. I was – to be frank – a spoiled, miserable, narcissistic, self-destructive and thoughtless young lout, badly in need of a good ass-kicking

For a rootless young man with sensualist inclinations, it was the perfect getaway

They had style and swagger, and they seemed afraid of nothing. They drank everything in sight, stole whatever wasn’t nailed down, and screwed their way through floor staff, bar customers and casual visitors like nothing I’d ever seen or imagined

I saw a lot of bad behavior that first year in P-town. I was impressed. These guys were master criminals, sexual athletes, compared to my pitiful college hijinks

But unintimidated as only the ignorant can be, I started shooting my stupid mouth off right away, regaling my new chums with highly exaggerated versions of my adventures at the old Dreadnaught

They were like Marines digging in for the siege at Khe Sanh, and I registered nothing