Some say that when we dream our true natures make themselves known. We release our contemptuous hatred, our deep-hearted anger and our fawning desires. If this is true, then Anthony Bourdain better watch out.
I recently came back to the 21st century and got cable. Last night I wretched through most of what was on – what was I thinking? – and came across a marathon of “No Reservations”. This is one of my favorite shows, with one of my most lustful crushes, Mr. Bourdain. His snarky attitude and his rough-around-the-edges persona entice me to be a voyeur into his cluster-fucked world of food, opinion, mood and indiscretion.
But this was not the first time my path has crossed with the ex-junkie, food brat. I came across him long ago through a lonely late-night perusal of the Food Network. His brash attitude and sense of wit was such a nice escape from Rachel “EVOO” Ray’s giddiness and Bobby “I am all that” Flay’s frat boy grillin’. He seemed ill-suited for this network, but I couldn’t not look. Like a carousel show in an Amsterdam Night Club, he was so pornographic that I had to stare.
When cable became too much to afford, I dropped out of the TV world and instead concentrated on books reading “A Cook’s Tour” and “Kitchen Confidential”. I proclaimed to all my married friends that I had set my sights on Mr. Bourdain as my new husband. Some agreed we’d be a good match, some took things too seriously saying “How would you meet him? Isn’t he already married?”, and still the more sensible agreed he may be a good catch, but that he smoked too much for my liking.
I continued on with my desires only phased by other imaginary boyfriends who drifted in and out of my orgasms. When “No Reservations” came on the air, I begged my ex to tape them for me.
We parted on good terms and he continued to bestow the riches of cable upon me in the form of “Project Runway” First Season, “Blow Out”, “Myth Busters” and any documentary about Andy Warhol, NYC or anything related to Charlie Manson. It was a minor payback to the hellish year I spent recording “Eastenders” for him. He also recorded “No Reservations”. I longed each week for Tony and to travel to the places he visited, as long as I could be with him (or without).
Then I was cut off cold turkey right about the time Tony and crew got stuck in Beirut. My ex had got a girlfriend and apparently he couldn’t record cable for me anymore. So there I was without my beloved. Unyielding to this change, I begged and pleaded with anyone who had cable to record the shows for me, especially Beirut and the American Northwest. I was dying to see what Tony saw in Portland and could only quench my thirst for him through his like or dislike of the region. (I knew he would like it – Portland is awesome.)
Nothing came of it. I was cut off. This wouldn’t be the first time I was forgotten by a man with regrets to soothe my broken heart. My ex and Tony had abandoned me. There was nothing else I could do.
Now that I have my own access to cable, I have Mr. Bourdain as a choice of my TiVo, after Oprah (which I know if Tony read this he would cringe at this moment.) So last night I watched his visit to Jamaica (with Renee in mind) and Greece (with Effie in mind.) See this voyeuristic indulgence wasn’t just about him, but about getting to know more about my friends. Falling asleep, after fighting the ravages of a flying cockroach, I dared to dream about the old man.
In the dream, he was brash like his persona showcases on the screen, but he was also gentle kissing my neck and being romantic. It wasn’t a sexual dream, really, but man I just love him.
So today, I give thanks for dreams and the great feelings you get from them and for Anthony Bourdain, for making a guest appearance in mine last night. I wander what my subconscious will have in store for me this evening. Oh to dream.