Anthony Bourdain is the definition of cool: he’s old enough to be sexy and flawed, and he knows just how to use the word “fuck” without overdoing it. He’s a seasoned chef, traveler and storyteller; and, as it turns out, writer. He writes like he talks: matter-of-factly, bluntly. Like watching No Reservations, you just get the feeling that he’s telling the truth–that he’s got nothing to hide. And when he’s talking about food and cooking, he’s talking about life; “there’s a gulf the size of an ocean between adequate and finesse.” It’s true: food is art. He might convince you that pho in Hanoi is on par with sex, or, better than sex: unconditional love. He will convince you that the simplest things (spaghetti alla bottarga in Sardina matched with a local red) are what it’s all about. This is better than porn, “when you ask the proprietor where the wine comes from, he points to an old man sitting in the corner reading a soccer magazine, a cigarette dangling from his lips. ‘It came from him,’ he says.” Plus, he gives huge props to Jim Harrison: a man who admires food and wine almost as much as language. Yes, Tony, well done: you’ve learned so much, about food and life.