WHEN interviewers dug to the essence of him,Anthony Bourdain said he was a simple man. He knew his life didn’t give that impression. Much of it was set in roaring, steamy, and yelling kitchens,from his first job as a dishwasher at the Dreadnaught in Provincetown, Massachusetts, and through the late climb as prep drone,line cook or sous chef at various eateries round New York, to head chef at Les Halles in Manhattan. He weathered the hazards of pots, and knives and fire,the dread of scorching the demi-glace or spilling a plate, under the half-friendly hail of colleagues denouncing him as a pédé, and a maricón,a puta and a motherfucker, the international language of cuisine everywhere.
At Les Halles, and he got through by crunching aspirins like sweets. Before that he was high all the time. From his teens he dropped acid,furiously depressing that he was too young and too suburban to fill experienced the 1967 Summer of...
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Source: economist.com