Ginza District - Tokyo, Japan. September 2018. I walked the streets dodging in and out of the hurried and aloof shoppers. I passed large windows with expensive purses and summer dresses of the season without even raising my head to give them a second glance. I turned a corner and the buzz calmed around me, finally finding the narrow unmarked alleyway I'd been searching for. The street was unwelcoming but the white banner with black and red Japanese kanji told me I was precisely where I needed to be. I pushed the thin cloth aside and entered, the smell of miso broth and pork roasted over fire immediately assaulting my senses, welcoming me in with open arms.

***

Siete Lagos - Patagonia, Argentina. April 2015. Chilled to the bone after a 4 hour horse ride through the Patagonian mountains, we shuffled into the tiny cafe and claimed a small table next to the wood stove. The heat was more than welcome through our thin socks and cold-induced arthritic fingers as we desperately waited for the blood flow to return. Suddenly our orders were placed down on the uneven table before us. I picked up my utensil and swirled it through the steaming bowl of wild boar stew. I played with the huge hunks of meat, thick-cut carrots, potatoes and parsnips as I waited for the large spoonful to cool, enjoying the earthy aromas as they wafted around my nose. I brought the life-giving liquid to my lips and closed my eyes as that first bite filled my mouth. Suddenly everything was right again in the world.

***

Dundee, Scotland. August 2007.  We sauntered through the door, pausing briefly to assess the scene, and found our place at the long, cold wooden bar. We ordered a scotch with a single, thick cube and swirled the mahogany spirit around and around before toasting with a smile. The spicy intoxicant hit our throats and the backs of our skulls all at once. We made a face. We laughed almost immediately. We weren't ready for the deep woody aromas; the peaty finish that twitched our tongues. But we remained at that bar, making friends with everyone around us, ordering scotch after scotch until we fell fully and utterly in love with this cold, Scottish summer night.   

***

Florence, Italy. September 2011. I brought the Sangiovese to my lips and held it in my mouth - allowing each sense to pass its judgement. I placed my fork in the center of the plate, piercing plump pipes of spaghetti painted in raw egg yolks, parmesan, guanciale and black pepper. I paused as the final rays of sun set over the duomo and a gentle shadow overtook my place on this earth.

***

El Nido - Palawan, The Philippines. November 2018. The boat carved its way through the blue-green waters of Bacuit Bay. The setting sun left a cotton candy sky of pinks and purples as the sun fell slowly behind the mountains. My belly full of local sea bass and mud crabs, I sat on the highest point of the boat as the wind dried my curls and the sun warmed the last chilled fragments of my skin. I smiled. I turned my music up. I exhaled. I was home.

***

Manhattan - New York, USA. June 2019.  Tuesday, David Chang's Noodle Bar - We sat on the narrow chairs eating seared shrimp buns with spicy mayo and pickled red onions. Next came pork belly buns with cucumber and scallion, followed by a steaming bowl of smoked pork ramen in a white porcelain bowl. I took the hard plastic spoon and greedily dipped it into the soup, sampling the hot broth and savoring every sip as it rolled across my tongue. Wednesday, Thomas Keller's Per Se - I sat down at a plush corner table overlooking Columbus Circle. A fire burned in the center of the room, the flames flirtatious and drawing my eye away from my plate every few moments. But the Oysters and Pearls yearned for my attention. The raw sea scallop and bread with whipped lardo brought me back to reality. I sipped a dry champagne as cold as snow while sampling the hand cut tagliatelle with black winter truffles. I flirted with the waiters and learned the sommelier's story as I settled in to my 3 hour journey of everything classic yet exciting about this world. Thursday, David Chang's Momofuku Ko - My best friend arrived and greeted me with a long, slow, deep hug. We climbed into our chairs. They poured the first glass of our pairing and we toasted to 3 months too many since the last time we saw each other. The onslaught of courses began. Spot prawn fried in cornmeal. Razor clam with pineapple and basil. Fois with lychee, pine nuts, and riesling. The lights drawn low. David Choe's artwork sparking the space around us. Sharing the world with the best person in your life. These are your favorite moments. These are the best parts.

This is my life. This is my religion. While I've been practicing Buddhism for over 3 years now, this is what I think about more than anything - what guides my view of the world and my understanding of the people in it. Travel. Culture. Food. Life. And Tony Bourdain has been my mentor - my messiah - in all of it. It's been a year since he passed, and I still can't talk about him without crying. I still consume over 1000 hours of his voice every year. Through his books, his articles, his memoirs on tape. I watch his shows every time I book a trip (which is often) and every time I pack my suitcase (which seems to be every month these days). I look to him as my mentor and guide. Always just a few steps behind him. Always just slightly in his shadow.

It's like that scene in Fight Club when you arrive just a little too late, existing only in the shadows of what once was. Perhaps the walls are still sweating. Maybe you kneel down and place the awkward skin of your knee onto the floor and the heavy concrete is still warm to the touch. The energy is stale but you know you're on the right path - you simply came a little too late.

We're not meant to know our heroes. It keeps them divine. And maybe that's the whole point. Yet still, I can't travel without consulting him. With every new country I seek out the secrets that he shared so freely: sitting on a plastic stool in a back alley of Hanoi. Riding a boat along the Cuban coast eating shrimp with your hands. Walking the streets of Santa Teresa as the sun goes down. But these lessons came at a cost, the levied taxes knocked him to his knees. How do you become the true, honest, vulnerable voice we love so much? How does it not break you? It does, is the answer. To get to this point, to be all these things requires something that many will never recover from. Year after year he gave us everything he had and then just a few miles more. Anthony, our beloved Tony Bourdain, gave it everything he could. Every drop and leftover ounce inside of him. He never saved anything for the swim back.