Jumping the Shark Fin Soup

Well it was bound to happen. And I guess in a way it signals that Bourdain has truly arrived, but his new show "At the Table with Anthony Bourdain" reminds me more of the Food Network and less of his genius at crafting such shows as "A Cook's Tour."

The entire show felt almost like a tease. We watch as Mr. Bourdain and a select group of New York based Food and Culture behemoths sit around a table to sample great food, drink amazing wines, and talk shop. Holy crap that sounds awesome! It is not. You, dear viewer do not get to eat the food, sample the wines, or add your own story; but even if you could, I doubt this show could be saved by inebriation. The conversation is borderline vapid and mostly re-runs of the same recurring theme: the food world is crazier than your office. Yes, we know that by now.

Mr. Bourdain makes it abundantly clear that he had serious reservations about doing this, I wish his judgment or editing acumen would have had a stronger vote. The format is supposed to be No Reservations meets The Jerry Springer Show. What it really succeeds at being is an elitist, snobbish and less well-done version of After Hours.

In the first segment, Bourdain poses the question to the group that he recently spent $1900 at Masa on sushi for two, and "should he feel guilty about this?" Wow, that was disingenuous. Imagine Hugh Heffner asking "Should I feel guilty about sleeping with hundreds of the world's most attractive women."

You are an American Mr. Bourdain, you work hard, made a lot of money; you earned that meal. Enjoy it and tell us about it, what you ate, why it was worth $1900, and how you would do it again. We get enough guilt from our mothers.

At another point in the show, Ted Allen throws his three cents short of a nickel in on why he feels bad getting into New York hotspots over the throngs of commoners. Do you see a theme here? It was an hour of "Hey we are privileged, but don't worry we really feel bad about it." Am I jealous of them, absolutely. But is inciting jealous rage in viewers a good thing?

There were a few bright spots, when Mr. Bourdain and his guests played the Last Meal game. But it seems like even this is cliche at this point. Mr. Bourdain is at his absolute best when he sits down with a chef or writer and over a satisfying meal and a few cold beers, they become friends. They talk shop, carouse, crack jokes, and we the viewing public are left thinking, "God I wish I was there." In At the Table, the viewer is left saying, "If I wanted scripted TV, I would have watched the Hills."

At another segment the panelists all agree that Popeyes is the best fried chicken. That is real, that is the kind of organic conversation people crave. Talk more about being stoned and making late night runs to Popeye's to destroy an 8 piece, 5 biscuit, mashed potatoes with gravy, and dirty rice and less about how kids should be beat up for not knowing how to truss a chicken.

In this episode the panel, Bill Buford, the former Page 6 columnist, the aforementioned Ted Allen, and the owner of Bungalow 8* all dined at Wylie Dufresne's WD-50. The food looked very interesting, but if it wasn't for the waiter's explanation of each dish the viewer would not have known anything about the food other than a few snippets from the guests.

Perhaps future versions of this show won't be so self-indulgent and scripted. Perhaps the booze will flow quicker, the food will be heartier, and the conversation more interesting. Until then, I suggest you change the channel.


* I purposefully did not put their names down. Sure, I could have, but then you would have just had to google their names most likely. And the internet has to be more efficient. I needed their titles to know who they were; and I suspect other viewers shared my ignorance as well. That is more though, a reflection on us. And I know the Pope has no idea what Page 6 is.

EDIT
Even Mr. Bourdain is admitting that his shit does in fact smell.

Reflection on Al Copeland

Enough has been said about Mr. Copeland's lifestyle, career, personal life, and such. This piece has little sufficient to add to that discussion. What does intrigue the author is how the death of Mr. Copeland reveals two wonderful traits unique to New Orleans.

New Orleans is a city that lives vicariously in many respects through its famous sons and daughters. To many people in New Orleans, Mr. Copeland served as a perfect model for how they would choose to live if they "won the lottery" or "made it big." And that is a beautiful thing. Living large, racing fast cars, catching speed boats on fire, spending money on Christmas Lights, front row seats to Hornets games, and always staying here in New Orleans.

Too often we lose to many of our best and brightest citizens to the hip, trendy, cosmopolitan cities of Dallas and Atlanta. Mr. Copeland was a local boy who stayed put and kept spending his money here. Contrast this with some of the pecuniary habits of New Orleans finest citizens. You know the ones. Ask them to invest $100,000 in a new business enterprise and they will look down upon you with disdain; yet, they will gladly spend that much to let their daughter play debutante for a year.

Mr. Copeland used his money for what money is made for: his enjoyment and to make more money. We could all learn from him.

Mr. Copeland's death also reveals a uniquely New Orleans phenomenon. People like Buddy D, Chris Owens, and Al Copeland are our celebrities. Sure, the lifestyles of those in Hollywood and New York are interesting, but they are not nearly as intriguing as the daily activities, peccadilloes, and actions of our celebrities. Only in New Orleans, and thankfully, does a fight between a Chicken King and a Casino Dealer draw front page news or the firing of a waiter at Galatoire's becomes a subject for a roundtable discussion.

Lady and I ran into Chris Owens at Saks the other day, and that was incredibly exciting. Think about that. We live in a city where seeing a woman who takes off her clothes nightly (at an age above retirement) elicits a "Ohhh wow, it really is her."

Now I am not saying other cities do not have similar traits; but I have never seen it.

The outpouring of grief for Buddy D when he passed highlights our love affair with our own. Buddy D was a radio man for his whole life. Few listeners understood Buddy, but that never stopped him. There was a certain mystery to trying to figure out what he was talking about.

"Hey man did you listen to Buddy after the game?"

"Ohh yeah when he was talking about Mora being an ostrich with his head in the sand, I thought I was going to piss myself."

"Mora, I thought he was talking about Big Shot Soda then."

Buddy D was so beloved by the people of New Orleans that he could never be taken off the air. His death touched all of us, especially Saints fans. When the Saints win the Super Bowl you can be sure the front page of the paper will reference Buddy D.

And by the way Bobby Hebert does a really good job of mispronouncing and mangling words himself. My favorite Bobby-ism was this fall when talking about the Saints running game which had been successful, Bobby said, "Hey how bout that running game? You know the running game was real affected today." Yes, it was Bobby.

Thank God we live here. A place where a Chicken King worth millions got envelopes of cash mailed to him by welders and school teachers when it was reported that he was going to lose Popeye's. A place where the King's English means how you yell at Rex for a Doubloon. Where exotic dancers own every room they enter. And a place where every time we loose one of them, another character steps up. Aint no place, I'd rather be.