Cook Who's Talking

It’s typical of how Hollywood works that the last person to learn that Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential memoir is being turned into a sitcom is Bourdain himself.

“I had to email my agent to ask if what I’d seen on Google about Sex In The City’s Darren Star taking it to Fox is true,” the R-rated chef-come-writer reveals. “Which it turns out it is. It’s odd to be so divorced from something that represents a huge chunk of your life, but when you sell your book to Hollywood you’re basically saying, ‘Do with it and me what you will.’ I kind of liked the original idea which was for Robert De Niro to pay Brad Pitt to play me in a multi-million-dollar film version. That would’ve have done far more for my mythology than being castrated for primetime consumption by Rupert Murdoch.”

The grin accompanying his rant suggests that the 6’ 5” New Yorker isn’t likely to be driving a dump truck full of Semtex into News International headquarters anytime soon.

“I had an experience recently which confirmed to me that I’m going soft in my old age,” he admits. “It’s long been a firing offence in my kitchen to listen to or enjoy a Billy Joel record – I just can’t have that. Anyway, the phone rings and who is it but Billy Joel saying, ‘My girlfriend and I are huge fans of your books and would like to come and have dinner with you’. Instead of the correct response, which was ‘Fuck off and die!’, I found myself going, ‘Gee, that’d be nice!’”

The shock admissions don’t end there.

“I was really dismayed by the fact that despite loathing his music, he eats like a fucking champion. He had a merguez, a rillette, paté, a gigantic cote de boeuf stone rare, a lot of good wine and came back a few days later and did it again. Contrast that to Chrissie Hynde who makes wonderful records but is a pussy vegan, and life stops making sense.”

The reason that Anthony Bourdain’s going cold turkey in The Clarence – “I’m afraid the smoking ban means I’ve had to cross you off my list of civilised countries” – is that he’s drumming up trade for his Les Halles restaurant’s own cookbook. More Quentin Tarantino than it is Darina Allen, the recipes for such classics as Coq Au Vin, Tournedos D’Agneau and Bouillabaisse are accompanied by exhortations to scoff the rudest parts of dead animals possible.

“The only thing it doesn’t have is blood dripping from the brown paper cover,” he says in his best Anthony Perkins Psycho voice. “Your mother might like it, but only if she’s a Ramones fan. Which reminds me – the most satisfying rock n roll experience I’ve had this year was watching their End Of The Century documentary.”

Has he met any of da bruddhas?

“Marky called into the restaurant after seeing me wearing a Ramones t-shirt on my TV programme,” he enthuses. “Unfortunately I never got to meet Joey who I see as a Christ-like figure. There’s Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Muhammad Ali, Malcolm X and Joey Ramone as far as I’m concerned.”

Given all the McBashing that’s been going on recently, it’s surprising that Bourdain has yet to catch Supersize Me.

“Personally, I prefer my agitprop to be a bit less obvious,” he sniffs.

Does the same apply to Michael Moore?

“I very much enjoyed Fahrenheit 9/11, but his haranguing of an obviously confused Charlton Heston in the full throes of Alzheimer’s was a cheap shot. He’s another limo-riding, Evian-drinking, arrogant rich man who’s totally fearless until the dirt he dishes gets flung back at him.”

Next up for Bourdain is a year of living it large in Vietnam.

“Do I have a plan other than having too much of everything that’s offered to me? No. I’m going to soak it all up and then, if the lawyers let me, write a book about it.”

Anthony Bourdain’s Les Halles Cookbook is published by Bloomsbury