The sixth anniversary of Anthony Bourdain’s death recently caused me to take down my tattered copy of Kitchen Confidential from the shelf. The word “iconic” is over-bandied, but that cover image is as close as you are going to get to a timeless visual synecdoche of the hospitality industry. Most people, understandably, are affected by the big knives tucked into the belts, the hard-ass swagger and wiry languor of the boys in the picture. Me? I can smell the wall they’re leaning on.
That was where assignations took place, physical or verbal battles were fought, scores were settled and gossip — endless gossip — traded. When I began my restaurant career, cooks came from a catalogue by Cesare Lombroso and wait staff were old, bitter martyrs to flat feet. Nobody was shocked when they lit up. But today front of house people are intelligent, young and socially adroit.