At the base of my right forefinger is an inch-and-a-half diagonal callus, yellowish-brown in color, where the heels of all the knives I've ever owned… - Anthony Bourdain

I think people lose sight of the fact that chefs should be ultimately in the pleasure business, not in the look-at-me business.

We knew well how much these people were paying for cocaine - and that the more coke cost, the more people wanted it. We applied the same market plan to our budding catering operation, along with a similar pricing structure, and business was suddenly very, very, good.

And, well, for most of my life I’d been way too far up my own ass to be of any use to anyone — something that only got worse after Kitchen Confidential. I don’t know exactly when the possibility of that changing presented itself — but sometime, I guess, after having made every mistake, having already fucked up in every way a man can fuck up, having realized that I’d had enough cocaine, that no amount in the world was going to make me any happier. That a naked, oiled supermodel was not going to make everything better in my life — nor any sports car known to man. It was sometime after that. The precise moment of realization came in my tiny fourth-floor walk-up apartment on Ninth Avenue. Above Manganaro’s Heroboy restaurant — next building over from Esposito Pork Shop. I was lying in bed with my then-girlfriend — I guess you could diplomatically call it “spooning” — and I caught myself thinking, “I could make a baby with this woman.