No kid really wants a cool parent. "Cool" parents, when I was a kid, meant parents who let you smoke weed in the house – or allowed boyfriends to sle… - Anthony Bourdain

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No kid really wants a cool parent. "Cool" parents, when I was a kid, meant parents who let you smoke weed in the house – or allowed boyfriends to sleep over with their daughters. That would make Sarah Palin “cool.” But, as I remember, we thought those parents were kind of creepy. They were useful, sure, but what was wrong with them that they found us so entertaining? Didn’t they have their own friends?

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About Anthony Bourdain

Anthony Michael Bourdain (25 June 1956 – 8 June 2018) was an American celebrity chef, author, travel documentarian, and television personality who starred in programs focusing on the exploration of international culture, cuisine, and the human condition. He was also host of the Travel Channel's culinary and cultural adventure program Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations and CNN's Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown.

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Birth Name: Anthony Michael Bourdain
Alternative Names: Tony Bourdain Tony Michael Bourdain Anthony M. Bourdain Tony M. Bourdain Anthony Michael "Tony" Bourdain
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Additional quotes by Anthony Bourdain

context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one's life. I mean, lets face it:when you're eating simple barbecue under a palm tree, and you feel sand between your toes, samba music is playing softly in the backgroud, waves are lapping at the shore a few yards off, a gentle breeze is cooling the sweat on the back of your neck at the hairline, and looking across the table, past the column of empty Red Stripes at the dreamy expression on your companion's face, you realize that in half an hour you're proably going to be having sex on clean white hotel sheets, that grilled chicken leg suddenly tastes a hell of a lot better

Be a fool. For love. For yourself. What you think MIGHT possibly make you happy — even for a little while — whatever the cost or good sense might dictate.

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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 have rested, the skin softened by constant immersion in water. It distinguishes me immediately as a cook, as someone who's been on the job a long time. You can feel it when I shake my hand, just as I feel it on others of my profession. It's a secret sign, a sort of Masonic handshake without the silliness.

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