Spending the night with Anthony Bourdain

The food devotees are out in full force.

John Gundy, photog extraordinaire, Matt from Parts & Labour, Zane from Caplansky’s and it ramps up as the night goes on. Vikram Vij is here all the way from Vancouver, David Rocco has stopped in and while the crowd started out reverent and polite, it is soon a frenzy of camera flashes and people vying to get close to Mr. Bourdain.

In town to promote his latest book, Medium Raw, Ivy Knight – resplendent in a 60′s style gold dress, patterned shawl and towering wedges – has held this night at The Drake Hotel to fete her good friend and TV star.

The energy high, the food flowing – Anthony Rose (pictured above, on the right) has roasted not just 1, but 2 pigs, to make sure that we are well fed ( there’s nothing worse than chefs and food writers going hungry). He warns Zane about the hot sauce. It’s really hot, he says. Zane takes some anyway.

That’s the thing about food folks. We tend to be pretty fearless.

There comes a point in the evening, after the president of HaperCollins and Ivy have introduced Mr. B., and after he has charmed the entire crowd with his speech, that many of us try to get our picture with him. I stand right  next to him for close to half an hour, but the more famous of the crowd step in, shutters whirring, Anthony smiling politely for what must be a good two hours. You can tell he’s tired, but he’s such a good sport.

I see veteran journalists and TV folks staring. Smiling. Swooning.We can’t stop looking at him. You can’t believe your dumb luck that you get to be this close to such a towering genius, to the man who brought verve, ferocity and badly-needed humour to food writing and food TV.

The room is clearly awestruck, and considering that TIFF ended just a few weeks back, you know that we don’t do this for just anybody.

But Anthony Bourdain isn’t just anybody.

The book signing portion of the evening is announced. And while people try and act casual about it, I am planning what I’m going to say. This is my chance to impart my own food wisdom, to bond with another food-obsessed writer.

The person ahead of me is done. I make my approach. I can’t feel my feet and I have to say “hold onto the book” over in my head so I don’t drop it. I stare at him the whole time as I make my way to the table because I don’t want to be the jerkface that isn’t paying attention to him when he looks up.

He looks up.

I welcome him to the city and ask if he’s eaten.

He hasn’t.

I ask if I can get him something.

No, he’s okay.

I want to make him a roast chicken and vegetables, the most comforting dinner there is. I want to take him to Chinatown, because I know he likes cheap, but tasty fare. I want him to know how much great food there is here. That we may not be New York in size, but we have the same heart and determination.

He signs my book and I thank him.

I make my way down the steps to the doorway. The crowd is electric with excitement, the drinks are flowing, but I slip outside and walk for a long time before catching the streetcar.

I just want to be alone, in the quiet of the night.

I have met and interviewed a lot of celebrities, and they don’t always live up to your expectations.

Anthony Bourdain exceeded mine. And then some.