Anthony Bourdain’s Hate Parade

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CNN’s grumpy gourmand isn’t shy about airing his grievances. Here are just a few of the things he’d like to eighty-six

By Evan Bleier | Illustrations by Brian Taylor

The Unicorn Frappuccino at Starbucks: “Wow, that’s like four things I hate all in one sentence—Starbucks, unicorns, and the colors pink and purple. Also, a Frappuccino! It’s the perfect nexus of awfulness. Just add pumpkin spice to that mix, and you can nuke the whole country.”
Kobe sliders: “The Kobe slider is an indication of a douche economy that’s threatening to me personally. It’s like bottle service at the nightclub; it’s a societal ill. It’s a clear example of nothing being added to the slider experience by using Kobe beef other than the price. No one who orders a Kobe slider wants the unctuous, fatty experience of ordering a Kobe steak. What they want is bragging rights in front of their princes of douchedom so they can all high-five. It’s part of the ‘bro’ culture I find troubling.”
Switzerland: “I think I must have experienced some awful childhood trauma in view of a mural of snowcapped peaks and Lake Geneva. I live with a persistent dread of alpine vistas, chalet architecture, Tyrolean hats—even cheese with holes in it. You will notice I have never been there. That’s because Switzerland frightens me.”
Donald Trump ordering well-done steak: “It hurts me! I think that’s a window into his soul. Anyone who’s that indifferent to food is problematic for me. It’s like meeting someone at a party who says, ‘I never really liked music.’ What do you do with that? As a chef, it always hurt me if I was serving a nicely aged côte de boeuf and I heard they dumped ketchup all over it—that hurt me, too. Something died inside me.”

The third slice of bread on a club sandwich: “You know who invented the middle slice? Enemies of freedom. Their mission? Sap our will to live by ruining our sandwich experiences through tectonic slide.”
Pumpkin spice and other food trends:  “I would like to see the pumpkin-spice craze drowned in its own blood…. I’m also no big fan of the judgmental barista and beer nerds. I mean, I like a good craft, but don’t make me feel bad about my beer choices. You know what kind of beer I like? Cold beer!”
Airplane food: “No one has ever felt better after eating plane food. I think people only eat it because they’re bored. I don’t eat on planes. For a super-long flight, I’d order cheese and a shitload of port. I’d eat some cheese and drink myself stupid.”
Clowns: “I’m sure I’m not alone here. Were clowns ever funny? No. Of course not. They were always sinister figures, disguising their homicidal intentions under thick makeup, all the while their crawl spaces and chest freezers were brimming with Cub Scout parts.”
The brioche hamburger bun: “The hamburger bun is designed to absorb grease, not add greasiness to the experience. A proper hamburger bun should retain its structural integrity, playing its role as delivery vehicle for the meat patty until the last bite. The brioche bun, woefully unsuitable for this role, crumbles. God is against the brioche bun.”
Karaoke: “Singing in public in general…. Like anything shameful, I prefer to sing in private. Karaoke should only be performed with people who have already seen your genitals.”
Room service: “If you really want to send yourself into a tragic spiral of depression, call down for a room-service hamburger when you’re alone in your room. You will inevitably be disappointed and more than likely sent into a manic-depressive state for days.”

Rats: “Fuck snakes—I eat them. Spiders? No problem! But rats. Rats! Maybe it’s my years in the restaurant business, but the appearance of a rat was always the beginning of the end. An augur of doom. A poisoned rat once crawled out of a wall and flopped limply onto my foot to die. They had to scrape me off the ceiling.”
Nashville Hot Chicken: “That was truly, truly terrifying. And if you’re considering going to Nashville, by the way, please notice that Nashvillians themselves don’t eat the extra-hot fried chicken. They know better. Unless you’ve got three or four days to spend in a bathroom, I really advise against that.”
Sandra Lee: “Pure evil. This frightening Hell Spawn of Kathie Lee and Betty Crocker seems on a mission to kill her fans, one meal at a time. She Must Be Stopped. Her death-dealing, can-opening ways will cut a swath of destruction through the world if not contained.”
SantaCon: “Glad I’m not around for the douchey horde of projectile-vomiting Santas currently infesting New York City. Tear gas and water cannons will scatter those Santas real good. I’m guessing Guy’s American Kitchen & Bar will do gangbusters business today. Jäger-swacked Kris Kringles screaming for more Donkey Sauce and Bob Seger flooding Times Square.”
Mimes: “Like cats, when entering a space they gravitate towards the one person who fears them. Their purposes are always to embarrass—to draw attention to the shy, the troubled, the hungover. Pure evil.”
A slurry of soy sauce and wasabi: “If you immediately plop a big wad of wasabi into your dish of soy sauce, mix it around with your chopsticks? Your sushi chef loses all respect for you. Dip your nigiri into it rice side down? He hates you now. You may as well spit in his face. Seven years learning rice and you just shat in it.”

About The Author

Samuel Braslow is the managing editor at FourTwoNine Magazine, and covers current events and politics for the website.

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