In Hong Kong, I squeezed into Tung Po, this crazy-busy dai pai dong (open-air food stall) Tony raved about. Sitting on a wobbly plastic stool, I dug into wind sand chicken and squid ink pasta. The place was loud, the lights were harsh, and it was perfect. I washed it all down with beer served in bowls – yeah, bowls. It was exactly the kind of chaotic, no-frills spot Bourdain loved.
The Philippines was full of surprises. At Aling Lucing's Sisig, I tried sisig – basically chopped pig face and liver. Sounds weird, tastes amazing. It was crispy, fatty, and tangy all at once. Tony was right; Filipino food is seriously underrated.
In Hanoi, I had a fan moment. I sat at the same low plastic stool at Bun Cha Huong Lien where Bourdain shared a meal with Obama. The bún chả – grilled pork with noodles – was simple but delicious. As I slurped my noodles, I couldn't help but imagine the conversation these two very different men might have had over this humble meal.
Bangkok's streets are a food lover's dream, and nobody knew that better than Bourdain. Following his footsteps, I found myself at Jay Fai, the Michelin-starred street food stall. Watching the goggle-wearing septuagenarian chef toss her famous crab omelette in a fiery wok was like witnessing culinary magic. Later, at Chinatown's Yaowarat Road, I decided to face my food fears and give durian (the "king of fruits") another shot. The smell was challenging, but the creamy, complex flavor? Let's just say Tony was right – it's worth the sensory adventure.
Tokyo was like stepping into a food lover's fever dream. Following Tony's footsteps, I found myself at a tiny sushi bar in a subway station at 5 AM. Bleary-eyed salarymen were having sushi for breakfast, and you know what? I joined them. The tuna melted on my tongue, and I finally understood why people get poetic about raw fish.
But the real magic happened later at an izakaya in Golden Gai, a maze of tiny bars in Shinjuku. Squeezing into a spot the size of a closet, I clinked glasses with locals and devoured yakitori (grilled chicken skewers) that made me question everything I thought I knew about chicken. The chef, an old guy with hands gnarled from decades of cooking, didn't speak a word of English, but man, could he communicate through food.
Osaka lives by the motto "kuidaore" – to eat yourself bankrupt – and boy, did I try. I kicked things off at Dotonbori, a sensory overload of neon signs and food stalls. Takoyaki (octopus balls) from a street vendor became my new religion. Crispy outside, gooey inside, with a piece of octopus hiding in the center like a chewy surprise – it was a flavor explosion in every bite.
But the crown jewel was okonomiyaki, a savory pancake that's like if an omelette and a pizza had a delicious love child. At a hole-in-the-wall spot Tony once featured, I watched in awe as the chef built my okonomiyaki layer by layer on a sizzling griddle. When it finally arrived, topped with dancing bonito flakes, I understood why Bourdain called this "the soul of Osaka on a plate."
As I stumbled back to my hotel, full to bursting and already planning my next meal, I couldn't help but think how Bourdain would've loved seeing a novice like me dive headfirst into Japan's food scene. It wasn't about the fanciest sushi or the most expensive wagyu – it was about the joy of discovery, the thrill of trying something new, and the connections made over a shared meal. That's the real flavor of Japan, and it's one I'll never forget.
Australia was Bourdain's kind of place – unpretentious with knockout flavors. In Melbourne, I hit up Attica, where chef Ben Shewry's creative use of native ingredients blew my mind. Emu egg sabayon, anyone? But the real Bourdain moment came in Sydney. At the iconic Harry's Café de Wheels, I devoured a Tiger pie – a beef pie topped with mashed potatoes, mushy peas, and gravy – just as Tony did years ago. Later, I found myself in a Vietnamese joint in Cabramatta, slurping pho and chatting with locals about how their food scene has evolved.
In San Sebastián, I went on a mission to find the legendary tortilla at Bar La Cepa. They only make two a day, and scoring a slice is like winning the lottery. After a nail-biting wait, I got my piece of the thick, creamy potato omelette. Was it worth the hype? Absolutely. But San Sebastián had more in store. At Arzak, the temple of New Basque cuisine that Bourdain revered, I splurged on a mind-bending tasting menu. Between courses of "egg with a crispy veil" and "pigeon with shotgun pellets" (don't worry, they're edible), I realized this was food as art, pushing boundaries just like Tony loved to do.
Then it was off to Madrid, where I bar-hopped through the bustling Mercado de San Miguel, channeling Bourdain's love for markets. I ended the night at a crowded tapas bar in La Latina, elbow-to-elbow with locals, demolishing plate after plate of patatas bravas and jamón ibérico. As I sipped my vermouth, I could almost hear Tony's voice: "To me, life without veal stock, pork fat, sausage, organ meat, demi-glace, or even stinky cheese is a life not worth living." Amen to that, Tony.
In Porto, I couldn't resist following Tony's culinary trail. First stop: Café Santiago, home of the legendary Francesinha. Picture this: a sandwich that's more like a meat lover's fever dream - layers of different meats, smothered in melted cheese, and then drenched in a spicy sauce that Bourdain swore by. As I bit into this hearty monster, I could almost hear Tony's voice saying, "This is what Porto is all about."
But one Bourdain-approved spot wasn't enough. I made my way to O Gaveto in nearby Matosinhos, where the seafood is so fresh it practically swims to your plate. I channeled my inner Bourdain and dove into a feast of local fish and shellfish. The lobster, which Tony raved about, lived up to the hype - sweet, tender, and tasting of the sea. Sitting there, with the smell of the ocean in the air and the flavors of Porto on my tongue, I felt like I was experiencing the city exactly as Bourdain had intended - through its food, its people, and its soul.
Lisbon was a trip. At Cervejaria Ramiro, a legendary seafood restaurant known for its fresh shellfish, including prawns, clams, and crabs, I channeled my inner Bourdain and ordered percebes – goose barnacles. They look like alien fingers but taste like the ocean in the best way possible. Bourdain called it a "temple of seafood." Later, wandering through Alfama, I found a tiny bar serving ginjinha (cherry liqueur) in chocolate cups. Standing there, sipping my drink and listening to fado music drifting from nearby bars, I felt like I was in one of Tony's shows.
Paris, where Bourdain once worked and forever loved. At Bistrot Paul Bert, a place where Tony frequented, I had steak frites and a glass of red that made me weak in the knees. As the night wore on and the wine flowed, I realized this wasn't just dinner – it was a glimpse into the Paris that Tony adored, where food is religion and every meal is an affair to remember.
London's food scene is like the city itself – a bit of everything, from everywhere. Following Tony's lead, I found myself in Brick Lane at 3 AM, biting into a warm salt beef bagel at Beigel Bake. Then it was off to Southall, London's "Little India," where I had tandoori lamb chops at Brilliant Restaurant that lived up to its name. Washing it all down with a pint in an East End pub, I realized this was Bourdain's London – a city where you could taste the world on a single street, messy and glorious all at once.
In Zadar, a coastal town Tony visited, I discovered peka at Pet Bunara – octopus and vegetables slow-cooked under a bell-shaped lid. But the real Bourdain moment came at a tiny konoba (tavern), sharing homemade rakija and grilled sardines with a local fisherman as the sun set over the Adriatic. No common language, just good food and unexpected connection – exactly the kind of experience Tony lived for.
Mexico City's Pujol, a place Bourdain praised, blew me away with their famous mole madre. Aged for over 1,000 days, it was a complex symphony of flavors that told the story of Mexico's rich culinary heritage. Later, wandering through Oaxaca's markets, I sipped mezcal and munched on chapulines (grasshoppers), channeling Tony's adventurous spirit.
In Buenos Aires, I made a pilgrimage to Don Carlos, a parrilla (steakhouse) that Bourdain loved. The bife de chorizo (sirloin steak) was a carnivore's dream - charred on the outside, melt-in-your-mouth tender inside. But it was the provoleta, a disc of grilled cheese, that truly captured my heart.
Lima's Central Restaurante, which Bourdain visited in one of his final shows, offered a vertical journey through Peru's ecosystems. From piranha served in an alkaline sauce to frozen Andean potatoes, each dish was a story of time and place. In Cusco, I braved cuy (guinea pig) at Pachapapa, remembering Tony's words about the importance of stepping out of our comfort zones.
In Rio De Janiero, I followed Bourdain's trail to Bar do Mineiro for moqueca, a rich seafood stew that encapsulates the African influences in Brazilian cuisine. The interplay of coconut milk, dendê oil, and fresh fish was nothing short of magical.
In San Francisco, I hit up Swan Oyster Depot, a place Tony called "a touchstone in my worldwide wanderings." It's tiny, always packed, and worth the wait. I slurped oysters and tried their famous crab back fat (sounds gross, tastes amazing).
Then, because one great meal is never enough, I headed to La Taqueria in the Mission. Their carnitas burrito is the stuff of legend, and now I know why. As I stood on the street, juice running down my chin, I could almost hear Bourdain saying, "This is what it's all about."
New York was Bourdain's stomping ground, and it's always been one of my favorite cities in the world. Growing up in the suburbs, NYC was this mythical place of endless possibilities and flavors. Every trip into "the city" was an adventure, and now, retracing Tony's steps, it felt like coming home.
I kicked things off at Katz's Deli, a place I'd dreamed about. My pastrami on rye was stacked higher than my coffee cup, and with each bite, I could feel my suburban roots giving way to city slicker status. It was everything my younger self had imagined and then some.
No Bourdain-inspired tour of NYC would be complete without Xi'an Famous Foods. Back when I was a suburban teenager, the idea of "famous" food meant chain restaurants. But here I was, slurping down spicy cumin lamb noodles in a spot that went from a single stall in Flushing to a city-wide phenomenon, thanks in part to Tony's seal of approval. It was a tasty reminder of how much the city – and I – had grown.
Next up was Momofuku Noodle Bar in the East Village, another Bourdain favorite. The place was buzzing with energy, and the smell of steaming ramen filled the air. I dug into a bowl of their famous pork buns and slurped up some mind-blowing ramen. It was comfort food elevated to an art form, and I could see why Tony raved about it. The fusion of flavors and techniques perfectly embodied the innovative spirit of New York's food scene.
As the day wound down, I found myself at Sunny’s Bar , a beloved neighborhood dive bar that Bourdain featured on his shows. Nursing a bottle of cold beer and chatting with locals, I felt a million miles away from my suburban roots, yet completely at home. It was in spots like this – full of stories, characters, and history – that Tony seemed most at ease, and now I understood why.
Sitting there, I couldn't help but reflect on how Bourdain's New York had shaped my own love for the city. From the hole-in-the-wall joints to the late-night eateries, he showed us a New York that was gritty, authentic, and endlessly delicious. It was a far cry from the glossy Manhattan of TV shows I watched, and it was all the better for it.
Every time I eat somewhere new, I find myself thinking, "What would Tony say about this place?" It's not about finding the fanciest food or the weirdest dish. It's about the people you meet, the stories you hear, and yeah, the amazing food you eat along the way.
From slurping noodles in Hanoi to burning my tongue on provoleta in Buenos Aires, from diving into seafood in Lisbon to stuffing my face with pastrami in New York, I've tasted the world the way Bourdain showed us – one bite at a time.
So here's to you, Tony. Thanks for teaching us that food isn't just fuel – it's a way to connect, to understand, and to explore. The world's still a crazy, beautiful, delicious place, and we're all a little more curious, a little more open, and a lot more connected because of you.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a hot tip about a food cart selling life-changing tacos, and there's a plastic stool with my name on it.