Anthony Bourdain

DESERT SESSION: A Letter to Josh Homme’s Daughter

Dear Camille,

I hear you were very upset with me after seeing the promo for this show, which I filmed recently with your Daddy and his friends. You saw me take Daddy’s guitar and smash it against a tree and I’m sure that was upsetting. That this was in fact a not so subtle homage to the early works of John Landis and John Belushi is something you could have hardly been expected to know, ANIMAL HOUSE having been released long before you were born, and I apologize. 

Know that that was in fact, not really Daddy’s guitar, and that we were both just playing around. In real life, Daddy would have been very angry were I to do such a thing–and as he is a large man, I strongly suspect I would not still be here to write this letter. I like your Daddy very much. We are friends. Your Daddy was very nice to let me and my camera crew hang out with him all week at all his favorite places and to make totally awesome music for us.

I like your Daddy so much, that when an obnoxious superfan of mine at a magical place called Pappy and Harriet’s got up in Daddy’s face–had your Daddy not gently guided him by the thorax to the welcoming arms of security–I would have broken my beer glass across the man’s skull and then jabbed the jagged remnants into his ****ing neck. That’s the kind of guy I am. I had your Daddy’s back–just like he had mine. You will learn about these things later–possibly in grammar school.

When you watch the show, I hope there is nothing else in there that upsets you. You will surely see how completely brilliant Daddy is at work. You will hear a lot of great music. If you are a foodie, you will probably be terribly disappointed at the change of focus in this week’s episode, but at your tender age, I doubt that such a terrible thing as that could have befallen you. Life, for you, is still filled with hope and promise. Yes, Daddy seems to be drinking a lot of tequila on the show. But he never got drunk. Not that I saw anyway. He is a pretty good cook too–though this is something you surely know by now. I cook my daughter grilled cheese sandwiches. What does your Daddy cook you?

Sincerely,

Anthony

HAVANA CLUB…and LONELY T-BIRD

The ’66 T-Bird  roared across the high desert  somewhere between Morongo and Joshua Tree,  sliding mushily across lanes as if guided by some reptilian death wish. Turning the wheel was like trying to slalom with an oil tanker, each time it would be  a few long, long,  and occasionally terrifying micro-seconds before there was any acknowledgement that there was anyone at all in control. In the narrow, twisting  passes and draws,  charging the wide, aquamarine colored beast down the road without hitting the dividers felt like dropping a squirming rat down a drain pipe.  One could only hope he came out the other end.

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