It is the night of our arrival in Manila, and usually on the day we arrive and before we begin principal photography, I spend my first few hours meeting with our fixer to discuss any changes or adjustments to our shooting schedule.

After that, I reach out to tomorrow's locations to touch base and remind them of the times that we are coming to film with them.

Finally, I head up to my hotel room and make sure the mini-fridge in my hotel room is functioning properly by testing the coldness of a beer before I go to sleep. It sometimes takes two beers to be certain, but up to this point I have not found a broken mini-fridge.

That is a normal arrival day.

My first night in the Philippines is not a normal arrival day.

It's nearing midnight, and I am riding in an ordinary looking white van through the hectic streets of Metro Manila. There are people everywhere I look, all doing their usual night time routine ...the city feels alive with energy, and it is all moving past me in a blur as I scan the storefronts of the many bodegas that line the crowded sidewalks. I am looking for something vital for our upcoming shoot days. Something that, quite frankly, we need badly seeing as the temperature here doesn't seem to ever go below eighty degrees and it's humid.

I am on a desperate mission to find a drugstore that is open at this late hour to buy some deodorant.

Yep ...that's right. Deodorant.

We (the crew) are in desperate need of toiletries, and I am trying to find the one item that quite possibly has changed the face of the modern world. I keep reminding myself it is a noble quest as we pass more and more closed drugstores. Reminding myself to keep my eye on the prize.

Why, you may ask, is there such an urgent need for this solo excursion into the streets of Manila at this time of night after nearly 20 hours of flying with so many other things to do before cameras go live tomorrow morning?

I will explain -

As any traveler knows, there are apt to be some hiccups in the great world of trains, planes, and automobiles. Mostly those hiccups take place on the planes ...not so much in the air, but the process of getting them in the air on time. Delays, cancellations and missed connections ...these things happen - and since the travel situation on this show is more akin to "planes, planes, and more planes" it is surprising that things do not go awry more often.

We hit a triple hiccup (delayed, cancelled, missed connection) on the way to the Philippines, and as to not bore you with the exact airport logistics, I will simply say that it was not our day at JFK. Certain things occurred at the airport that caused us to arrive in Manila 12 hours later than planned, and with only our carry-on luggage and three cameras.

No personal checked bags (Including toiletries, socks, underwear, outerwear).

No additional film equipment (Including many items that are vital for our shoot, items that are hard to replace while on the road).

And most disturbing, perhaps...

No way to tell when any of it would arrive (Including me figuring out how to purchase everything we may need to properly shoot this show. It's a long list without having to buy us all clothes for the week. So now it's a longer list).

Granted, we always carry-on the cameras and sound kits for our shoots, so we have what we need to start filming the episode tomorrow morning, but no matter how much you rub a Sony-V1U on your underarm you wont get all day wetness protection coupled with a pleasant scent.

You will most likely get a rash, almost definitely have someone give you a nervous glance and quite possibly be arrested.

It is close to midnight when I find some, and I feel about ten pounds lighter as I hop back into the van to head back to the hotel to start my usual arrival day work.

--

Our missing bags arrive at the hotel the next morning, and I end up leaving five travel sticks of varying brands of deodorant behind on my hotel sink when I leave Manila at the end of the shoot.

The housekeeping crew must have thought I was a little strange.

JA

I'm watching Tony Bourdain eat roadkill.

For the last hour I've been cutting a scene of Tony at a Chicago restaurant that specializes in molecular gastronomy of a rather unusual variety. Try to imagine Ferran Adria's El Bulli crossed with a novelty gift shop that sells chocolates in the shape of dog turds and you'll get some idea of the place. He's just had a big bite of a dish called "Roadkill," actually it's a very delicately prepared dish of shredded duck confit with a splattering of a beet puree and a toasted rosemary infused marshmallow that is meant to resemble entrails, or maggots, or ...well, you get the idea

It's a fun scene and the kind that usually cuts itself. Tony is clearly digging this kooky molecular gastro- concoction. At one point he says kiddingly, "I may have eaten roadkill before." But is he really kidding? One of the aspects of this show that consistently amazes me is Tony's willingness to eat whatever his hosts are generous enough to offer. Anything and everything.

Anyone who has been even a casual viewer of this series has likely seen Mr. Bourdain ingest fermented meats, fermented meat liquor, raw poultry, animal genitalia (lots of animal genitalia), Hawaiian luau steam-table fare, various and sundry livestock organs and, of course, unwashed, semi-cooked warthog rectum, and that's just scratching the surface. In other words, he doesn't just talk the talk he walks the walk and he keeps on walking the walk.

A lot of travel show hosts may "eat for the camera," meaning a few bites just enough to get the scene done, but when you see Tony eating a meal, he's actually eating that meal. Whether it's a 15-course tasting menu or a pound of grilled hyenna spleen, he is there. And of course, it's worth noting that it's not just the meals you see in the show that he eats, there's also the meals that wind up in the International versions of the show and the meals that don't even make it out of the edit room. What you see isn't what he's done . . .it's merely a portion of what's he's done. At times it's a burden, we should all be so lucky to have, at other times it borders on literally putting his health (at least his gastro-intestinal health) in jeopardy. It lends another layer of authenticity to the show and is a testament to his dedication.

But it doesn't just stop at food. In addition to keeping it real with his meals, TB also does his own stunts. Perhaps, he would rather not, but through the magic of semi-planned circumstance, what you see is what he got. Getting rolled over twice by an ATV in New Zealand -- no stunt-double there. Descending hundreds of feet into a wet, stinking, treacherous, bat shit-filled cave in Jamaica - that was really him. And sitting through hour upon hour of mind-numbing conversations about crop cycles with German-Namibian farmers - all Tony.

So just remember, next time you're really enjoying an episode of "No Reservations," or if you're not enjoying it, or if you're pissed because you're watching the same repeat from season 2 that's been airing for the one millionth time, just remember what Tony does. For your entertainment alone Tony risks it; for your entertainment alone Tony does it; and for your entertainment alone. . . Tony eats it.

Tony's driving our big black Caddy, skimming the Ike, just south of downtown Chicago. I'm lying down in the backseat, deliberately in hiding. Trying to act like it's cool. Like it's totally not uncomfortable. In every sense of the word. You must know, faithful Bourdain Crew Blog Reader, how Tony doesn't like doing the walking shots? Well apparently he doesn't like repetitious driving shots either, as evidenced by his increasingly road-rage-alicious maneuvers. Oh, and the occasional explosive swearing was a little hint, too. As I'm trying to multitask on my new iPhone, navigating prone and linked with the crew van, I'm so glad they're yukking it up over there. I can hear Chris, Diane, Alex, Kira, Erik and even my brother William, whom I recruited to drive, practically singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." By the way, Chris, when you told me to duck down to get out of the shot and I dropped down to the right, I heard you say, "I wish she would have leaned the other way!" Ha. Ha. Meanwhile I desperately cling to the fine leather upholstery, trying not to get flung hard to the floor. At least I'm grateful for all the time I spent on a Deadliest Catch-esque fishing boat this summer curing myself of motion sickness.

And at that moment my skin felt electrified. It was a position you would have killed to be in - as weird as it was. I didn't want to be anywhere else. Doing anything else. With anyone else. Thanks to Tony, Chris, Lydia, Diane and the entire "No Reservations" crew - my dear, extended, endlessly entertaining dysfunctional family - I have been allowed to live an adventurous food life far beyond what I deserve.

Three weeks ago, as of this blogging, we wrapped the long-awaited Chicago shoot. Tony mentions it briefly in his recent blog post about the upcoming Season 5. He writes, "Our Chicago show was filmed in a state of full-on hero worship, as I've been long besotted by Michael Mann's Chicago-based film, 'Thief.'" By the way, that film is beyond noir - the story is black-hole black - and to play amateur forensic psychologist, wow an insight into Tony's psyche, I think - but incredibly beautiful to watch.

I again worked as a fixer. I hold the distinction of being the first ever "No Reservations" fixer. Remember me in the meat market scene in Paris? And what is a fixer, you ask? In the job description it's a local translator and guide. For Tony fans, you'll understand when I say I was the Zamir.

So this summer I was cooking away for the Alaskan fishing boat and lodge and I got the call from Lydia. Chicago's on. In a month. And to paraphrase another film - film nerds that we are - it was an offer I could not refuse. Chicago is my hometown, and I have been waiting for nearly four years for the show to come to my town. Yes, of course we went to Hot Doug's, home to the infamous, once-illegal foie gras hot dog and duck-fat-fried fries - still served Fridays and Saturdays only.

And yes, we had pizza, but probably not anywhere you would think. We went to my beloved Burt's in the occasionally Twin Peaks-ish suburb of Morton Grove. The inimitable Burt and his gorgeous caramelized crust were featured on the cover of Saveur's Chicago issue last year.

But no beef. Yes, fellow Chicagoans, you heard me. No Italian beef. Why? Because as you know, we have an embarrassment of food riches. And we did the Mother-in-Law instead. You've never had the South Side specialty of a Chicago-style tamale smothered in chili, garnished with onions and sport peppers, wrapped in a warm poppy-seed bun? Well ya see, there's more to Chicago than just dogs, pizza and beef.

But we did have beef. And as my hair stylist Daniel dubbed them, Beef Daddies: Tony and Very Special Guest, Eric Ripert. I found myself with Tony and Eric (Freakin') Ripert at L20 nestled into our own private tatami room. I fully expect to be cut out of that scene, like the end person in a wedding party pic.

And speaking of beef, I called it at the Wagyu. L20's Chef/Partner Laurent Gras, an old friend of both Tony and Eric's, even had the audacity to send out the muzzle-printed certificate of authenticity. I mean come on now, Laurent - did you really need to flop that out? It was more than enough that each bite of that beef was like the crispy charred bit of fat that you steal off a steak even when it's too hot because it's that good. Every single bite of that entire deathbed-memorable meal was all that good. But I could only take two bites of the Wagyu- one wocka-wocka food porn one for the camera and the other one purely for my own gratuitous pleasure. As for the rest, when our kimono-clad server came to take our plates, I asked her to take mine over to producers Alex and Diane in the tatami room next door. Camerapeople Kira and Erik would have to wait until our conversation wandered into Not Safe For the New York Food Media Mafia territory and Tony told them point blank, "Don't shoot this." Poor Exec Producer Chris was shooting in the kitchen, Steak Outta Luck.

At the end of the night I drove the Caddy home. Tony slurred, "How is it that you're in better shape than we are?" Silly boy. Raiders of the Lost Ark? The shot glass scene? I switched from the endless rare, vintage bottles of sake to H20 early in the night.

With the Beef Daddies comfortably slumped in their seats, I knew again, I didn't want to be anywhere else.