The helicopter was small...very small...and shaking. No bouncing, really. It was bouncing up and down, up and down. My teeth were rattling. Todd and Zach were sitting next to me, filming Tony in the front seat. With one large coastal updraft, Todd flew up in the air, slow-motion, "Todd-ass" blurring my vision...he landed on my lap. I bit my tongue. Todd farted. I puked in my mouth. It was 6am.

It was pouring rain and windy...our first bad weather day our whole shoot in Chile and here is Tony, Zach, Todd and myself trying to helicopter to our shooting location in this shit weather. Was this a good idea?

"Oh, no problem!" says Mr. Helicopter man. "If it's bad, we just come down."

"No problem," Tony concurs, totally nonchalantly. Um, ok fine. No problem. But what does, "we just come down" mean, Tony? Keep in mind, Tony is wearing a pine-green, rain poncho and smiling. It's weird. REALLY weird. It's early. I didn't see Tony have coffee. It's pouring and we're about to helicopter to an island and "work" all day. This isn't usually "Tony-smiling" time. He started to give me promos ("Catch it!") and I wasn't even asking...IN THE RAIN! This was NOT going to be a normal day.

So where was I? Oh yeah, I puked in my mouth. I pushed Todd over to his seat. "Film Tony. Film Tony!" I yell over the sound of the propeller, the wind, the chaos. We start circling around the islands, just off land...over the Pacific. I can't really tell if the "circling" is intentional or not. It feels slightly "out-of-control" which can be a good thing...when not in a helicopter over the ocean in Chile! Mr. Helicopter Man points over the horizon.

"It doesn't look good!" yells Tony as we all see over the horizon the darkest, most ominous, hurricane-like front that you've ever seen...from a helicopter. I guess this is the time "we just come down." But, like, um...where, Mr. Helicopter Man? We're over the raging Pacific with jagged f**** rocks below us?!!

But, lucky for us, we land in a clearing. Safe. No helicopter today. The rest of our crew, 3 hours away by land, are waiting for us...on a boat...ready to go to an island to film. I'm on the phone with my segment producer, Emily. She is NOT happy. We have a full act to shoot today. WHAT DO WE DO?

Well, Tony still has this shit-eating grin on his face, soaked, in that f***** green poncho. "I guess we'll have to go back to the hotel and have some breakfast?" he says...totally innocent looking. I'm starting to think he's controlling more than the show content here at this point. I really don't know what to do. Tomorrow we are flying back to the States. I don't have a full show!

So hotel...coffee, fire. Tony tells me "Rennik, don't worry. It's all GOING TO BE FINE." My crew are wet and distraught. The weather is awful. It doesn't feel like it's going to be "fine." I decide to call the bosses...see if we can salvage something.

OK. I dial the States...voicemail of the executive producer on the line. "Hello, you've reached (BLANK), please leave a message..."

Tony gets up and says "Well Rennik, I think I'm going to get a massage...tell me what we're doing next...but give me a few hours, k? I'm tired." I watch him walk away in fuzzy hotel slippers.

I'm startled by the "Beeeeeeeeeeeeep...." I hear on the other end of the line. My mouth drops to the floor. Silence. What do I say?

Oh shit...I knew it wasn't going to be a "normal" day...

1. INTERIOR MOHAMMED'S EATERY, COLOMBO, SRI LANKA - DAY

One of the many eating houses in the Pettah, Colombo's main marketplace, provides the backdrop for mine and Tony's first Sri Lankan meal, a hearty breakfast of String Hoppers (steamed rice noodles); paripoo, or red lentils stewed in coconut milk; pol sambol, a spicy condiment of fresh shredded coconut laced with lime juice, salt and chili powder; chili fish curry, potato curry and sour fish curry. We have just slogged our way through the crowded and chaotic central fish market around the corner, and I, having prudently bypassed the lavish breakfast buffet at the stately Galle Face Hotel, our home away from home this week, have worked up a healthy appetite that neither the oppressive heat nor the condensed-milk tea we're sipping can kill.

Roll Cameras

In an instant the table is covered with a colorful, edible tapestry-the yellow-tinged potato curry, shaded with turmeric, contrasting against fiery red fish gravy and orange coconut sambol, black sour fish and white rice noodle nests. I waste no time, quickly using up all real estate on my plate, but when I peek at Tony's, it's looking pretty zen. As a fan of the show, my mind's eye flashes back to an episode like Montreal, where Bourdain was practically mainlining foie gras as the mischievous chef sent him a flurry of rich main courses, which Tony scooped down his pie-hole like a trooper. Was this the same Tony Bourdain, Mouth Almighty, The Walking Stomach, King of Street Food? Or did they cheat on TV, and just make it look like he eats a lot? That's certainly not what the producers told me when I signed on. Worse yet: What if he doesn't like the food? I considered it an honor and a pleasure to introduce a serious eater like Tony to the cuisine of my homeland, and if he just didn't dig it, I would have felt really bad. These thoughts were the subtext as we spoke casually about the meal for the cameras. Afterwards I asked him:

SKIZ

Tony, so how you feeling, man? Everything cool?

TONY

Yeah, man. But I've had this thing since before we left New York.

Some kind of bug or something.

SKIZ

Oh, no. For real?

TONY

Of course, it didn't help that the lady in the next seat was coughing all over me all the way from Kuwait City. But yeah, I can't seem to keep anything down.

It suddenly dawned on me that even a job as perfect as his-to travel the world and sample her exotic delights-had its own pitfalls. What if you were hot and jetlagged and afflicted with a serious head cold that impeded your olfactory senses? What if you were so sick you couldn't even keep any food down? What if you just didn't feel like eating and had to plow through three or four heavy meals in a day? Things to think about when you eat for a living. Nevertheless, this was a food and travel show, and with only six days of shooting, the show must go on.

Thankfully, it did, without a hitch. After Tony's stomach settled down, and we plied him with a few alcoholic beverages for good measure, the man I knew from the TV screen returned in fine form. Not only that, but he genuinely enjoyed each successive meal more than the one before it. In fact, I noticed that the whole crew-Producer Tom, Segment Producer Jared, and Jerry and Todd, the cameramen -- all loaded up on the Sri Lankan specialties every morning at the breakfast buffet, not to mention scarfing down all the food that Tony and I ate on camera, as well. And these guys can take the heat from all the chili-laden dishes, which I've never seen gringos handle so well. Of course, Tony gets extra points for making it through those first few meals, which probably went straight through him.

For more about the "No Reservations" Sri Lanka trip, check out my own blog at Riceandcurry.wordpress.com.

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.

I have been to DC before, but never like this.

In the past, I have spent countless hours wandering the National Mall, hitting up the Smithsonian Institute's cadre of museums, taking in precious moments at the Reflecting Pool (why do Forest and Jenny always come to mind?) sandwiched between the Lincoln and Washington Memorials, gazing at the sheer sobering geometrics of Arlington National Cemetery, and so much more to list.

My previous trips seemed to happen in the fall or winter, and adding to the visual effect of all those bright white tomes to our country's past was a brisk or downright frigid breeze. This has cemented that whole "George Washington crossing the frozen Delaware River" image burned into my brain during all those valuable middle school history classes.

**In reference to the above comment (and in defense of the prowess of my middle school teachers) I know that George's crossing of the Delaware occurred during the Revolutionary War, which was before DC was even founded, but still that painting sums up the whole place for me for some reason. Maybe it's just me. **

To the point - When I was there with Tony and the crew shooting the show, it wasn't winter. As a matter of fact, it was so far from winter that for moments I wondered if winter had retired from the team. I forgot what snow was or how it was made (plummeting cloud pieces from the stratosphere?). It was hard to comprehend how humanity survived in such a hellish place. Getting hit by a blast of air conditioning could cause shock to set in. I would enter buildings and immediately look for a place Tony and the crew could lie down and elevate their legs above their heads - just in case.

I understand now why they never painted George in the summertime. He wore shorts and a tank top. That would have looked ridiculous in the history books …especially with that hat.

Not to overstate the obvious (too late) - It was hot.

Like melting the matte box off a camera hot.

Like there is no way that anyone could survive in this heat hot.

Like if given the option to try to catch a large water balloon full of half-melted ice cubes in your mouth or to delicately sip a bottle of Evian you would choose the former hot.

And I have to carry this backpack with me everywhere.

You see - we are a small crew, and a hell of a team. We work well in tight spaces, kitchens, on boats, hanging from car windows …in pretty much all situations imaginable. The smallish nature of our crew leads to all of us taking on more tasks to keep our numbers low. The camera guys do all of their own lighting, grip work, and sound. The producer of the episode carries gear and helps shoot as well as making sure all the pieces of the puzzle come together properly.

And I have my backpack - full of the essentials for a shooting day on No Reservations. Here is a quick list of the first ten items a police officer randomly reaching in during a search would find in it.

1 - 9 volt batteries

2 - fake blood

3 - rubber mallet (don't ask)

4 - an impressive smattering of pills for all kinds of ailments (all legal, of course)

5 - Quik Clot (look it up online)

6 - a Blackberry that looks like someone threw it into a washing machine full of rocks

7 - back up tape stock

8 - bottles of water (day shooting)

9 - bottles of beer (night shooting)

10 - Trapper Keeper notebook (Transformers edition)

There is more in there, and the contents vary, but it all adds up to about 40 pounds of necessities for the crew strapped to my back. When combined with the oppressive heat of DC, my backpack felt as if I was carrying a space heater with me during our shoot days. I actually would color coordinate my clothing based on the shirts matching the pants after they were soaked through.

A major part of my job is making the first contact with our guests on the show. I walk up, shake hands, and introduce them to Tony and the rest of the crew. I felt self conscious about walking up to them looking as if I just ran a marathon, but the locals didn't even seem to notice …it was like they just understood that summer in DC is hot - and there is nothing you can do about it.

Two showers a day worked for me as a start.

-JA

As the newbie on the crew I knew that it would take some time to gain Anthony Bourdain's respect. No Reservations is entering it's fifth season and the man has met and worked with countless different people … and like every job that involves being accepted as "part of the team" (and no, there is no I in team) you have to earn your medal of honor, you have to gain your place in the ranks.

After my first shoot in Chicago, which had gone very well thanks to the guiding hand of Chris - my boss and long time Tony friend - Mexico was next. My second shoot, with veterans who between them have racked up well over 40 episodes. I was going to have to step it up somehow. I had heard through the grapevine that it may take a while for Tony to look me in the eye. This was true, but it did eventually happen ... So how, and when, would I make it to the next level? Beyond eye contact to perhaps a conversation or even a shared joke or two…? What would I have to do to gain his respect, and be able to call myself a member of the No Reservations crew and really mean it?

It happened on a dark street corner in Puebla around 8pm local time … After a long day shooting with our friend Carlos and several of his family members, we all stopped for tacos at his favorite roadside stand. There were several different choices of meat, including tripe, tongue and sausage. Everyone it seemed was waiting for the chorizo… As 12 hungry people clamored for the same taco varietal, it happened. She said it softly at first and I thought no one had heard her. "Ojo?" That's eye right? She took the tongs and sure enough an eye appeared from the boiling pot of meat. I was starving… I saw my opportunity and took it. From my place at the back of the hungry group I fearlessly raised my hand. "Uno de ojo por favor".

And that was the moment I gained Bourdain's respect. From my left I heard him: "Wow, that's really impressive…" And then as the rest of the crew slapped me on the back and told me how impressed THEY were with my order another comment: "Somebody raised you right". Puffed up with pride, I hungrily ate my eye taco (the only one of our crew to do so I might add) knowing that something had changed and that hopefully Tony (as I now like to call him) and I would go on to have a beautiful working relationship … Thanks Mum and Dad for raising me right. And if you ever have the option - go for the eye. It was quite delicious.

I first met Tony Bourdain in the old Siberia, a wonderfully disgusting dive bar which at the time was buried near the entrance to the 1 and 9 subway station at the 50th and Broadway. It was sometime in late 2000, and I had just been hired as a reporter for the New York Post's Page Six gossip column, primarily because I was the kind of guy who happily drank up everything that New York nightlife had to offer, from bending elbows with my fellow degenerates at foul-smelling dive bars to awkwardly hitting on Eastern European models at all those overpriced bottle service swilleries that were popping up all over town. Tony was already a semi-famous author, thanks to Kitchen Confidential, but he shared my boozy bloodlust for Siberia's nocturnal allure, as well as an appreciation for a decent jukebox that played the Dead Boys. Now that he's a full-on TV star who spends most of the year traveling to exotic locales, I rarely run into him anymore (the fact that Siberia closed has cut down on our hang time considerably) so I was pleasantly surprised when one of his producers emailed me to ask if I wanted to be on No Reservations to talk about, you know, food and travel and stuff.

Sure, why not? I hadn't seen Bourdain in eons and a free, 14-course meal at a fancy place like WD-50 was a no-brainer. No Reservations was even good enough to loan me a video camera to take on my already-scheduled trip to New Orleans, which I somehow managed not to lose during epic eating and drinking binges around the French Quarter. By the way, cooks in New Orleans idolize Bourdain. Whenever I was filming in a restaurant and explained that I was shooting for his show, I was ushered into the kitchen, where the cook would invariably stuff some morsel of fried food in my mouth. At Guy's Po Boys on Magazine street, I choked down a foot and a half of delicious sandwich, so insistent was the guy making them that I try every kind of po boy he had. I felt like a human woodchipper being fed log after log until the machine fell apart. Or a foie gras goose whose stomach was being pumped until it burst. But hey, I'm a man of large appetites, and they all tasted pretty damn good.

So it was with clogged colon and wounded liver that I returned to NYC after four days in NoLa. I was the first to arrive for the dinner at WD-50 the afternoon after I got back. Tony immediately offered me a beer, which definitely helped matters. Then my old friend Amy Sacco turned up. Next it was former Queer Eye guy Ted Allen (who, incidentally, was wearing the exact same black leather Converse Jack Purcells that I was), and finally came the New Yorker's Bill Buford, whose books Heat and Among the Thugs are both amazing. At first I was pretty quiet, but by about the fifth wine course I was giving shout-outs to the comfort food of my Pennsylvania youth, namely my mom's Shake and Bake pork chops drenched in A1 sauce and her famous brussel sprouts, bacon bits and mayonnaise mash-up. Yes, the good old days. While I was intrigued and sometimes even thrilled by chef Wylie Dufrene's experimental cuisine (I distinctly remember enjoying what appeared to be Corn Pops filled with Eggs Benedict), I'm basically a comfort food freak. Give me some ribs, barbecued chicken, a good steak, some fresh soft shell crabs, and I'm a happy dude. Still it was great to raise a glass (or eleven) with Bourdain and co., and the driver of the Town Car hired by the Travel Channel was kind enough to drop me off at my next destination (a ventriloquists convention in Atlantic City, if you must know.)

So Tony, if you need a wingman the next time you eat your way through Spain, gimme a holler and I'm on a plane. I mean it. No, seriously, call me. Are you calling yet?

"You can't shoot THAT!" says our government minder.

"What?" I ask, through my phone.

With a dirty-toothed smile, "That, um, food cart. There are many places that are much nicer. Wouldn't you rather shoot there?"

"Where?" I ask with a pleasant, but deeply evil smile on my face, knowing this game like the back of my hand.

"Um" the minder sputters "anywhere but HERE. I was told..."

My mind starts wandering to other essentials as I look at the obviously fearful look on my poor, ABNR-virgin, cameraman's face. I squint, look bored, half smile and reassuredly, but ever-so-slightly, nod. Wink to Tracey. Street scene on. Ba-bang.

"You know ___________, I need to go to the toilet. Can you help me?" I ask earnestly while doing the "little-boy-leg-shifting-pee-pee-dance."

"Yes, right this way. I can help you," he says with the authority of a bureaucrat who actually means what he is saying, but doesn't get to say it very often.

We're off. Down an alley. Thru a gate. Large door. Man in uniform. Arabic spoken. Nods all around. Down a hall. Thru another door. Smell of excrement. Bingo. Government minder waits outside.

Now remember, I still have a phone stuck to my face. It's been there for days...l.i.t.e.r.a.l.l.y. Thank god for international cells. Tracey and I came to Egypt 3 days early to scout. Crew coming in on different days from different locations. Potential logistical hell. The pollution here makes Athens or Mexico City feel like clean oases of Swiss modernity. The noise of Cairo is literally as loud as "being 10 feet from a freight train." I read that somewhere. No joke. Government bureaucrat hell. Permits. You have them, don't worry. Well, you might have them by next week. "Next week" I yell. "We're shooting tomorrow." Well, you can shoot the pyramids. Ummm, actually, no you can't shoot the pyramids. "Forget the pyramids, can we shoot in the streets of Cairo?" You can't shoot ANYthing on the street. We know of some nice restaurants you would LOVE to shoot in, though. The Hilton has a great "Middle Eastern-style" restaurant with dancing and traditional music. Very clean. Tourists go there. You'll feel safe. You will LOVE it! Ahhhhhhhhh!

So I'm on the phone with the network, with Tony, with our Executive Producers, with the Egyptian government, with the airline, with customs officers, with the US government, with my mom ("help!"). I keep switching calls to our "fixers" when the Arabic becomes, well, irreplaceable with English. But I have to transfer the call. I can't hand mine over ... cause it's stuck to my F***ING face!

Thank god our fixers have phones. So from within the stall, I text, "SHOOT the scene. Shoot the scene!" And then, I take my time. I pretend I'm going #2, which requires more time in a world without toilet seats or toilet paper.

Just another day on ABNR ...

It is easy to recall the day I learned that I would be one of the segment producers for "No Reservations, "I was ecstatic. What an amazing adventure! My imagination ran wild with the places we would travel, the people we'd meet, and the food ... Oh crap, the food. What was I going to do? How could I tell Anthony Bourdain, vegetarian loather, that his new segment producer had never eaten pork or any sort of red meat in her entire life? My conclusion, I couldn't. My food flaw was a serious offense and would have to be kept top-secret for three meals a day.

When I say I've never eaten red meat or pork, I mean never. From birth I have been mostly vegetarian - a little chicken here, a little fish there. My parents didn't cook meat so we didn't eat it. It was a challenging thing to hide, especially from someone like Tony. Throughout the Romania and Hawaii episodes I employed a number of maneuvers harkening back to childhood and my grandparents disdain for my eating habits. There was the chewing-and-spitting-sausage-into-the-napkin trick, the careful switching-the-plates-of-Spam, and even the under-the-table-ham-hand-off.

My main concern is not offending my host, which is why my failsafe has always been the stuff-yourself-silly-with-something. We had been prepping for our Spain show for about 6 weeks and we had a kick-ass show on our hands. Everything was perfect ... the locations, the menus, the chefs, the sidekicks, it was all there. "Spain," as Tony would say, "is triple X on the food porn." We scheduled nothing else, just loads of luscious meat. Meat, meat, meat and more meat. Granted, I may have never tasted half of what we researched, but I knew, theoretically, its importance to those carnivorous taste buds.

I fantasized how I would tell him. A scene from "Who's the Boss" where Tony is, well, Tony and I am Samantha. We would have just wrapped for the day, the crew scoffing down leftover plates of ham iberico. He notices that I haven't partaken of these piglet pieces of perfection. I look guiltily out from under my bangs. He gives me that Danza frown, "Samantaaaaa" and we burst into laughter, Tony wondering how a vegetarian could have infiltrated the ranks. I shrug smiling and eat a carrot stick. Cue the hugs and rolling credits.

Bourdain's hatred of vegetarians is no secret. I had read the interviews, seen the episodes and even heard it from the man himself. Maybe he would dress me in antlers and bow-hunt me in the next episode. Or worse, tie me to a chair in some dark, abandoned warehouse, with various cuts of meat laid out like the tools of a torture mastermind. Sausages, prosciuttos, and sirloins. Would he break me and use me as an example? String-up a meat-stuffed scarecrow to ward off future vegetarian segment producers?

It was time to get on that plane to Barcelona. I was going to come clean once and for all, no matter what the repercussions. As anticipated, I was surrounded by plate after plate of cured meat and not a vegetable in sight. Tables of ham iberico stretching like an endless pink fleshy super-highway. Tony, the crew and our hosts feasted on the bounty before them. Like admitting to an affair on Valentine's Day this was not the time for confessions. So I activated the failsafe. In this case it was sardines. I went through more fish than the feed truck at Seaworld. I ate them until I was safely out of ham's way. And that is how it went for 10 days in beautiful Spain. But this story isn't over, just to-be-continued. There will be other trips without fish or any other safety net I have used thus far. And as most of you can predict, it will now become mission number one to convert me. I guess it's all on the table now.

"Did you have to wear the black thing?"

Just got back from my first "No Reservations" road trip, and the number one question from friends, family and co-workers isn't about the food, the shoot, or how it was to work with Tony. It's about what I had to wear.
Of course, the question is less about the garment, than how far I had to go to conform. It's about what the garment represents, or at least what everyone thinks it represents. It's about what it was like to be a woman working in Saudi Arabia.

I'm a producer. That means I'm ultimately responsible for everything that happens on a shoot: directing, story, logistics, details, feeding, transporting, lodging, gear, crew happiness, you name it. Big job, but I don't do it alone. My right arm is known as a Segment Producer, and is an unbelievably crucial member of the team. This position was also held by a woman, Nari Kye. Of course the winner of the contest, ultimately responsible for making it all happen, was Danya Alhamrani, yet another woman.

And yes, we all wore the black thing. It's called an abbaya, and it's basically a long-sleeved, floor-length dress that you pull over your head, and wear over your clothes. We also covered our hair with matching black scarves, so three women in abbayas produced an episode of "Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations" in Saudi Arabia. Oh, but I'm leaving out someone else who moved mountains making this episode: Dania Nassief, yep, another woman.

How did a group of women pull off a TV show in a country where women can't drive, can't vote, and really aren't supposed to hang out with non-related males? Well, they have a saying in Danya's hometown, "Jeddah is different." And for the record, so is she.

When we stepped off the plane after a brutally long flight from New York, I had no idea what to expect. Would Nari and I be shunned, ignored, treated like a lesser by the men we'd come in contact with? Having spent the last 15 years working as a woman in a male-dominated industry, I didn't really worry about it, since I've been dealing with that crap for years. That said, I've never had to do it in a country where the separation of the sexes was so strictly enforced by both law and culture.

One of the first and most obvious signs of that division was the abbaya. You can't help but notice, since literally every woman is wearing one. Most men wear a thobe, which is a long white cotton tunic, worn over white pants. So it's women in black, men in white. Needless to say, the contrast is striking. After all, what could be more "black and white" than black and white?

But that wasn't the only sign. In fact, there were literally signs, signs denoting separate male and female entrances for mosques, the "single" section (for men only) and a "family" section (for men and women) at many restaurants. No women allowed in the hotel pool. At the hotel restaurant, Nari and I were seated behind a screen, which Nari called it our "pen", separating us from male diners. I found myself wondering, "If even the breakfast buffet is segregated, how are we going to make this work?"

Nari and I had arrived ahead of the crew, to scout, bring over the equipment, and take care of last minute details. For about a week, we worked with Danya and Dania (names pronounced the same) taking care of the gazillion details that go into making a TV show. It took about 15 minutes in their company to realize that the separation of the sexes may dictate seating arrangements in certain restaurants, but it was not going to get in the way of making this show. Although the law may prevent the Danyas from literally taking the driver's seat, it did not prevent them from taking charge. Together they were an abbaya-clad dynamic duo of problem-solving, refusing to take no as an answer from anyone, male or female, that got in the way - my kind of ladies.

We also worked with a lot of local men: drivers, government officials and a "fixer" helping us out. Nearly every place we shot was male-owned, operated and staffed, and a whole host of male characters lent a hand along the way. And you know how all of them responded to women in charge? Great. Actually, they were a lot more than great. They were about the most warm, wonderful, welcoming group of people that you could possibly imagine. That bunch, with Danya at its center, was an extraordinary collection of people.

Now, before you think I drank the Kool-Aid, there was also plenty of evidence that things aren't exactly free and equal. Case in point: Danya and Dania operate Saudi Arabia's first female-owned production company granted permission to work without a male present. The first. And it took them over five years of fighting the system to get that paperwork in place. So they're not the norm, they're trailblazers.

And of course, Danya is no ordinary woman. She's pretty much the definition of extraordinary, and absolutely one of the strongest women I've ever met. Having grown up between Jeddah and North Dakota, she's got a pretty unique perspective on the similarities and differences between our cultures. There are an incredible number of things that I learned from her on this journey, including some unexpected perspective on the practice of wearing abbaya.

I should probably mention that I hate the idea of anyone telling me what to wear. I shun uniforms and conformity, they completely freak me out. So you can imagine how surprised I was to find that I didn't really mind wearing an abbaya. Ok, forget all the symbolic meaning for a second. For starters, it's practical. You never have to think about what you're wearing. You can toss it over a bikini or your jammies, and head out the door. And yes, I did both.

It's also the best way to blend in that you can imagine. Working on the show, the last thing that you want to do is call attention to yourself, since all eyes belong on Tony and Danya. Producers are there to get the show made, and need to find a way of making that happen, while blending into the woodwork. I can't imagine a better way of doing that than wearing an abbaya. Accidentally stumble into a shot? No problem. Instead of out-of-place Western eyesore, I look like a local.

Of course it goes without saying that you also want to respect all the local laws, customs, and tradition and in that sense, no problem. Abbaya-me.

But besides all that, I began to realize how the abbaya affects the way you communicate with women, how it shifts your focus. Without all the visual cues that wardrobe, hair, or even subtleties of gesture provide to help you "see" someone, you begin to read them in a different way. The art of conversation and eye contact gain more weight, because that's all you've got. The face, where attention really belongs in the first place, is where it stays. It forces you to work harder to see someone, and to pay deeper attention to the words coming out of their mouth. Certainly the most important abbaya-related thought I had had during the trip. Ironic that I didn't even notice all this was happening, till the first time I saw Danya take off her abbaya.

Although everyone wears an abbaya in public, it comes off at home. When you are hanging out with friends or family, no abbaya necessary. Underneath, many women dress just like they do in New York: skirts, heels, low cut tops, you name it. One particularly scorching day, after Danya, Nari and I had spent hours scouting locations in the desert sun, we had a meeting in my hotel room. The second the door shut behind us, we tossed our sweat-drenched abbayas and head-scarves to the floor. Danya was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. For the first time, I could see her hair, her arms, her legs. I noticed immediately how different this felt. In some ways, it was like I was seeing her for the first time. Like a layer that was new and more intimate had been revealed. I realized in that moment that that was likely the point of the abbaya, or at least part of it. It's saving that kind of intimacy for those that are close to you, your friends and family, who have earned the privilege. For the first time, I saw that the abbaya may have a role in protecting women, and not as something simply designed to control them.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating for the abbaya. I don't want to see them parading down the runways, in a window on 5th Avenue, or on the sale rack over at Old Navy. I don't want to see rules about women's or men's clothing anywhere of any sort. I can't even get behind the idea of Black Tie. And honestly, in terms of focusing communication, none of us should require an abbaya to make that happen. Still, having that simple "abbaya insight" felt like an incredibly important step toward understanding Danya's culture. And isn't that exactly what travel is all about? Taking a walk in someone else's shoes, or under their abbaya, and trying to find a way of seeing things from their perspective.

I've been back in New York for about a week now. Last night as I walked home, I was thinking about how much I missed Danya, her incredible laugh, and the warmth and hospitality of her friends and family. The spell was broken when a stranger approached me, offering a graphic description of something he'd like to do involving his face and my backside. For a second, I couldn't help but miss my abbaya.

When filming a prison interview, the one thing you don't do is keep a shot tape in the camera, in case they ask you to hand it over. When you're producing a home makeover show, the one thing you don't do is become the middleman between a homeowner and a contractor, because you effectively become the contractor. When directing No Reservations, the one thing you don't do is tell Tony what to say because, well, you just don't.

I've worked with a few different hosts and a lot of times, you just feed 'em lines. It's not disingenuous or manipulative. When you do, you have no choice.
Here's the math: say you have a shoot day with two locations. Once you include travel, lighting, set up and breaks, a 10-hour crew day is more like 4, so two hours filming per location. A scene is broken up into different beats. In No Reservations, a scene might include establishers, walk & talk, meal prep, meal and conversation, say 20 minutes per beat. In a travelogue show like No Reservations, where Tony's voiced-over thoughts thread the whole show, 90% of what you need to film is process or non-sync -- basically, people not talking. That said, on a hosted show, you absolutely need the host talking a little bit to camera, directly to the viewer. So tallying it up, sometimes you have a couple minutes or less to get that done. In those stressful moments, sometimes you just have to tell someone exactly what to say.

Although the same math applies to Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, the same rule does not apply to Anthony Bourdain. There could be some hostage strapped to a bomb that can only be diffused by Tony looking at a camera and saying what town he's in and why he's there, you still don't tell him what to say.

So what do you do?

Laos Day 4, Scene 3, Strategy 1: You ask really, really nicely. Tony and guest are riding on elephants through the forest. In the one moment the elephants are next to each other, still and all cameras are perfectly lined up, I tell Tony 'hey, this would be a great time to ask a question.' I think the only conversation that will make the final cut is Tony telling me that there is a reason in those old Westerns, they don't film people talking while on horses.

Laos Day 4, Scene 1, Strategy 2: You kindly suggest. I'm filming Tony looking at a ricefield where 13 live bombs from the Vietnam War have been found and wired to explode. Before they detonate, I suggest to Tony that after the bombs go off, it would be a great moment to open the show. What followed was 13 bombs going off and then a deafening silence.

Laos Day 3, Scene 2, Strategy 3: You find a workaround. Tony is sitting around a huge spread with a group of villagers. After 10 minutes of silent eating, there is absolutely no conversation. I make eye contact with the camera guys and raise one finger which tells them to go in for tight singles. Then I tell the translator to call over to one of the guests and ask him to ask Tony a specific question (in Laoso so Tony won't be annoyed.) After a minute, the guest looks up and asks with total sincerity, "Tony, why did you want to come to Laos?" What follows is an amazingly heartfelt and surprising response that made the scene one of my favorites.

Laos Last Day, Scene 1, Strategy 4: You just let him talk when he wants to talk. By the last morning, I had absolutely no footage of Tony talking to camera and I was resigned to just make it work when I got back. We all break off to each film the countryside as dawn lifts. Although he's on a break, Tony decides to follow Zach, one of the camera guys, to some bridge.

Of course, I don't know this is happening until later that morning when Zach hands me a tape and insists I watch right there as he looks on. He never does this, so it must be good. In some cafe by the river, mopeds whirring behind me, I cue it up. I watch Tony crossing a narrow bamboo bridge through the morning fog, monks in bright orange robes passing by, lush, green rice fields in the distance. He sits down, looks right at the camera, and describes why this country is so hauntingly beautiful, so unforgettable -- putting in perfectly unscripted terms what the whole crew had been feeling all week.

Once and a while someone on one of these message boards makes a comment
to the effect of "I wish I had your job" or "You have my dream job" usually
directed at one of the 'No Reservations' producers.

I recently had the opportunity to observe producer/director Paul Cabana and
segment producer Rennik Soholt "living the dream" as it were and it was
an interesting reality check.

I met the whole crew when they arrived at our hotel in Tokyo with the intention of taping their arrival. They were coming off of a week in Laos and looked it. In fact, they looked so sick, tired and out of it I actually took pity on them and turned off my camera.

Rule #1 to the dream; you work sick, you work tired and then you start the next show with one days "rest."

Incidentally, Rule #1 doesn't apply to Tony. He had a press conference an hour after he arrived; or Rennik. Segment producers work with our in-country "fixers" to make sure that we really have something to shoot so that there's a show to edit later. Segment producers quickly learn that about half of whatever's been "confirmed" over the phone has changed, disappeared, been misrepresented or otherwise come unglued by the time we've arrived.

Our Japan fixer Michiko is as good as it gets and yet she and Rennik were either in conference or on the phone constantly during the trip.

Other things the segment producer does;
a) Log the 75 hours of tape shot in Laos so that they can be loaded
as soon as we get back.
b) Act as camera assist on the shoots. Rennik knows whose wide angle lens
is whose, which batteries go where and keeps the gear from disappearing.
c) Supply food and drugs. Yes, drugs. Advil, Aleve, Tylenol, Excedrin,
a dozen other pain killers and most importantly Imodium (don't leave home without it, seriously).

So maybe you'd like to direct. That must have been Paul's dream once. To show up at a location you've never seen, plot out a two camera shoot and try to establish a story line consistent with the rest of the show in
about 20 minutes. That and get enough B roll footage and establishing
shots, much of which he shoots himself as our third camera.

Sleep, the night before leaving for a shoot, is a lost battle. Every possible disaster scenario goes around and around in my head over and over again. Since this was my first official Associate Producer gig, I needed everything to go perfectly. I had to prove to Tony, Chris and rest of the crew I was a valuable asset. Releases, scenes, chefs, costs then the next thing I know, the alarm goes off and the day has come: shoot day 1.
Sleep during the week varies drastically. The first night is the hardest. The whole shoot is still ahead and I'm in a new space far away from home albeit a luxurious and hip hotel. And already on day 2, I can tell the Vancouver show is going to be different and special. The city and its inhabitants are bursting with character. Even raining couldn't get us down. Tojo, EA Sports, Uwe Boll, and Whistler/Blackcomb â€" one great shoot after another! And getting to explore a fun new place with Tony is pretty much the best job. I sleep every night looking forward to another day of exploring this amazing city.

Sleep, the final day of the shoot, is the best sleep ever. After celebrating with Tony, the crew, three of Vancouver's finest chefs, and many new friends we picked up along the way, I hit that pillow with great relief, satisfaction and a big, big (heavily intoxicated) smile on my face.