It's a foggy morning in the near-perfect village situated by the sea in central Vietnam known as Hoi An. I am standing in a rice paddy and my New Balance sneakers are covered in brown clay from the saturated ground. Staring off into the distance, I notice Todd shooting b-roll.

My socks are wet, but I don't notice because of the view - it is one of complete calm, with green growth, grey water and paddies stretching out for what seems like miles in each direction ...an open playing field of agriculture at its most base. In my view, there are three women in conical hats slowly pulling at the stalks with the country's most prevalent foodstuff at their ends - it is a delicate process, compounded to almost an art as the women's hands move with uncanny deftness, repeating the same process that most likely has been done by them for many years.

In the center of an adjacent paddy there is a water buffalo pulling a plow with a farmer on its back. The beast is looking downright joyous, dragging its heavy load behind it, taking time to lower its snout into the gray water below and then splashing to the left and right while plodding down a line of rice grass. I am nearly mesmerized by this, as the massive animal reaches the end of a line of green, it turns completely around and begins the process on another endless string of rice plants.

I am surrounded by tradition - The tradition of the rice pickers in the field, the tradition of the farmer riding his plow and the tradition of the buffalo doing its daily walk. This is all common ground for them ...I feel almost as if I am invading their space.

I turn to Todd, who has his face buried in the sunshade of the viewfinder, most likely in a shooter's paradise of amazing footage to be had all around him. I ask, "Did you get that water buffalo?"

He looks up from his viewfinder, "Yes ...a few different sizes. You see anything else that we should get out here?"

I do a 360-degree scan of the area, and my eyes set on another, yet another water buffalo moving slowly up the narrow shelf of clay. Todd and I chose to wander out, on to shoot the paddies. The strip we are standing on is about 3 feet wide and stands nearly a foot above the flooded plane where the rice is planted.

After a quick calculation, it becomes very clear that either Todd or I, or the approaching water buffalo, is going to have to get off this shelf and into the half submerged paddies for this to work out. And she is not looking like she will be getting out of our way - I feel like I am playing chicken with a massive, grayish-black, horned, and motivated beast ...but in super slow motion.

I then notice the two calves behind her.

Now this is interesting. A mom and two calves, walking towards Todd and I, with nowhere to go but through or around us. It is basic knowledge that in the wild (or elsewhere) it is never a good idea to upset a mother when her offspring are nearby - it is just bad business, and even the most docile and cute animals tend to get nasty when you mess with the kids. Naturally that rule is compounded when the mother in question has horns spanning nearly 6 feet, and the neck muscles are capable of tossing my 190-pound frame into the air like a wet tissue wearing a backpack.

I tell Todd, "Well, here is another one of them heading right for us. And she's got her kids with her."

Todd, looks up, looks at me and then starts filming our approaching guests. She is not paying any attention to us, and walks up the narrow stretch of land toward our position. Twenty-five feet ...20 ...15 ...10 ... and then, the mother heads off the clay shelf into the paddies to our left, and the calves branch off to paddies on our right.

Now Todd and I are standing right between a mother and her children.

Yikes.

At that moment she notices us - and her body language shifts immediately from the trundling mass of a docile farm animal to a different sort altogether. She stands upright and completely still, looks directly at me and starts breathing in a not-so-friendly fashion. It sounds like half-stifled coughs, but with a lung capacity of, well, a buffalo, behind the brays. Her eyes do not look kind, to say the least.

I hear Todd say, "I don't think she likes you.

"I get that feeling too."

I pull my camera out of my pocket and start firing off some still photos, "Hey Todd, just so you know, I am documenting this in case we both get gored by a water buffalo. Hopefully they will find the camera."

I realize that this is not a funny comment and put the camera away. She is still breathing like a goddamn freight train and staring me right in the eye.

"Not sure what the protocol is for handling this sort of thing. Stand still and hope for the best, huh?"

And as the last word falls out of my mouth, she forgets about me and starts giddily splashing away to rejoin her calves. Just like that.

I remember to breathe in ...and ask Todd, "Did you get that?"

Todd nods his head.

JA

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.

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

I have made thirty-something episodes with Anthony Bourdain. Needless to say, our crew has spent a lot of time over the last four years getting lost in the world together.

Mostly my producing job is to schedule a good show and to gently encourage Tony to see the brighter sides of really horrifically BAD situations....scenes gone wrong...situations you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy-- like the, "Birth of the Nacho" scene, in the Mexico show (lets just say it involved canned olives, some sort of gelatinous Cheese Whiz and eventually a nacho related injury); and on a darker note, being in the wrong place at the wrong time...episodes like Beirut...

After five seasons of ABNR I've learned to TRY and avoid mistakes as such. And if there is one type of show I know I can count on, it's an ITALY show. I can always be sure, if we are going ANYWHERE IN ITALY, and eating ANYTHING ITALIAN, Tony is going to be excited about it.

In fact we could be holed up at an Autogrill gas station 1,000 miles from a decent hotel and Tony would still have a constant flow of golden sound bites flowing from his mouth. The entire crew could be deep in the collective throes of a zombie-like epileptic seizure and Tony would still make a damn good show out of it. He'd make the BEST show out of it. In post he'd say..."Ok, guys, it's not the show we set out to make, but throw in a little Dario Argento music and go in close on the Tagliatelle!"

So, when the mother ship calls and says, "fly to VENICE"....I'm feeling like the luckiest producer on Earth.

For the Venice show Tony had instructed the crew to catch up on a few of the classics, like, Don't Look Now and The Comfort of Strangers, films which evoke an unseen side of Venice, a darker side. As a producer, it's always a blast to emulate the narrative or visual style of a director or artistic work. So, I thought "great ...let's rent that Steadicam this time! Get out those 12k lights! I need dollies, cranes, generators, trailers, CRAFT SERVICE for chrissakes! LET'S MAKE A FILM!" And then there is reality. The reality of making art from what we have, which isn't much, but is actually quite a lot.

It's midnight, we've been shooting for 12 hours, Tony had two large meals today and now I've got to inspire the crew to figure out how we can shoot a bunch of night stuff with two flashlights, a luggage cart, and a tired host. Plus, as usual, I've storyboarded 15 shots and I have MAYBE 1 hour to pull this off. Cart assembled, Zach hops on with the camera, Nari, who equals half the size of the luggage cart, volunteers her Sherpa skills and Todd rigs lights to historic Palazzos with masking tape. For the next 45 minutes we race through the eerie back alleys of Venice like a student film on speed.

The footage turns out beautiful. It's always in back alleys, somewhere lost in the universe, where you realize how wonderful it is to collaborate with a great team.

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?

He moved through the office to another impromptu meeting with other producers and editors. They were discussing the Labor Day show, a barbecue-tastic, beef-topia in Connecticut the next day. Oh, how I wished to be there among the smells, the pool, the friendly sun. I secretly imagined a petting zoo, rounds of doing the Hokey-Pokey, a performance by the Cramps, and trust falls. And rainbows, made of cake.

As I approached Tom to tell him how much I'd enjoyed my sandwich, I overheard Tony. "We need a Ukulele, and Hawaiian Shirts. Say Adam, you're about the coolest guy ever, do you possess these items?"

Well, it was something like that. It came up that I play the uke (I play depression era folk music) and that I have a small collection of genuine, 70's polyester Hawaiian shirts (I went to high school on Maui). And just like my ex-best friend's honeymoon, I'd snuck my ass onto another trip.

You know that last scene in Boogie Nights, when the characters have gone through hell or worse and they're all back together, a big family, forgetting the challenges and digging the unity at the pool with the grill flaming? Well, replace the smut with a lot of equally talented people organizing over a dozen miniature businesses a year (every episode really is a little company). This shoot was a celebration of all those fully mind-destroying, relatively Olympian feats that shows can turn often out to be (bear in mind that Big-Tony B is on ALL of them). It all works because everybody is good at what they do and everybody loves it. Well, one guy didn't like it. Tony made us eat him in a lemon-wine sauce ...

We all helped with food, setting up, holding reflectors, building up mics and jumping in the bouncy castle. I think Nari was in charge of drinking. I went to the workshop to saw and hammer some tracking targets together for a retrospective shot for the "Tony's many eccentric acquaintances" segment. Then we grilled. After Tony cooked about infinity-pounds of meat for an hour, he deserved a damn break. Naturally, he turned to the nearest person and handed me the spatula (I was closer than the table). Of course, though, he was a gent. I learned that when the burger puffs a little, it's done. Also, I learned that I come from a family that slightly overcooks food. And at the very, very end, I learned you can give a man a burger or you can teach him to grill. That, my friends, is a trust fall worth two in the bush.

"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 ...

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.

Tony: I love you like a brother ... but after hearing you talk about the difficulty of our caving adventure in Jamaica, I needed to chime in here! I'm convinced you've become, as your British pals might say, a big girl's blouse.

You wrote that this was "the hardest, most physically demanding, insanely foolhardy and irresponsible venture ever on NO RESERVATIONS". Really? I know your memory is somewhat selective, but can I remind you of such shoots as Malaysia, where we hauled ass through the jungles of Sarawak for 6 hours, trying to keep up with our 80-something-year-old, amazingly fit Iban guide? Or New Zealand, where we huffed and puffed up 45-degree-angle hills to hunt a 400-pound wild boar ... an angry boar that could have turned on any of us at a given moment, carving us into carpaccio?

The "steaming" jungle was a walk in the park compared to past endeavors. You're just annoyed that we had to dry-hump a log to cross the river. Though I give you credit ... you successfully (and gracefully, I might add) sauntered across that log on the return, pulling your best Mary Lou Retton impression. Yeah, we probably won't use that footage. Dry-humping the log is funnier.

For the record: I NEVER said there would be "hand rails and a gift shop". I'm pretty sure I even included this disclaimer in the production material, taken from the Jamaican Caves Organization website:
It must always be remembered that caving is inherently dangerous. Proper precautions can greatly reduce the likelihood of injury or death, but there is a definite risk involved and this cannot be forgotten.

No? I didn't include that? Oops. Sorry. Still ... the experience wasn't THAT bad, was it?

True, it was a bit of a challenge just getting in (and out) of that cave, via the vertical tree roots. And navigating down and around sharp, slippery boulders in the dark isn't something that any of us do every day. I especially give Todd, Zach and Paul a lot of credit ... navigating the difficult terrain with a camera in one hand wasn't easy. You forgot to mention the part where Paul dropped a new production camera in a puddle of bat urine.

Still ... the pride and enthusiasm of our guides from the Jamaican Caves Organization was contagious. I also appreciated that they brought along some very cute Peace Corps volunteers to help out (that really dishy one ... what was his name?) I loved every second of it. The post-caving pictures of our group says it all.

You should have saved your muddy clothes from this shoot. We could have auctioned them off, donating the money to charities for bat guano research.

Rainbows and unicorns forever, Diane

Hi. I'm Christopher Martinez, editor of some of your favorite No Reservations shows. And Sweden.

Yeah, Sweden. I'd appreciate you not sharing with me any further insights on the that show until after publication of my 3 volume critical analysis/after action report with the working title, "Sweden: An ABBA Joke Too Far".

Moving on...

For no particularly good reason I've been allowed to accompany the ABNR crew on the shoot for the upcoming Japan show which I'll start editing when we return. Actually Chris and Lydia are aware of my longstanding interest in Japan
though to be honest I may have failed to mention that it's primarily in the 10th century
Heian Period but hey, I'm here now and that's what's important.

Our first day of shooting brought us to the Budokan which, as an American, I of
course associate with a really old Cheap Trick record but which the Japanese
associate with serious cultural stuff like Sumo wrestling and Kendo.

We're here to do a segment with Kendo master Tadao Toda.

My work, in a few weeks, will be to make the above statement meaningful to you.

Kendo can be misunderstood as Japanese swordplay with bamboo practice swords.

This is akin to describing the sun as a big light bulb that doesn't work at night.

Tadao Toda will be harder to express.
Telling you that he's won the national championship 8 times won't do it.

Two things that won't be in the final edit might help.

Firstly. From the moment we got there and met him, everyone on the crew started
referring to him as "The Master". No one told us to. It was just closest you could get
to describing this "presence".
All of those martial arts movies are trying to fake what Tadao Toda actually is.

Secondly. Standing just outside the door to the dojo were a few officials of the
National Kendo Association. Guys who are around Kendo every day of the week.
You might expect them to be talking shop, on the phone or reading the paper.

No way.

You would swear that the world's biggest baseball fans were getting to watch Babe Ruth
take batting practice. Ninety minutes or pure pleasure watching the master show how it's done.

My work is cut out for me.

COMING UP!!! I'll try to write something about Tony and the crew and their zany hijinx on the road.

I am sitting in my office at Zero Point Zero trying to figure out exactly how we are going to get Queens of the Stone Age out to New York in the middle of their U.S. Tour when my phone rings. It is Chris, the Executive Producer of the show, and when he tells me where I am going on my next shoot, I nearly drop the phone out of my hand.

Chris says that Tony is going to New Orleans, and it is going to be a different kind of "No Reservations" I know it sounds strange that a statement like that could cause me enough shock to lose my grip on the handset of my office phone, but let me explainTurns out that I happened to be living in New Orleans as Hurricane Katrina was making its way towards land, and a few of my friends and I decided to have a hurricane party instead of doing what 95% of the population of the city chose to do (grab all they could and get the hell out) before the storm made landfall.

Needless to say, we spent quite some interesting days in the city during the days after Hurricane Katrina. We mostly passed the time by standing on the roof of our flooded house, and using a boat that we had "liberated" from a nearby backyard to cruise around the neighborhood. So now, after living in New Orleans, and after staying in town during the hurricane, I get to go back and shoot an episode of No Reservations there quite a coincidence, to say the least.

Speaking to Chris, ideas for possible restaurants and places to see are rapid firing through my head, "Ok I got some ideas, this is gonna be great." I then remember his earlier comment, "What makes this show different?" I ask. Chris says, "Tony wants to see how the city is recovering after Hurricane Katrina, most importantly, how the restaurants are coping with the storm and aftermath. The focus is on what Katrina did to the people and the industry."

I am speechless

Let me impress the gravity of that statement for all of you:

New Orleans is known all over the world for its culinary prowess. Hurricane Katrina is the worst natural disaster to hit the United States in modern times. And I spent a good deal of time walking around my flooded neighborhood in late August 2005 this is going to be interesting.

After a few weeks of prep I am getting off a plane with the rest of the crew at Louis Armstrong Airport, just outside of New Orleans proper, and am immediately assaulted by a very familiar blast of humidity accompanied by a feeling of homesickness. I forget how hard it is for me to come back now. So many memories left behind after that storm, so many changes as well. As for the shoot, it was a busy week and we covered a ton of ground.

While filming in New Orleans, a few things were for sure: The food in this town still kicks ass...period. The crew and Tony can still roll out of bed at the crack of dawn, shoot four locations, and then end up at a bar until almost 2AM and still get up for an early call the next day (multiple nights). And, most importantly, the city is on its way back, although changed forever. Everyone here has a Katrina story now, and in a town full of people who love to tell you a little bit about themselves, they all took some time to share with us some stories about that tragic time and the city they love. But if the stories we heard were quite different than what you would think…these people are not beaten down by what has happened, but focused, ready to keep pressing forward regardless of what has happened. They are looking to the future, to whatever it may hold. And these are the people we spent the week talking to and sharing meals with.

I won't go into details about what we did or who you will be seeing in this episode (though I bet you will recognize a face or two besides Tony's when you watch the show), but I will say this: As we called wrap and shut off the cameras, we were at a barbeque full of newfound friends that had shared their stories with us. On my plate was a mound of slow-cooked pig and homemade coleslaw, and as I dug my fork into it to gather a giant bite, I felt like we had done the city justice ... and for a brief moment, I felt like I was home again.

JA

Oh the Holiday Show--what an experience! I feel like it's been December since the beginning of August. Let me see, let me see. Memories. I remember Tony wearing a bee outfit at Stone Barns, which was perfect. But this will only be seen by our international audiences. It's definitely worth a look-see, if you can, though. Curling with Tony and Todd? PRICELESS. Todd is such a trouper. I'm starting to think he likes it when we take the camera out of his hand and hand him alcohol. When IS Toddles gonna have his own show, huh? Can you say, "spin off?" (But not like "Joey"...I mean, something good).I have been working with Tony now for close to 3 years and this was the first time I worked domestically. It was actually so refreshing to be able to shoot a day and then to lay down that same night in my own bed in New York. Usually it's day after day, hotel after hotel, bleary-eyed cup of coffee after intoxicating cup of local brew (or is it the other way around?). I don't know. Usually I don't know which way is up and we just go go go. This specific shoot was shot a day at a time--ok, we did spend a night in LA filming with Queens of the Stone Age in their recording studio/practice space. That was awesome! Get up before the sun. Jump on a plane. Fly across the country. Get car go directly to studio. Set up. Film rock and roll. Film more rock and roll. Drink excessively. Crash in LA hotel for a nap. Up at dawn. Fly back across the country. Fun as hell, but made my head spin. I'm originally from LA, but didn't see anyone. Work work work. And then there was the "house shoot" which was 2 days in a row. Fun times in a hotel on the side of a freeway somewhere NOT in New York City. Those were two grueling days, but, like, sooooooo fun (I told you I was from LA). QOTSA were amazing! Can I repeat myself? Queens of the Stone Age were absolutely amazing!! They were all so professional, extremely creative and immensely patient. Josh, Troy, Joey, Michael, Dean: thank you so much! They CAME with those sweaters. We didn't make them wear shit. Talk about team players! And when they were jamming outside the house...my god. First off, we threw Jingle Bells and Deck the Halls at them. Sung, done, no problem, fun. They even let us sprinkle fake snow in their hair! Then came the improvisation. Basically, each ACT of our show has a theme. So I would just give them the theme, give them a couple of adjectives, adverbs, lines that I was looking for, etc. Bam! They'd make up an absolutely hilarious song on the spot. It was amazing to witness. I know y'all think I'm just kissing their ass and I would be lying if I didn't say that I was definitely a fan before we shot with them. We ALL are! But they really were the most professional, fun and into-it rock stars I have ever worked with. Seriously. I truly hope that I get the opportunity to work with them again. Hold on, I can feel it...we WILL! Happy F*#king Holidays!