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.

To paraphrase a well-known chef, author and TV personality, making television is a lot like making sausage. Some seemingly strange and terrible things happen in the process, but the end result is usually very satisfying. So to follow this analogy through, if making TV is like making sausage then, I suppose editing would be like the part where the various bits are stuffed into the intestinal casing. Thankfully, this is all just metaphorical; I've yet to actually use an intestinal casing in any project. Anyway, the point is-- editing a very satisfying job (this show especially so). The amount of creative input you're afforded, the opportunity to shape something from a rough outline & raw footage to a finished product is great, and I'm lucky to have this for a career. But at the end of the day, who the hell knows what an editor really does? I've been working in this field for a few years now, and it's still not a simple question for me to answer ...On the occasion when I meet someone new at a party or other social function, or whenever I'm around extended family and the subject of my involvement with No Reservations comes up, it is typically met with some enthusiasm, if not outright excitement. Even people who have only a passing knowledge of the show will know about "that chef guy who ate the live cobra heart," or "oh yeah, the guy who ate the pig anus." Typically the first question will be, "Wow, do you get to go to all those exotic locations with Tony?"

Well . . .no.

I get to watch all the crazy stuff he does and help whittle it all down from fifty hours to forty-five minutes. This explanation usually elicits something in the neighborhood of: "Hmmm. . ." or "Oh. . ." or occasionally I get a "Really. . ." Now, it's true, I don't get to experience the exciting exploits of the ABNR crew… the smorgasboard of exotic foods ...the sublime beauty of a sunset on Waimea ... a taste of the local hooch ... but that's okay, because there's something else I don't get to do -- worry.

I work in a comfortable, safe, air-conditioned production space in downtown Manhattan. The biggest peril I face on any given day is whether I will make it to the office before the complimentary bagels and fruit are gone. I can work comfortable in the knowledge that I will never have to swim in river fluke infested waters. I will never have to drink fermented beverages of dubious origins. I'll never come in contact with DefCon 1 level gastrointestinal parasites; I'll never be expected to eat anything I might want to have as a pet. Nor will I be obliged to load up on mystery meat, just-removed genitals, dirt, feces, etc. There's no worry of vomiting on camera while squid fishing in rough seas. No worry of hitting that one village where the Avian Swine Ebola outbreak just started. No chance that I'll fall from a helicopter that's flying twenty feet above a molten lava field. My job is light on the adventure and sex appeal, but heavy on the free coffee. I got no complaints.

Actually, that's not entirely true. Like all editors, I've got a shitload of complaints. If you've ever spent any prolonged amount of time with an editor than you know that complaining is as close as most will get to a contact sport. It is woven into the spirals of an editors DNA.

"The edit room's too hot." "The edit room's too cold." "This editing system is too old." "This editing system is too new." "I've got how many weeks to cut this episode?" "The network wants to take out what?! That's the best part of the show!" "What do you mean when you say, 'more midgets'?" And on, and on, and on. In the process of editing it's often necessary to have to play and replay a single section of an edit multiple times to make sure that the picture, or sound mix, or music cue is working just as you want it to. I can't count the number of times that I've been working next door to someone who's cutting a show and they have their playback speakers set at "Who Concert" decibel levels. And it's inevitably a truly horrendous show, something along the lines of a Celine Dion world tour video, a show about monster trucks, or a Girls Gone Wild Director's Cut DVD. And did I mention the lack of exposure to sunlight?

Even if you're lucky enough to work in an edit room with a window, it's typically covered so as to avoid any glare on the monitor. To help illustrate just how little natural light editors see on a daily basis I've compiled a short list of people who average more hours of exposure to sunlight per day than editors.

People Who Average More Daily Exposure to Sunlight Than Editors:

1. Prisoners in solitary confinement

2. People living above the Arctic Circle from September through December

3. Anthracite miners

4. Children who have fallen down wells

5. Subway construction workers

6. Scientists studying bush babies

7. Missile silo technicians

8. Russian Naval submarine crews

9. Naked mole rats

10. Vampires

This is merely a small sampling, but you get the idea.

Despite the lack of natural light, despite the sedentary nature of the job, despite the fact that you can only vicariously enjoy all of the amazing places that Tony visits, it's still a great gig. Editing is, in many ways, like writing. You have the chance to craft the episode in the edit room and nothing is more satisfying than taking the scene that was never meant to be or the one that didn't quite turn out the way everyone thought it was going to and turning it into what our host likes to refer to as "video gold."

It's also a collaborative art, you, the producer, the executive producers and of course, Tony help to turn a handful of separate scenes into a journey that hopefully informs as well as entertains.

I recently finished work on the Hawaii episode, which will be airing on March 3rd (10 p.m. e/p). It came out great. Our camera crews shot some truly remarkable stuff and Tony had a great time. Anyone reading this will undoubtedly be pulling up the Hawaiian Airlines website as soon as the show ends. So, enjoy!

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to the kitchen and snag that last sesame bagel before returning to the edit bunker. More quality television awaits!

We set out to explore Hawaii's central myths - Tiki bars, luaus, Spam, the Vulcan Goddess, and, of course, big wave riding. And when I say "big wave" I mean the 30 foot vertical wall that boys from Palm Beach to Palm Springs gaze up at from their bunk beds before going to sleep at night. After all, this is the Bourdain Show, the man's eaten a wart hog's ass - it has to be spectacular.
Back in NY I had pitched the idea of pairing Tony up with legendary Darrick "Double D" Doerner, Laird (the God of surf) Hamilton's right hand tow-in man. My executive producer was initially excited but as we got closer to the shoot, hidden expenses started to circle the sequence like sharks drawn to a bleeding rookie. I think the boss' last words to me were "fine, do it, but bring me back Riding Giants." No problem.

Surfer's are not production types. They don't synch their iBooks to their Blackberries - they sleep in VW's and rub their equipment in something called Sex Wax. Needless to say, nailing down Darrick and his cohorts is slippery business. We would call, wait, get cryptic messages about the sea. We were getting the impression that the size of the surf might not be what we were hoping for, so, on the day Zach (trusty camera man) and I decide to pre-scout the North Shore and let Tony catch some extra Z's. Keeping Tony happy is every producer's PFD (personal flotation device).

On the way to the infamous Haleiwa Harbor - home to crankster gangsters (meth dealers) and other assorted ornery locals - I finally get the elusive Double D on the phone. His few words to me are "meet me in the parking lot, I'll be in a hood." This is gonna be neato. When we get there a lone figure is set against the surf, back to us, staring not at tsunamis, but something more akin to a punch bowl - something you'd loose your toddler in were he equipped with the appropriate floaties. Darrick actually turns out to be a very cool guy, the consummate soul surfer who doesn't so much answer questions as respond with greater philosophical queries, like "today, nobody owns the ocean, but who will the ocean own today?" Deep and foreboding.

We quickly hatch a plan to send Zach out on the jet ski so that we can determine if he's even capable of holding a shot while bouncing around on the back of one of these things. So while Zach and Double D zip around on the giant puddle, I pace the shore trying to decide whether or not to postpone the shoot. On the one hand, there are no waves and my boss' parting words are still ringing in my ears. On the other hand, I've already spent one day's steep set of fees just to get Double D and crew out in the slop with their neon crotch rockets. I'm really in the production trenches now boy.

Finally, the prospect of slogging Tony through traffic to present him with the lagoon of love I'm looking at, scares me more than my mounting budget and I decide to call base camp and tell them to reschedule for Monday. Meanwhile, Double D and Zach come puttering back - Zach looks like he just saw the Titanic sink, shaking his head slowly, a mix of fear and apology. You see, way back in the early planning days of this debacle Zach had insisted that we didn't need a special surf videographer, that having braved so many inhospitable climates with Tony before, he was the man for the job. Shoulders slumped, wet, a shadow of his former self, he was now resolute about our need for a specialist. I had to agree, if he couldn't hack it in the kiddy pool how would he do in the real surf I was banking on for Monday. Double D informed us that this meant we had to contact the renowned Don King - ocean shooter non pareil. I pictured the fat boxing promoter in a skintight wetsuit with his shock of white hair whipping around in the spray. Apparently, it wasn't the same guy - but he was going to charge the equivalent of a championship purse ... Cha- ching. This segment's gonna rock.

When Zach and I get back to Honolulu, dejected and tired, we find out that Tony has found a local and eccentric take on the hotdog (apparently an obsessive quest for him), and not only that, he's directed his own scene revolving around this meat tube that gets mechanically shot into a closed cylindrical bun. Yes, apparently he couldn't stand for the lag in productivity our excursion had caused and roused his beloved cameraman "Toddles" out of bed to shoot his own segment and in effect pirate my show (if the captain of a ship can be mutinous)... I wont spoil what happened Monday because you can see for yourself when the episode airs. I will, however tell you that Double D sent us off with a warm smile and the ancient surf dictum "the sea is in charge..." I could adapt that in a number of ways to apply to my line of work but I think in this case it'll have to be "how much does the sea charge?"

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.

DAY ONE

First time producer on Bourdain. looking forward to a cakewalk - what could go wrong? (1) Tony's car to the airport an hour late. (2) he's pissed. that surly intimidating TV persona? Not so much for TV. (3) Economy Plus should be renamed Business Minus. We're sitting four across like we're strapped on a roller coaster. The symbolism doesn't escape me. (4) I switch seats with Todd who claims he has a phobia of middle seats. Note to self: watch out for The Todd. (5) We arrive in the UK and still haven't confirmed our key scene, Marco Pierre White. (6) We're testing new cameras on this shoot and find some big glitches: the big one is the focus ring. It's way off. (9) Todd and Zach really annoyed. Not exactly a smooth start.DAY TWO

(10) We need B-roll that's not too obvious and perfect. Need something dark. But everything looks like Harry Potter hooked up with a rainbow. (11) In case we end the show in Scotland, I need Tony to do an episode wrap to camera. So my first question, ever, to Tony has to be 'what did you learn?' from a trip he hasn't had yet. Nice. (12) Still no word from Marco Pierre White. (13) I have to film Tony walking. He's walking twice his normal speed and Zach and I are literally running after him. (14) Tony hates walking shots. (15) I gather this from when he says 'I hate walking shots.' (16-26) We have to film about ten more walking shots.

DAY THREE - IAN RANKIN

(27) Tony's with his friend, Ian Rankin. We need to set up the bar, so we have them order a pint while they wait. (28) They need some beers for the scene. Let's order pints. (29) lunch break, so they get a pint. (30) chip shop not ready. Let's all get a pint. (31) B-roll break. get a pint. (32) need to wait for restaurant. pints. (33) wait for light. Pints. (34) Meal scene. They need beverages. Wine. (35) Finally. Time to film the key conversation. So why the f*%k are they slurring their words??

DAY FOUR - TRAIN SCENE

(35) Taking the train down to London. Zach realizes he left his passport in the hotel safe. We're here for a few more days. They'll just send it to us in London. No problem (36) great news from Marco. He's letting us film us hunt... but there's a catch. only one person/camera can go.

DAY FIVE - MEAT MARKET

(37) 3:30 am wake up call. (38) 4 a.m. at Smithfield market. I'm filming a butcher fondle a bucket of testicles. Which he may or may not be enjoying. Dreams really do come true. (39) 6 a.m. filming the butchers at the cock tavern and they're covered with blood. Wait a second. That's actually great. (40) they won't let us into the kitchen to film. They say come back at 4. (41) I come back at 4. Still no luck. Screw it. (42) I'm filming B-roll of a telephone booth but there's a guy in there who's convinced I am recording his conversation which we can assume at this point is not so much legal. A police officer comes up. Time for the 'ol standard tourist filming line. Because every tourist needs really good b-roll of a phone booth. (43) Send in The Zach for the hunting scene with Marco and Tony. Pray that they shoot a deer, have a great conversation and that everyone stays safe, in that order. (44) They come back, deer in tow. Tony shot his first deer and I find myself saying the phrase, "Todd, let's get some carcass porn" (45) Filming dinner scene. It's so dark we need 9 fat candles around the table. Now it looks like some sort of creepy Hannakuh.

DAY SIX - FERGUS AND PHIL

(46) Filming in St. John Bread & Wine and it couldn't be louder. (47) Next up, filming in Jerry's Bar and it couldn't be darker. (48) Finally, filming in Soho with Phil Dirtbox and it couldn't be more chaotic. But somehow, strangely, it's all working out and the footage couldn't be better.

DAY SEVEN - MORCHEEBA

(49) Last scene of the shoot. With the band, Morcheeba. Some of the nicest guys I've had the pleasure to work with. Tony is having a blast and it shows. We end up filming two fantastic scenes involving two songs... but I have absolutely no idea how we can use it all in the show. (50) Zach's passport doesn't arrive and he has to stay in London an extra day. (51) Why couldn't Jay Z have written 51 Problems? Let's just assume there were a bunch more and skip to... (99) We've just wrapped the UK show. My first, but I'm only halfway through. It's right on to Athens for seven more days, and another show. One down. One to go. I'm sure I'll have 99 more problems, but this Brit show, thank god, ain't one.