Last week I spent a lot of time in airports, waiting for the rain to stop and trying to read Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. I love this book because he wrote just like he talked. From page one, paragraph one, we’re reminded that his cutting wit was as sharp as his knives. Even so, like a deflated soufflé, my attempts to read his irreverent banquet fell flat. Who would have guessed Anthony Bourdain would be derailed by an airport full of poorly dressed passengers… mostly men over 50?
Maybe it’s just me, but I think it’s telling when the best dressed person in the airport is a nun.