One of the best parts of my job is being able to share my experiences in the world of food with my listeners or web-readers. I know there are a lot of Anthony Bourdain fans out there, and I’m happy to have been able to interview the Kitchen Confidential and A Cook’s Tour author while he was on a whirlwind visit of Vancouver. 
You can hear my Food For Thought documentary on Anthony Bourdain by clicking here. In a week or so, I’ll post the entire 15-minute interview with him (much more revealing) on my website as part of my new internet radio show, or podcast, called All You Can Eat.
In the meantime, here is a bit of a reward for reading down this far! I have two copies of Anthony Bourdain’s latest book, the Les Halles Cookbook to give away. 
All you have to do is scroll to the bottom of this page and enter a comment. In A Cook’s Tour, Anthony Bourdain wanted to find the perfect meal. Have you found yours? Tell me about the most perfect meal you’ve ever had, and I’ll choose two entries from random as winners. I’m looking forward to reading about your adventures.
As for my most perfect meal…it was more the setting than the food. It was years ago, during a canoe trip on the Kispiox River in northwestern BC. We were sitting around a campfire at the end of an exciting day of shooting rapids, the sky was clear, the stars were out, as were the northern lights, and our group enjoyed a simple yet entirely satisfying dish of chicken baked in tomato sauce. What was your perfect meal? Enter to win…contest closes at noon Pacific time on Monday, November 15th.
My’perfect’ meal – in the eyes of many people, it would be a spontaneous decision to eat lunch at Paul Bocuse’s restuarant in Lyon. The restaurant is like a jewel box, the food was superb, the baskets of cheeses and bowls of wild strawberries were amazing. For a couple of foodies from Canada, it was an afternoon not to be forgotten.
But later that week, we sat in our friends’ cottage in the countryside just north of Lyon, ate a Charlois steak and baby vegetables we had purchased earlier in the day at our local market, drank the Nuit St Georges we had purchased at the winery and talked about watching the Tour de France go down the road outside our window. Sometimes the best food is not the whole meal; it just provides the gloss for all the other aspects of life.
Our best meals are usually associated with either place or the company we’re in. Sometimes we’ve worked hard for the meal and so no matter how simple, it is the joy of having earned our repast that makes the difference between a good meal and one we’ll never forget.
One of my best was a lunch I had while travelling in Germany in 1987. I was in Munich, alone, in early January. The sun was shining and there was a slight nip in the air, but it was still warmer than it had been – a glorious day to sit outside. I bought a freshly baked baguette, its crusty gold exterior disguising its lusciously soft white interior, some French brie, and several kiwi fruit. To drink, I had mineral water.
I sat on the steps of the art building at the University of Munich, basking in the sun, enjoying my contented solitude, and the simplicity of my meal in the faint warmth of winter sun – have you ever tried slices of kiwi fruit on brie, with a bite of fresh baguette? Around me flowed a swirl of elegant, arty and funkily-dressed students, coming and going from the building behind me, and the busy street in front of me. It was a glorious day and I wanted nothing more than what I had, or where I was. Life was good.
One of my most perfect meals coincidentally occurred last night. A friend and colleague brought down a salmon he had caught over the summer( a very expensive one at that given his turn of events around the boat breaking down, but that’s a story in itself). As I’m currently at home, I had time on my hands to prepare the salmon for barbequeing, prepare a risotto, carmelized fennel and baby spinach with roasted veggies. To end the meal a healthy serving of zabaglione with walnut raisin bread and glasses of Port.
Sooo, you can’t make this meal and not have friends enjoy it. 13 special people who not only work together, but we all socialize together on a regular basis and simply enjoy each others company.
After all the food was gone, too much wine and Port consummed, the guitars and song books came out. One of the newest bunch pleasantly surprised us by picking up the guitar after a 25 year hiatus and making it sound like he’s be playing all along. My two kids, 14 and 15 thought we had lost our minds and had the typical teenage embarrassed reaction.
All left well fed, satisfied and soulfully revitalized.
I’ve seen Anthony a few times lately and find him delightfully crusty yet refreshing. I would love a copy of his book.
Thanks Pacific Palate for letting me share my most recent perfect meal.
My most memorable meal was many summers ago when I was 17, I had been working in the garden all morning with my dad. It was very hot and humid that day in London, Onterio. My dad went into the kitchen to make lunch. He called me in and presented me with the most flavourful old chedder cheese sandwich. The sandwich was on Danish dark thin rye bread with thin slices of onion, with this wonderful old Onterio Chedder Cheese. To wash it down we shared a ice cold Labat Blue.
I have enjoyed meals around the world, but I have never been able to recreat that lunch with my dad that summer.
I remember this meal because it happened twice, in the same spot, about ten years apart.
Victor Hugo’s Restaurant in Laguna Beach, California was the place, and the meal was trout with green beans with almonds.
The first time I was about seven years old, and I was struck by my first meal in which atmosphere was dominant. Not just the linen, silver and surrounding artifacts, but the sea just outside, and the pottery across the highway (old Hwy. 101) where my first shadowy glimmer of a potter at the wheel rests. [I’ve been a potter for almost 40 years now]
The second time my high school sweetheart and I were returning from a complimentary tour of Disneyland (they caterred to high schools to encourage them to have grad night there. We did.). My mom let us use her metallic grey Olds convertible, and we drove through an incredible softness of twilight along the Pacific coast. It was trout again, and as is often said, tastes and smells ring true. This meal was amazingly identical to that one seared into my ealier memory.
My grandfather died when I was eight, so this restaurant visit is one of my last memories of him. So these memories of Victor Hugo’s not only capture distant family links, but romantic and vocational entries as well.
Hi Don,
I once had a very lovely meal, probably perfect, though that isn’t my favourite adjective. For better or for worse, it will never happen again.
Twenty years ago, I worked as crew on a sailboat in the beautiful Queen Charlotte Islands. One of our favourite stops was at Burnaby Narrows, a shallow channel between Moresby and Burnaby Islands that swells and rushes with the tides. At the lowest tides, you can walk through this outrageously rich intertidal zone and chase your dinner down with little difficulty (this was before the establishment of Gwaii Haanas National Park and the inherent foraging rules)!
This day we gathered crabs, mussels, clams, and sea cucumbers from the narrows. And, we had had good luck catching both salmon and red-snapper from the boat earlier in the day. In the evening, my friend Irene, cook and sailor extraordinaire, prepared a fabulous boulliabaise with our catch.
We sat at a table in the cockpit of the sailboat and dined in the best kind of style. We tossed shells over our shoulders into the now swollen narrows. We gazed up at the San Cristoval Mountains above us, where we would hike the next day. We talked and thought about the people who had come before us in that most extraordinary place. We knew how lucky we were to be there. There just is no city meal that can satisfy in the same way as dining on your own catch in the fresh air!
Thanks,
Erica Wheeler
My most perfect meal: Mian pi. Directly translated means noodles like skin. It is a simple fare found on many street corners in China. Cold but fresh rice noodles piled with slivers of cucumber and bean sprouts and topped with soya sauce and red chilli oil. Vendors would peel the “skins” off the bamboo baskets where they had been steamed the night before. Chop, chop and noodles and all the ingredients were tossed in a bowl. They would then empty the salad into a plastic bag, hand you a pair of chopsticks and that was it. On my last day in China after a year living there, I scoured Beijing streets for a mian pi stand. None were to be found until three hours before my flight. I remember sitting at the departure gate, sweating from the run through the airport and eating mian pi out of a plastic bag, savouring my last taste of China.
My perfect meal was not one that I ate, but one that I served.
It was the last week of my service as a waiter/dish washer at a middle of the road northern Ontario fishing lodge on a small island. The chef and I were the only ones doing service that night to about 30 people in the dining room.
This particular chef was a brilliant burn out who had worked many of Toronto’s best restaurants. At one time he had been one of the top chefs in the city. However, things were going very bad for him. He had attempted to open his own restaurant but it had failed. He had lost his savings, and was in debt. On top of this he was in the midst of a nasty divorce, he was drinking a case of beer a day (to my amazement, and he was in the middle of a complete nervous breakdown. Added to this was the shame of slinging lousy food that no one thought much of.
That night, for some reason he decided to pull it all together. In the space of two hours he produced the finest meal I have ever seen. I can’t even remember exactly what it was (being an ignorant waiter). I believ it was something like Mushroom and Salmon strudel, a variety of salads, and a dessert that I didn’t even recognize. Even the guests said that it was the finest meal they had ever had. These were no country hicks either. They were wealthy big city Americans.
It was not to last though. The next day, the chef and my boss had a HUGE falling out. It had been building for some time. The cops were called, and they dragged my friend off of the island.
I never heard from him again.
So even though I don’t know the specifics of what he cooked that night, it doesnt really matter, it was still the best meal I have ever had.
I don’t know whether this was my most perfect meal, but surely one of the most memorable brought more vividly into mind today upon hearing you on the Almanac.
We’ve just returned from a 2-week barge trip with my brother and sister-in-law on the Midi Canal in southern France. It was fabulous as we drove (haven’t mastered the
nautical terminology) our boat down the canal and stopped at the villages along the way to shop for food and wine or to indulge in the local cuisine. We stopped at a restaurant in Carcasonne recommended by some Californians we met at one of the locks. They said it was fabulous–and it was.
My husband and I had made a promise before we left that we would try to get along on our high school French and when we visited this restaurant, he ordered and was initially horrified with what he received. He had unknowingly ordered duck, and he (and I)hated duck. I ordered and received a whole plate of squid, but it was the duck (and the gravy) that we both surprisingly came to love. We will never forget this experience and, oh how I wish I could find out how they prepared it.
i enjoyed your show today! thank you!
My perfect meal would most likely please Anthony Bourdain, and horrify the overly diet health conscious. It is definitely not nouvelle cuisine, but simply delicious, stomach warming fare. It would be as follows.
Onion soup gratinée, followed by one dozen Malpeque oysters on the half shell. The main course would be a filet mignon, medium rare, wrapped in bacon, accompanied by a baked potato, and green string beans. The wine would be a rich burgundy.
Dessert would be profiteroles, coffee and Courvoisier RSVP.
The meal would be enjoyed at the Auberge Le Vieux St. Gabriel, in Old Montreal, a 250+ year old building, which offers a very warm, comfortable dining environment with a crackling fireplace. The place conjures up sweet memories as my wife and I held our wedding reception there 24 years ago.
An alternative location would be the Willows Inn in Hudson, Quebec, overlooking the Lake of Two Mountains, a comfortable pub with a huge stone fireplace, ideal for dining on a crackling cold winter’s day.
My chops are watering. Time for lunch.
My perfect dinner happened on a winter evening of exquisite demeanor. Snowflakes fell large as duck down, gliding and sliding in no great hurry to reach ground.
Eight of us settled in front of the fireplace. The crackle of dry wood burning, muted by soft notes of old wood resonating to the notes of Vivaldi and Berlioz.
Friends and family toasted the season.
Spiced wine and laughter. Eggnog and Rum toddies.
In the oven, a filet of beef roasted quietly. It was now a second roasting, this time covered in pate de foie gras and a delicate “croute.” I had never tried this dish before…Beef Wellington. So it was something of a gamble.
Finally, with candles lit, and Bordeaux poured, the roast was introduced to the dinner table. The pastry was golden warm, but I still had no idea if the meat was cooked, not having a meat thermometer available. I removed it to the kitchen, and wielded my carving knife anxiously. My first ever (and twice-roasted) Beef Wellington was perfectly medium-rare. I smiled softly as laughter rang out from the dining room.
This website is amazing!
There is so much current info and interesting tips and tid bits.
I can only dream that Anthony Boudain will return to sign more books as I failed to be on top of this one.
His travels to discover the true essence of a country’s flavour, always raises the hair on my arm from memories of travelling by ship through the Suez, India, Sri Lanka and Asia. His curiousity in spices (mostly hot!!) and protein options (bugs and other crawlies) shows just how much this globe has to offer and teach us in staying with the basics – not that I am trying to suggest eating worms for our protein but, just trying to remove a layer of plastic from our so very “convenient” snack-grabbing society would be helpful. We can measure and already know how healthy non-pesticide / organically grown & fed / food products are as that is how we operated for thousands of years…….I somehow feel we have become rather guinea-piggish in our attempt to eat from packaging that can sit for years on a shelf!
Back to Anthony – please advise if he will consider ever passing though here again – as there are people like me who are so inspired by his experiences and ability to replay them.
Ciao
Lisa
Don,
Forty years ago, while still a teen, (irresponsible days that I long for and, sigh, never will experience again) we took time out from science graduate school studies, and motored to Vermont. We backpacked up Mount Mansfield, and climbed the steepest trail in the state. The aptly named “profanity trail”, camped out that evening and climbed several other mountains the next day..
The end of the outing, in Montrel, resulted in an epifany for me.
Let me explain.
One of the hiking party was knowlegible in oriental food. Michael convinced us to have dinner, at a Cantonese restaurant, before we went home to a hot bath, cold beer, and a much needed rest.
We went to the Sunya restaurant in China Town and had a meal both outstanding and sumptuous..
Michael ordered all the food and I experienced a whole new world of cooking.
Until that day I was a finicky eater with a food repertoire that did not stray far from the safe “meat and potatoes” genre.
I do not remember what we ate. I do remember that all the dishes were all out of this world.
The restaurant is long gone, but my taste in food and willingness to try new cuisines was born that evening, and has inspired me to subsequently enjoy most of the quisines of the World.
My wife and I started doing ethnic cooking soon after we married and have continued to do so until this day.
That ‘long-ago” dinner outing changed my life .
Regards,
Dan Stotland
It was Labor Day weekend, August 1972, the Vietnam War was going strong, and Nixon was soon to be re-elected for his second term. I was 12 and lived with my mother in Southern New Mexico. She sold arts and crafts on the craft fair circuit around Arizona and New Mexico. I made my own spending money weaving belts and selling them at the same fairs.
Santa Fe’s craft fair was part of “Fiesta”, a huge festival that was highlighted with the burning of “Zozobra”, an effigy of Old Man Gloom. In reality, it was the NM equivalent to a giant Mardi Gras party.
The weekend was one of wonderful food. I had fabulous fried chicken from the Woolworth food counter. Wings were 25¢ each! Best of all, I was allowed to walk the 2 blocks alone-having been forbidden to wander away from the craft-fair because of the drunken fights occurring all around! As much as I loved the chicken though, the highlight had to be the food booth that sold tempura vegetables. It was my first exposure to tempura. On the second night of the fair and for my second meal at the booth, I had the best tempura green chile I was ever to eat. Actually it was the only tempura green chile I ever ate! Apparently someone accidentally battered and fried green chile destined for another use.
We left downtown Santa Fe before the craft fair was officially to close on Sunday in the midst of a riot outside of the State Capitol building. I was sad to leave without a 3rd dinner of tempura, and angry that my mother was making me lay of the floor of the 1971 Mercury station wagon, which meant I could not witness the riot.
My most memorable meal was also due as much to circumstance as to food – well, actually way more to circumstance. A girlfriend and I were climbing the Chilkoot Trail and when we reached the summit (in the rain & the fog) we cracked open a tin of tuna, mixed it with mayonnaise from McDonald’s packet and had it on stale bagels. It was the best meal I’ve ever had. It was made better at the end when other climbers shared their hot chocolate with us (the kind in packets where you don’t need reak milk) and we had an airline bottle of kahlua to spike it with. Normally it was food I wouldn’t touch, but it truly was one of my most satisfying meals ever.
My best remembered meal was eaten at the Supi Nampir in Paramaribo and it was mainly Indonesian brochettes with a peanut based sauce on coconut -flavored rice Pilaf and the local beer.The salad was beautiful and the surroundings were also like something from a Graham Greene novel.The mango ice-cream was delectable and if I ever get the chance to visit Suriname again I will try to find it.
My most memorable meal occured just a week ago when my husband and I escaped from our 3 under 10 children for an evening event in a small town an hour and a half away from our home. We too live in a small town, and decided that we would pick up take out on the way through Saskatoon en route to Humboldt Sask. We stopped at the local fishmonger- Charlies – who specializes in Sushi. 15 minutes out of the city we broke open the takeout trays, ate Sushi and drank green tea as we sped through the twilight of an early winter Prairie evening. Romantic sunset and all. Later that night we drove home under the dancing northern lights. I’ve had sushi on the coast, sushi in Toronto, but let me tell you, none tasted as good as those few morsels as we; a middle aged giddy couple celebrated our evening of freedom.
hello-I was listening to the show on the radio last week, and finally made it to my computer to share with you my perfect meal.
First a mention about TONY! Reading his Kitchen Confidential brought back memories of myself slogging it out in many kitchens, over countless nightshifts, with as many characters as he noted-did he ever nail it down!My hero! While on vacation from my kitchen job on Baffin Island, I went to visit my Aunt on Gabriola Island where she wowed me with a simple but unforgettable Thai dish that’s stayed with me for years, and which I have made for family and friends. We started off with happy hour( to me happy hour for you on the coast seems all day!)which consisted of chilled white wine of your local variety whilst watching the ferries crossing each other on the twilight waters. Local chickens browned in olive oil, garlic and ginger, to which creamy coconut milk was added–then the green curry paste, kaffir lime leaves, crushed lemongrass stalk, and a hot pepper for zip! While this bubbled, she steamed the basmati rice,the baby carrots,and the broccoli. She effortlessly tossed a quick green salad and sliced her fresh bread. Just before serving she added some fresh cut basil leaves to the curry–Viola–supper was done! I’ll never forget that meal, and urge you to try it as well.