Anthony Bourdain is the (abeit less-witty less-varied) Howard Marks of the culinary world. And he knows how bad he is. And will tell you over and over again because you are expected to be entralled by 300+ pages of this.He is so happy to remind you of the amount of drugs he has taken and his love of kitchen chaos, and this work comes to serve little actual purpose outside of a self-indulgent recount of his numbing adventures. Honestly, this piece could have easily been condensed to a chapter on his misadventures and a chapter for the rest.There are very few tips, even fewer stories worth recounting and the work is framed around an incoherant chronology.I do give Bourdain complete credit for his writing, which is actually wonderfully varied, intelligent and impressive. This is possibly the only positive to this dullish piece.