Here's what I love about Bourdain: He's snarky and brutally honest. Readers never have to wonder where he stands on any subject. His honesty has forced me look at kitchens and chefs in an entirely new way. At dinner the other night, I couldn't help but wonder if they threw all steaks ordered "well done" in the fryer or if they were back there saying "don't fucking mess with my meez." In short, I have a new found appreciation for chefs.
Really, the only problem I have with this book is its organization. I feel like it is all over the place. The beginning is cohesive and in chronological order but it starts to lose that organization toward the middle of the book. Perhaps it's intentional and representative of Bourdain's mind as he bounced from kitchen to kitchen in his drug-induced haze. Perhaps we're meant to lose our way just as he did. I'd like to hope so.