“Low plastic stool, cheap but delicious noodles, cold Hanoi beer.” That's how I'll remember Tony. He taught us about food — but more importantly about its ability to bring people together. To make us a little less afraid of the unknown. We'll miss him.” 

This was the tribute that former President Barack Obama — a man everyone likes — tweeted yesterday on learning about celebrity chef, author, and TV personality Anthony Bourdain's death. As it turns out, Obama really liked Bourdain. The duo had sat down for a meal in Vietnam at an unassuming noodle shop for one of the most popular episodes of the latter's show 'Parts Unknown'. One look at the episode and you know that it's definitely the most fun Obama has had in a long time.

He wasn't alone. Obama's affection for “Tony” was matched by countless people across the world — some friends and most strangers — who poured their heart out in condolences on social media. All of them had one thing in common: They thought the world of Anthony Bourdain. It's not difficult to see why. After all, most of us have at some point or the other, aspired to be him or at least inherit his curious adventurer self so devoid of cynicism. I know, I did. Who wouldn't want to say a giant screw you to responsibilities, travel to every corner of the world, and taste the delicacies they had to offer? All of us. 

Yet, Bourdain was the one who got to do that, day in and out.

By now, a simple Google search must have filled you on the details: The 61-year-old Anthony Bourdain was found dead in his hotel room in France, where he was shooting the next episode of his Emmy-Winning show 'Parts Unknown'. Believe it or not, the cause of death was suicide. 

After graduating from the Culinary Institute of America in 1978, Bourdain spent time at numerous kitchens in different roles before working his way up as Executive Chef at Brasserie Las Halles (where his fans are now paying their respects by leaving heartfelt notes). An impromptu essay in the New Yorker called “Don't Eat Before Reading This” catapulted him into the limelight and led to his bestselling book “Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly”. Even though he wrote a sequel to the book, Bourdain swiftly moved on to the lucrative world of TV, hosting three different variation of the same show on three different channels, before ending up at CNN with 'Parts Unknown'.

Besides how unexpected it was, the news of his death managed to send consistent shockwaves around the world only because of how familiar Bourdain felt. He felt like the cool dad we always wanted to have, the fun uncle who taught us how to live, but most importantly for all of his fans (and I'm sure there are innumerable of them) he felt like a long-lost friend, who really liked cold beer and absolutely hated brunch. 

Come to think of it, much of his TV persona was based on how accessible he was. Unlike other “celebrity” chefs, he would never put himself in the centre. It didn't matter which country his show took him to, Bourdain would always ensure that his presence was merely incidental. He would promptly assume the role of a speaker and let the culture and inhabitants of the country speak about themselves and their food. In doing so, he opened up unbelievable parts of the world to us, and dared us to explore it, without appropriating. It's the simple stuff, really, but also the ones most chefs nowadays seem to forget. But not Bourdain. For he, knew how to separate the travel with tourism.

Nearly all of Bourdain's travel writing too depended on this unique ability of his to just live in the moment and make the most of it. Take for instance, his recommendation on what to do in Paris: “Most of us are lucky to see Paris once in a lifetime. Please, make the most of it by doing as little as possible. Eat. Catch a breakfast buzz. Have a nap. Try and have *** if you can, just not with a mime. Eat again. Lounge around drinking coffee. Mabe read a book. Drink some wine. Eat. Repeat. See? It's easy.” That was what Bourdain's personality was all about: easy.

As an interviewer profiling him once observed, it was just impossible to not like him. Whoever met him has admitted about feeling “alive” after a conversation with him. Heck, even journalists have gone on the record marveling at how he would always remember their names and ensure he gave them good quotes. Then there was the heartwarming story of how he published the book of the 86-year-old critic who wrote an upbeat review about a new opening of an Olive Garden but was mocked by people on the internet, who have become blind to niceness. Bourdain, on the other hand, thought her writings had a “valuable POV of small-town American dining” and even wrote the foreword for the book. 

But, the one incident that will forever hold Bourdain's memory in unfailing good light is his unflinching support for girlfriend Asia Argento after she accused Harvey Weinstein of rape and made a powerful statement against him at Cannes. In his own words, “He was a fucking feminist.”

And, yet the man who was everyone's role-model and would probably be described as being “full of life” ended up being the one who would take his own life. It's a sad irony to contend with, but even sadder is acknowledging the fact that Bourdain was suffering from acute depression. To the world, who thought the world of him, he channeled the persona of the man who's got it all. And, I suspect it is this expectation that forced him to look at his “personal unhappiness as his own failing”. After all, what can you be depressed about when you're Anthony fucking Bourdain? 

Turns out, a lot.

To be fair, the signs were always there. Bourdain spent most of his early life struggling with drug abuse, self-destructive behaviour, and his own anger. His parents' divorce certainly added to the scar; which was further wounded by two failed marriages of his own. In fact, in one of the episodes of 'Parts Unknown', he went as far as admitting that he was depressed. Talking about a harmless hamburger, he said, “It's an insignificant thing, it's a small thing, it's a hamburger, but it's not a good one. Suddenly, I look at the hamburger and I find myself in a spiral of depression that can last for days.”

If there's one thing we should take back from Bourdain's untimely fact, it's the unpleasant truth that depression wins over the best of us. That, even the ones who have it all are people wrestling with their inner demons. That it is unfair of us to expect people like Bourdain to feel guilty about their sadness. That we can't expect strong and people like Bourdain to be strong at all times. But most importantly, that we can't  — and shouldn't  — accuse him of “throwing away his life”. He didn't owe us his life. Instead, we must realise how difficult his inner demons made living for him. Afterall, depression doesn't discriminate; it makes prisoners out of the most creative of us.

To borrow Obama's words, “We'll miss him”.