List of Everything Anthony Bourdain Hates and Dislikes

Over the Fourth of July, instead of thinking about hot dogs, hamburgers or where he’d placed his half-full can of domestic beer, something entirely different was troubling Anthony Bourdain.

Fuck BABY DRIVER.

— Anthony Bourdain (@Bourdain) July 4, 2017

Never one to keep his opinions to himself, the 61-year-old only need 14 characters out of the allotted 140 to let it be known that he’s no fan of Edgar Wright’s new (and generally well-liked) crime thriller.

This is par for the course for Bourdain. The man hates lots of stuff, and passionately.

Here, in no particular order, is a list of 20 things Bourdain has taken to task:

Indian restaurants in Manhattan: “I can safely recommend Pastrami Queen, Katz’s Deli, or Barney Greengrass. But I can’t recommend any Indian restaurant in New York. I’ve been spoiled.”
Pumpkin spice and other food trends: “I would like to see the pumpkin spice craze drowned in its own blood. I’m pleased that there are now gluten-free options, but these people who are treating gluten as, you know, an equivalent of Al Qaeda are worrying to me. I’m also no big fan of the judgmental barista and beer nerds. I mean, I like a good craft, but don’t make me feel bad about my beer choices. You know what kind of beer I like? I like cold beer.”
The muffin on an eggs benedict: “You know it. The lazy cook toasts it under the broiler for a few seconds on one side, leaving the outer surface gummy and raw tasting and lacking the textural note your poached egg and Canadian bacon and sauce really need.”
Airplane food: “No one has ever felt better after eating plane food. I think people only eat it because they’re bored. I don’t eat on planes. For a super-long flight, I’d order cheese and a shit load of port. I’d eat some cheese and drink myself stupid.”
Clowns: “I’m sure I’m not alone here. Were clowns ever funny? No. Of course not. They were always sinister figures, disguising their homicidal intentions under thick make-up, all the while their crawl spaces and chest freezers were brimming with Cub Scout parts.”
Debt: “I am fanatical about not owing anybody any money. I hate it. I don’t want to carry a balance, ever. I have a mortgage, but I despise the idea. That was my biggest objection to buying property, though I wasn’t in the position to pay cash.”
The Unicorn Frappuccino at Starbucks: “Wow, that’s like four things I hate all in one sentence: Starbucks, unicorns, and the colors pink and purple. Also a Frappuccino! It’s the perfect nexus of awfulness. Just add pumpkin spice to that mix, and you can nuke the whole county.”
A slurry of soy sauce and wasabi: “If you immediately plop a big wad of wasabi into your dish of soy sauce, mix it around with your chopsticks? Your sushi chef loses all respect for you. Dip your nigiri into it rice side down? He hates you now. You may as well spit in his face. Seven years learning rice and you just shat in it.”
Mimes: “Like cats, when entering a space, they gravitate towards the one person who fears them. Their purposes are always to embarrass, to draw attention to the shy, the troubled, the hungover. Pure evil.”
Kobe sliders: “I’m waiting to see the end of the Kobe slider. I’d be really happy to see that gone. The Kobe slider is an indication of a douche economy that’s threatening to me personally. It’s like bottle service at the nightclub; it’s a societal ill. It’s a clear example of nothing being added to the slider experience by using Kobe beef other than the price. No one who orders a Kobe slider wants the unctuous, fatty experience of ordering a Kobe steak. What they want is bragging rights in front of their princes of douchedom around them so they can all high five. It’s part of the ‘bro’ culture I find troubling.”
Switzerland: “I think I must have experienced some awful childhood trauma in view of a mural of snow capped peaks and Lake Geneva. I live with a persistent dread of alpine vistas, chalet architecture, Tyrolean hats, even cheese with holes in it. You will notice I have never been there. That’s because Switzerland frightens me.”
Donald Trump ordering well-done steak: “It hurts me. I think that’s a window into his soul. Anyone who’s that indifferent to food is problematic for me. It’s like meeting someone at a party who says, ‘I never really liked music.’ What do you do with that? As a chef, it always hurt me if I was serving a nicely aged côte de boeuf, and I heard they dumped ketchup all over it — that hurt me too. Something died inside me. So I’m gonna respond in a negative way to hearing that, but that’s hardly the worst of it.”
The brioche hamburger bun: “The hamburger bun is designed to absorb grease, not add greasiness to the experience. A proper hamburger bun should retain its structural integrity, playing its role as delivery vehicle for the meat patty until the last bite. The brioche bun, woefully unsuitable for this role, crumbles. God is against the brioche bun.”
Karaoke: “Singing in public in general … Like anything shameful, I prefer to do it in private. Karaoke should only be performed with people who have already seen your genitals.”
Room service: “If you really want to send yourself into a tragic spiral of depression, call down for a room service hamburger when you’re alone in your room. You will inevitably be disappointed and more than likely sent into a manic-depressive state for days.”
Rats: “Fuck snakes. I eat them. Spiders? No problem! But rats. Rats! Maybe it’s my years in the restaurant business, but the appearance of a rat was always the beginning of the end. An augur of doom. A poisoned rat once crawled out of a wall and flopped limply onto my foot to die. They had to scrape me off the ceiling.”
Nashville Hot Chicken: “That was truly, truly terrifying. And if you’re considering going to Nashville, by the way, please notice that Nashvillians themselves don’t eat the extra-hot fried chicken. They know better. Unless you’ve got three or four days to spend in a bathroom, I really advise against that.”
Sandra Lee: “Pure evil. This frightening Hell Spawn of Kathie Lee and Betty Crocker seems on a mission to kill her fans, one meal at a time. She Must Be Stopped. Her death-dealing can-opening ways will cut a swath of destruction through the world if not contained.”
SantaCon: “Glad I’m not around for the douchely horde of projectile vomiting Santas currently infesting NYC. Tear gas and water cannons will scatter those Santas real good. I’m guessing Guy’s American Kitchen and Bar will do gangbusters business today. Jäger-swacked Kris Kringles screaming for more Donkey Sauce and Bob Seger flooding Times Square.”
The third slice of bread on a club sandwich: “You know who invented the middle slice? Enemies of freedom. Their mission? Sap our will to live by ruining our sandwich experiences through ‘tectonic slide.”