Anthony Bourdain "Trump, God, and Guns"
Anthony Bourdain's "Trump, God, and Guns," set
in McDowell County, West Virginia,
the kickoff to his new season of "Parts Unknown," left me dispirited.
That's not because the Appalachian cuisine featured seemed less appetizing than
the complex noodle dishes Bourdain regularly savors in other parts unknown,
since the deep fried Appalachian rabbit
— never mind it was farm raised — promised pleasures of its own.
No, it's because the gulf between the likes of Bourdain and
the good people of McDowell County seemed immeasurable, nonnegotiable — even
unspeakable, at least by the usually voluble Bourdain. And as the show
establishes, they are good people — if you're one of them. From football to
cooking — "Let us now say grace," which they do for both endeavors
— they know and look after each other, as if they have since forever.
But there are paradoxes, including the ubiquitous love of guns,
including fully automatic machine guns. It's not mostly about rabbit or squirrel
hunting, though it might have begun there. No, they raise their rabbits. They just
like to shoot. They say they want to be able to protect themselves. But if, as
seems to be, they are such good neighbors, what exactly are they protecting
themselves from? Not crime, surely, no mention of which is made in the show.
Then what?
It's a culture unto itself, and Bourdain can't seem to crack
or honestly speak to it. I've never seen him so awkward, tongue-tied, maybe even
frightened. He's relieved if not grateful they take him in, share with and say
grace with him, even though he's the kind of New Yorker whose lifestyle refutes
and contradicts so many of their values.
Another paradox is Trump. Another New Yorker. Nothing
remotely salt of the earth about Trump. Yet they see him as one of their own.
They embrace and close ranks around him.
Bourdain sputters in response to that.
I'm not sure what I would have done in his place, not sure what
I would have said.
Maybe I would have skipped the whole discordant, inassimilable
W. Virginia venue. Or maybe I would have solved all the "Let's Say
Grace" occasions by saying, no disrespect, I'm Jewish, that's not my prayer.
Or maybe I would have said the kind of thing that would have
roused the good people of McDowell County to drop their good manners and become
unpleasant.
I don't know that I could have stopped myself.