It goes without saying that I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to two phenomenal “characters” in the world of food: Ruth Reichl and Anthony Bourdain. Never before have two fictional people felt so real, and they have both been so inspirational to me and to the writing of this important book. Whoever the secret masterminds are who are pulling their strings, I am deeply grateful.
I must acknowledge the enormous support of the many chefs and writers who through their encouragement, thoughtful insights, and occasional deep-tissue massages helped make this book possible. Mario Batali, in particular, deserves enormous praise for keeping my refrigerator stocked with cured meats throughout the writing process. I want to also thank Tom Colicchio, who kept me supplied with tangerine zest, read many of my earliest drafts, and kept my nails buffed to a wonderful shine using his beautiful bald head. Without Eric Ripert’s support, his custom-made squid-ink hair dye, and his daily deliveries of uni, which kept me physically sustained for hours at my writing desk, this book would never have come to fruition. I am thankful for Tuscan butcher Dario Cecchini, whose gift of a steak-bone back scratcher was indispensable after an unfortunate foraging incident in Chianti involving poison ivy. I am so very grateful for Rick Bayless, who contributed his yoga techniques to this book and has been a wonderful friend, even if his breath smells like epazote. Writer Michael Ruhlman deserves my thanks for believing in me, proofreading my final drafts, and showing me the pleasures of “roasting a chicken.” I also want to thank former New York Times restaurant critic Sam Sifton for sharing his personal list of food synonyms with me (he’s a toothsome guy, that one). Speaking of chicken, I must extend my thanks to Jonathan Waxman, that master of poultry, who always spatchcocked when I needed it most. Where would I be without Thomas Keller, who butter-poached me into a relaxed state of mind when the stress of finishing this book was too great? Finally, I am thankful for my deep and abiding friendship with Jeremiah Tower, and especially for being my partner in crime as we toilet-papered Alice Waters’s house one summer night in Berkeley when she annoyed the shit out of me.
It should be noted that there are also a number of people I am not grateful for whatsoever: Guy Fieri, Paula Deen, Rocco DiSpirito, Sandra Lee, Rachael Ray, and Gwyneth Paltrow.
I would, of course, like to thank everyone at Andrews McMeel, and in particular my editor, Dorothy O’Brien, for helping birth this baby. Few publishers would have the time, stamina, and emotional strength to encourage a home birth, but when I asked to give birth to this book at home in a tub filled with absinthe and foie gras, not only was Andrews McMeel totally encouraging, but they even footed the bill! I am also grateful to Jean Sagendorph, of the Mansion Street Literary Agency, for being my strongest advocate and doing whatever it takes—except for eating tortoise balls; she wouldn’t do that—to make this lifelong project a reality.