Anthony Bourdain is exactly what you’d expect.

In his private dressing room before his latest book tour appearance, Bourdain stands in the middle of the long, white space holding a nearly empty Red Stripe bottle. The room is mostly bare, save for a row of naked lightbulbs, a bucket of imported beers soaking in a bath of melting ice water, a potentially inebriated announcer pretending to sleep in the back of the room and, of course, Bourdain.