Since the very beginning, Emeril's had a sense of humor about me

In the words of Anthony Bourdain, “Since the very beginning, Emeril’s had a sense of humor about me calling him names and poking fun at him.” To the untrained ear, these words may sound like casual banter between two men of the culinary world — a jest between peers. But to those who listen deeply, this statement carries the fragrance of respect, humility, and the sacred art of camaraderie. It speaks to the grace of those who can laugh at themselves, who wield power but not pride, who rise not by belittling others but by standing beside them in shared humanity.

Bourdain, the wanderer of kitchens and cities, was a man who saw through masks. He valued honesty — the raw, the real, the unpolished. When he speaks of Emeril, he honors not merely a chef but a spirit that could withstand humor without taking offense, that could meet teasing with laughter rather than anger. In this world where ego so often poisons the banquet of life, such humility shines like firelight in a dark tavern. A sense of humor, in this context, is not frivolity — it is wisdom disguised as laughter, a form of strength that disarms vanity and invites friendship.

In the halls of ancient Greece, philosophers spoke of this same virtue. When Socrates was mocked by the youth of Athens for his strange face and plain clothing, he laughed with them. He said, “If I can bear their laughter, I am greater than their scorn.” For he knew that self-ridicule frees the soul from vanity, while anger binds it. So too did Emeril Lagasse, when Bourdain teased him in jest, choose to join in the laughter. In doing so, he proved himself not smaller, but greater — a master not only of cuisine, but of character.

Anthony Bourdain’s humor was never born of cruelty; it was the kind that tested the mettle of those around him. He admired those who could take a joke as a knight takes a strike — with poise, with grace, and with a grin. And those who passed this test, like Emeril, earned his eternal respect. To have a sense of humor about oneself is to declare freedom from insecurity. It is to say, “You cannot wound me with laughter, for I laugh first.” That is a form of power rarer than wealth or fame — the power of one who knows himself fully and fears nothing of truth.

Consider also the old friendship between King Henry IV of France and his jesters. It was said that Henry loved those who dared to mock him, for he believed only those who could laugh at him truly loved him. One day, when his fool made sport of his baldness before the entire court, the courtiers trembled — but the king roared with laughter. “Better a fool who speaks truth with laughter,” he said, “than a coward who flatters with silence.” Thus, from palaces to kitchens, the same truth endures: laughter shared in trust is the mark of true kinship.

Bourdain’s remark, then, is not only about jokes among chefs. It is about the sacred bond that exists between equals who honor one another with honesty. It is a reminder that the world grows lighter when we carry our pride more gently. In laughter, the masks fall away — and what remains is friendship, pure and unadorned. The chef who can laugh at himself tastes the same joy as the poet who burns his drafts — for both understand that the self is not to be worshiped, but refined.

Let the teaching be this: cultivate a sense of humor about yourself, for it is a shield of wisdom and a balm for the heart. When others jest, smile; when they point out your flaws, thank them — for they remind you that you are still learning, still alive. Beware the spirit that cannot laugh at itself, for it grows brittle and joyless. But the one who laughs at their own name, as Emeril did, will always feast among friends.

And so, dear listener, walk through life with laughter as your companion. Let not pride chain your tongue, nor vanity darken your smile. For in the grand kitchen of existence, humility is the finest spice — and laughter, shared in love, is the flame that keeps the feast of the soul forever warm.