David Simon and David Carr are cronut fiends, and, apparently, they both answer to a harsh master named Anthony Bourdain. Just when you thought the cronut's grasp over the American people was waning, Simon — creator of The Wire — revealed on his blog Thursday that he and New York Times media columnist David Carr will both do dirty favors, such as appear on Piers Morgan Live, if you dangle a cronut in front of them. And that's what Anthony Bourdain did.
Bourdain, who was filling in for Morgan on the CNN gabfest, e-mailed Simon and Carr to help him out (Bourdain apparently has no need for bookers), and promised "cronuts!" in an e-mail. That exclamation point is important, Simon notes. It adds emphasis, obviously. But as Carr and Simon finished their segments, the deal went sour.
Well, let it be known that Dave Carr and I were escorted off-stage a couple hours ago, after the taping, only to be handed a wet-wipe each for the makeup.
"Where are the cronuts?" asked the redoubtable Mr. Carr.
"The problem is we think we only have enough for the audience," he was told.
Me? I’m from Baltimore. I’m used to coming to New York and having this happen. So I manage little more than a pout at this point. Mr. Carr, however, relentless Timesman that he is, puts up the good fight: "My agent negotiated a cronut. I say this with all sincerity: I am here for the cronut."
That is low. Bourdain has done two of the great minds of our generation dirty. Simon and Carr were both eventually given a quarter of a cronut to share. Yes, that may simply be a reality of our national cronut shortage, since you can only get two per person, and even then, only after you have waited for hours. But cronuts are available to order in large amounts; you can order more than 50 if you give the Dominique Ansel Bakery advance notice. Which it looks like Bourdain and his staff did if they had intended to feed the entire audience. Two more cronuts wouldn't have hurt. Simon goes on to detail what happens next—the shame of two grown men having to share an unsatisfying eighth of a cronut:
We partake and the plate is bare-ass naked a second or two later. Then we depart, even more bitter and misshapen a pair of beings as this world had otherwise rendered us. But now, on the Acela riding south, I find my voice finally in these words, as my hands drift across the keyboard and I think of all the slings and arrows, neglects and denials that I have endured in six decades of life, going back even to my earliest and most savage moments on grade-school playgrounds and in nursery playpens, and I do declare in full view of the entire world:
Tony Bourdain, you lying sonofabitch, you owe me a motherfucking cronut.
Swooping in to rub vanilla-rose icing into Simon and Carr's wounds was Bourdain right-hand man and fellow celub-chef Eric Ripert, who tweeted this photo of him and Mario Batali stuffing their faces with cronuts:
Bourdain blamed his minions and claims he's being framed: