Last Thursday, I trundled up to Syracuse with my friend Julie. Or my “partner in crime,” as her husband puts it. The reason for our little excursion – a pilgrimage of sorts, really – to see Anthony Bourdain live at the State Theatre.

Foodies and travel enthusiasts will recognize this name, for Tony has made quite the name for himself as a chef, writer, traveler, and host of the Travel Channel original series “No Reservations.” And he’s basically my personal hero.

Which is why I felt compelled to pay what I considered a fairly hefty ticket price – with which I could have purchased at least three of his books in trade paperback (if I didn’t already own them) – when I could catch his Travel Channel show absolutely free. Ditto his entertaining online blog. (Which is up for a Webby, by the way.)

For me, it was worth the ticket price. (Which ended up being about $60 once Ticket Master got their money-grubbing, usurious little hands on it.) Because it gave me the opportunity to pay homage to a man who has given me so much.

Tony and I go way back.

I was living in Western Colorado – Grand Junction, to be exact – the first time we “met.” Roughly 2,000 miles from everything I knew and loved, I was beyond homesick. Then one night, as I sat curled up in front of the TV flipping channels with my cat Pepe (may she rest in peace), I stumbled upon the premier episode of a new travel show. The host was a tall, wiry guy, whose darkly bitter outlook and acerbic wit struck a chord with me.

This man is a New Yorker, I thought. Heck, we could have been separated at birth. I promptly turned up the volume and settled in to watch this abrasive guy explore one of my favorite stomping grounds: Paris.

Although I should like to state for the record that, unlike Tony’s visit, my time in the City of Lights did not include absinthe, staying in the hotel room where Oscar Wilde breathed his last, nor, regrettably, a tour of the catacombs. But it didn’t matter. I was hooked.

I couldn’t wait for the next episode to air to get my next Bad Tony fix. So I went out and bought “Kitchen Confidential,” the book which helped make his name outside of the kitchen. I picked up “Cooks Tour,” as well, which was the precursor to the show. And figuring why the heck not, I threw in one of his works of fiction as well. Bamboo something, if I remember correctly.

I devoured them all as one would their favorite comfort food.