Tony told us how to help our restaurants. Are we listening now?

Anthony Bourdain. Patron saint of explorers, line cooks, and anyone who wants to do things their way—against the whims of authority figures—and still be heralded as a success. With the A24 movie Tony just released, there’s renewed excitement over the life and loves of Anthony Bourdain, but silence around some recent issues that Bourdain himself might have brought up.

Sure, the movie focuses on a short time in the life of a young Bourdain from his book Kitchen Confidential, but knowing that he was a big advocate for immigrants in kitchens, it’s hard to ignore that outside of our movie theaters, ICE continues to raid restaurants and farms. Data points to 196 documented arrests at restaurants in 2025, that we know about.

Bourdain was just as candid about drug use in kitchens, talking openly about his own years on heroin, friends in the industry who struggled, and some who never made it out. “We were high all the time, sneaking off to the walk-in at every opportunity to ‘conceptualize,’” he wrote in his book.

Today, at least 17% of food and beverage industry workers struggle with substance abuse, though experts believe the actual number is much higher. Long hours and a lack of mental health benefits add fuel to the fire of constant on-the-job contact with drugs and alcohol. A 2025 study found that “individuals in food preparation/serving occupations reported the highest prevalences for all substances.” This is not a new problem, but the industry is learning how to take care of its own, with much of the support network coming directly from peers in recovery.

Outside of Philadelphia, organizations like Giving Kitchen offer funds for in-treatment recovery, as well as assistance with housing and long-term mental health programs. Other groups offer overdose prevention workshops, free Narcan, and drug-testing strips for restaurant staff. Still others, like Ben’s Friends, create a social support network, with meetings in 23 cities, all tailored to the needs of bartenders, servers, and everyone else on staff.

When I asked sober friends in the industry what prevented them from getting help, they pointed to an atmosphere of constant partying and almost an expectation to keep up. (I’m not naming these folks because these conversations happened in a friendly capacity, not for journalism, and I want to respect their privacy.)

My own father was an alcoholic and was sick his entire life from related ailments. The idea of following in his footsteps, having an illness in my genes waiting to activate, kept me in constant fear. It was only after learning more about the science of cocktails for work that the mythical nature of drink was removed, and I could see alcohol for what it was. And all the while I abstained, I mentioned health reasons—never my family history of alcoholism. If the stigma could be that strong one person removed, what must it be like for people dealing with substance abuse themselves?

“People don’t want to look at it,” says Britt James Carpenter, founder of Philly Unknown, a group that, among many other things, focuses on workforce development for people in recovery. Watching discussions about the Bourdain film romanticize his life and skip over his mental health issues, I can understand Carpenter’s point. After all, there’s still confusion from the mainstream public about many aspects of harm reduction. 

Indeed, friends I spoke to off the record mention long nights after longer shifts, taking meth to stay awake, and not speaking up because everyone was doing it and you didn’t want to be the first to say goodnight.

“Society dictates a norm,” Carpenter says, “and people don’t want to be seen as vulnerable or flawed.” Since mental health goes hand in hand with substance abuse, that can be part of the hurdle to getting help, too. No one wants to be seen as weak. But Carpenter believes that without addressing both challenges together, it’s harder to heal. 

Fear of retaliation and quick job turnover might also keep restaurant workers suffering in silence, or in denial about a problem. Carpenter mentions back-to-back shifts and drugs being everywhere in the hospitality industry. But creating an atmosphere where people can be open about their drug and alcohol use goes a long way.

“If I was open about it, maybe I had a chance,” he says. Speaking to friends who are struggling as if they are normal people—not with sympathy, but with empathy—is a start to getting them to open up, or admit to having a problem. And ultimately, people need to want to get help themselves. Carpenter puts all his energy into Philly Unknown and finds purpose there. “Healing comes in so many forms.”

Even with food industry peers working to remove the stigma, some workers are left behind. Undocumented workers might feel uncomfortable approaching recovery networks or might not find support meetings available in their language. And since 40% of food industry workers earn poverty-level wages, and only 32% have employer-funded benefits, taking time off for recovery or meetings might be out of the question.

Over the next few weeks, I will be interviewing organizations that are creating safety nets, from people providing late-night virtual meetings to others making sure restaurants have naloxone on hand, and I can’t wait to share them with you, because we can’t celebrate the amazing food scene without taking care of the people who make it possible. 

And if you have a story you’d like to share, even anonymously, please reach out.