Barack Obama and Anthony Bourdain sit down for a candid conversation in Hanoi, sharing a meal and insights.

We began discussing the possibility of filming a scene with the President nearly a year before it actually took place.

There were whispers from the White House about the chance to arrange a meal with Obama, but the details remained under wraps until the last possible moment.

Neither Dinogo nor the production team were given any details about the meeting until the day before filming. No one, including the White House, provided any instructions or expectations for my conversation with the President.

There was a brief mention of a potential ride on Air Force One, but I felt it would be too much of a show. Riding in someone's plane or car feels like you're indebted to them, and that just seemed odd.

I’m not a journalist, nor am I a foreign policy expert. My views are my own. Despite what some angry Twitter users might claim, I’ve never received any advice from the 'Communist News Network' or been told what to say. No one has ever called or emailed me to suggest, 'Wouldn't it be great if…?' or 'How about...?'

I take pride in the diverse people I’ve shared meals with over the years—everyone from Hezbollah sympathizers to anti-Putin activists, from cowboys to feminists, from Israeli settlers to Palestinians, and even Ted Nugent.

If you enjoy good food and treat me with kindness at the table, and if you offer me hospitality when I visit, I’m more than happy to sit down and break bread with you.

Feeding the President something I personally would enjoy.

I wasn’t there to conduct an interview with the President. While I respect him, I wasn’t going to serve as a platform for promoting a specific foreign policy agenda.

Barack Obama seemed eager to share a meal with me, and my goal was to talk to him not as a reporter, but as a father of a 9-year-old girl, a fellow fan of Southeast Asia (especially since the President had lived in Indonesia), and a guy who enjoys a hearty bowl of spicy pork noodles with a cold beer.

But where would this meal take place?

Several venues were considered. But when Vietnam was mentioned as one stop on a multi-country tour through Asia in May, I knew exactly where I wanted it to be.

I adore Vietnam, and so does my entire crew. We've worked there extensively, built relationships, discovered favorite dishes, and found go-to restaurants. It’s a beautiful country where we know we can create our best work.

Bun cha is a cherished local dish in Hanoi—grilled marinated pork patties and slices served in a cool dipping sauce, alongside rice noodles and fresh herbs. It’s absolutely delicious.

I figured if the President was willing to join us, I should make sure he had the best time possible, serving him something I would personally enjoy, in an atmosphere I love.

To me, it seemed a waste to travel all the way to an incredible place like Vietnam only to spend time in an air-conditioned, Western-style restaurant with food made for tourists. I imagined the President had already experienced countless state dinners, eating 'national dishes' in banquet halls of big hotel chains.

Bun cha is definitely not a national dish.

The second floor of the small, family-owned Bun Cha Huong Lien in Hanoi’s Old Quarter was far from the type of place the President would typically be taken during an official state visit.

I could tell the Secret Service wasn’t exactly thrilled with our restaurant choice. The location was cramped, with few exits, not particularly clean, and located down a narrow alley. But they stuck with it.

I want to express my gratitude to them. They were all great guys, tough with broad necks. Many had to endure standing in the pouring rain without complaint.

He responded immediately, without a second thought.

What can I say about what it’s like to sit across from the President of the United States, sipping beer straight from the bottle?

Despite having just ordered the death of a high-ranking Taliban leader in Pakistan a few days earlier, Barack Obama was remarkably calm and at ease. He seemed to genuinely enjoy sitting on a small plastic stool, eating noodles and grilled pork with chopsticks.

I spoke with him as a father and a fellow admirer of the region, and he responded with fond memories of the street food he enjoyed in Indonesia and Hawaii during his youth.

When I asked him if it was alright for me to get along with Ted Nugent, who has made numerous offensive and hateful comments about him personally, he simply replied, 'Of course.' He believed those were exactly the kinds of people we should engage with—the ones who disagree with us.

He seemed strangely at peace with and forgiving of his adversaries. When I asked if, considering the terrifying and often grim nature of the daily intelligence reports he receives, everything would be 'OK' for my daughter as she grew up, he answered confidently, assuring me that it would be.

Overall, he spoke with the ease of someone who no longer needed to carefully calculate every word. A question about hot dogs might have been a delicate subject for a sitting president, but he answered without hesitation—just like any Chicagoan would.

He was quick with a laugh, always humorous. When I asked if he ever missed the simple pleasure of going out to a bar alone, having a cold beer and listening to old tunes on the jukebox, he grinned and said, 'In about six months.'

He made my crew feel comfortable. He was kind to them, and because of that, we all felt relaxed while we were with him.

It wasn’t until after he left that we all exchanged looks and asked each other, 'Did that just really happen?'

It was a truly extraordinary experience.

The following day, I became unexpectedly recognizable to the locals riding their scooters and motorbikes. They had seen my face in the newspapers and, one by one, they pointed at me shouting, 'Bun cha! Mister Bun Cha!'

A few young Vietnamese who spoke English approached me, tears in their eyes, overwhelmed by the fact that the President of the United States had visited their city and, instead of choosing pho or spring rolls, had opted for bun cha. They were in awe, not just shocked, but deeply proud.

Bun cha! It was THEIR dish, their beloved local specialty. And Hanoi beer to boot! They were still astonished, and all of it happened while sitting on a humble plastic stool in a place they frequented every day.

The impact was nothing short of remarkable. I can’t emphasize enough the overwhelming warmth with which he was greeted by the Vietnamese, especially the younger generation who were born after the war. To them, America now represents a much more appealing (and far less threatening) model than China.

Vietnam may still officially be a communist country, but you’d hardly know it by looking at the streets. The economy operates in a chaotic, free-market frenzy, with Western brands everywhere and materialism running rampant. Construction projects are rising fast, and private enterprise has long surpassed ideology.

Just like in Cuba, the toothpaste is out of the tube, and there’s no going back.

As the show highlights, Vietnam is a remarkably beautiful country. It’s captivating. The people, whom I’ve gotten to know over the years, are warm, food-obsessed, welcoming, and immensely proud. Halong Bay, where we filmed much of the show, is truly one of the most stunning places on the planet.

At the end of the show, I quote the infamous statement by Gen. William Westmoreland, who claimed that life is valued less in the East than in the West. It’s a remark so ignorant and absurd that it still shocks today. Our long-time friend and colleague Ha shares her experiences as a tour guide, taking American veterans through the museum dedicated to that devastating conflict.

You can decide for yourself whether the general really understood what he was talking about.

I’ll never forget this trip to Vietnam. Not too long ago, I was a 44-year-old guy still dunking French fries, with no expectation of ever seeing Rome, let alone Hanoi. And certainly never imagining I’d be sitting across from the President of the United States, talking about hot dogs.