In the Puget Sound area the indigenous Salish custom is that when someone dies you put away all of their pictures and and things and dont talk about them for a year. The notion being that if you kept talking about them their spirit wouldn't be able to get any rest, it might haunt people, among a few other things. However, Bobbe would have hated all that and instead insisted that we never stop saying his name. He would call that all "a bunch of ooga booga" and beg you to prove that you could resurrect him from the dead by talking about him. In fact, this man cared so much about his name that he wanted his name to BE his rank in the martial arts. We would be in class and he would get asked "what's your honorific, what should I call you?" and he would always say just to call him "Bobbe. That's my rank." So, were you to do this and say were it to have this effect it would have the meaning of giving his name magical powers. Given the fact that he spent a good portion of the last 20 years in an argument with various people over whether or not he, in fact, had any magical silat secrets or pendekar powers I feel this would be a fitting end to that chapter. Remind me what was Bobbe's razor again? Something like "custom and tradition are not above criticism, nor should the dead rule the living". So despite the fact that he was native american I'm 1000% for sure on this one, he would be cool with you not following tradition or custom here. Go get a tramp stamp of his name. His name as I understand it is actually Robert Patrick Mactavish Edmonds, make sure you include all of those names. Further, consider: what would Bobbe want? Well Bobbe would want you to KNOW that his DNA is still all over the place and that it's on things you've touched. That it will be for years and that probably anyone handling any possessions or gifts he gave you that bring back fond memories of him - they have his DNA on them. Yes, he was quite serious about spreading his DNA everywhere to every surface possible and telling us about it. He wanted you to know that one for sure and was quite vocal about it. R E M E M B E R. Finally, his book was originally meant to be entitled "Curry For White People" and he would have really liked it if you could understand that curry was actually just a technique for food preservation - specifically how to keep meat from going bad in 90 degree weather - and that nobody cares if you dont use certain spices on account of being muslim/non-muslim/hindu/etc. Just remember to caramelize your onions. There are no shortcuts. That's what he would typically refer to as "the secret to 'the secret'" which is a way of saying that you need to do the work to set things up. "Practice is magic. There are no shortcuts." When it comes to curry that means you have to caramelize your onions, it takes hours and I don't think anybody listened to him about this so if you remember nothing else remember to caramelize your onions it really makes all of the difference in a curry. No skimping, spend the full 4 hours to do proper food prep - to do proper anything.
Robert Patrick Edmonds
Chef, Martial Artist, and Relentless Original Who Left a Lasting Mark on Every Life He Touched
Bobbe was born February 25, 1969, in Columbia, South Carolina, under the sign of Pisces and in the Year of the Rooster. The rooster, long associated with culinary tradition, was a fitting symbol for someone whose love of cooking shaped so much of his adult life. He passed away on March 24, 2026, in Seattle, Washington.
Bobbe passed away leaving behind a kitchen that never stayed clean for long, notebooks filled with thoughts that refused to sit still, and a legacy built somewhere between discipline and delightful unpredictability.
If you wanted to understand Bobbe, you started in the kitchen. He found great joy in teaching others to cook, helping out in his grandmother’s kitchen, and showing his cousins how to prepare some of their favorite Asian dishes. Cooking was how he expressed himself, layering flavors, trusting instinct over instruction, and bringing people together in ways that felt effortless and lasting.
He spent part of his young adult life traveling in East Asia, studying martial arts and becoming especially proficient in Silat and Kali, skills he later shared with his students. Martial arts was not just something he practiced, but something he lived, a balance of discipline, intensity, and purpose that carried into everything he did.
He approached writing in much the same way. Not polished for perfection, but driven by something that needed to be said. His words, like his meals, carried personality and force. You did not just read what he wrote, you experienced it.
Bobbe lived on his own terms. You could offer him comfort, stability, even perfection, and he might still choose something rougher, stranger, and more honest. He made his own path and invited others along for the ride, whether through a shared meal, a lesson, or a conversation that lingered long after it ended.
Bobbe was preceded in death by his parents and his adopted grandfather. He is survived by his adopted and found family, including parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, students, and friends, as well as a surrogate daughter who was very important to him. He is also survived by a brother with whom he was estranged.
In the end, Bobbe leaves behind something rare. Like Godzilla, he left a path in his wake made of stories, lessons, and lives forever altered by his presence.
In accordance with his wishes, his remains will be cremated without a service, and his ashes will be spread somewhere he can be visited often by those who knew and loved him. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to a local food bank in his honor.
Those who wish to honor Robert's memory are invited to .