I’m quite sure that regardless of your gender or sexual orientation; you have a crush on actor, producer, director, host, writer, foodie, bartender, father, brother, husband, etc etc; Stanley Tucci. I mean, look at him! JUST LOOK AT HIM! The man is a handsome devil, talented and witty to boot! Woo, is it getting hot in here, Goodreads? Jokes aside, Tucci is about as obsessed with food (ingredients, flavors, nuances, background history) as we are obsessed with his face. This is undeniable if you have watched an episode of Tucci’s CNN travel program, “The Search for Italy”. Tucci has already put his pen to two previous food-centric books and is back with a foodie memoir in, “Taste: My Life Through Food”.
If you are searching for a typical Hollywood memoir focusing on a celebrity’s upbringing, profession in La La Land, gossip about sex, drugs, and rock n roll; and some ‘woe is me attitude’ coupled with, “I’m a better person, now”… Then “Taste” ISN’T for you. “Taste” doesn’t follow the ‘typical’ celebrity tell-all memoir and is instead a topical look at Tucci’s passion: food. Although Tucci DOES touch upon his childhood, celebrity-status and successes; it is through the lens of the food that graced his table, belly and made those events even more memorialized in his own mind. “Taste” is exactly what the title claims to be: nothing more and nothing less.
“Taste” begins in a charming way setting the table (pun intended and achieved – haha, Tucci!) for a delightful read. Tucci jumps into his past as a child and hashes tales of his family and thus ultimately reveals how he became the man that he is today. In fact, he had such a lovely upbringing (I’m sure there are skeletons in the closet but “Taste” was simply not the time or place to reveal them); that readers with traumatic lives (such as myself) might be slightly triggered and envious. That being said; this simply means that Tucci is a wonderful storyteller and is able to bring a narrative visually to life. At this point, “Taste” is very emotive to the reader.
Tucci’s writing is very accessible to the general audience and yet isn’t dummied down (let’s be real: many celebrities should stick to their day jobs and not attempt to write books). Tucci is intelligent and complex and yet infuses “Taste” with ample doses of comedy and humor sprinkled throughout to keep the reader smiling and enthused while maintaining that the material remains fresh. Even the occasional recipe is written in a way that encourages a chuckle. However, it is obvious that a ghostwriter was used in “Taste” even though one is not acknowledged. This is evident through the inconsistencies of the writing as “Taste” toggles back-and-forth with two different writing styles that is hard to ignore. You had some help, Tucci, didn’t you? It is okay to admit it!
As “Taste” progresses, it begins to lose some steam and the boiling pot settles (another pun!). Tucci’s tales become quite repetitive and read exactly the same: “I ate here. I liked this dish. Then I ate here with this person. I liked or hated that.” Boring! There isn’t much excitement to be shared or a thesis to these experiences. It is also at this point that Tucci begins to name drop chefs, other foodies, and his celebrity friends which are consequentially tedious and too typical Hollywood. This type of behavior is seemingly ‘below’ Tucci and has little place in “Taste” therefore weakening the essence of the memoir.
“Taste” could also benefit from a bit more emotion and insight as it sometimes feels too clinical and hyper-focused on the recap. It is clear that Tucci holds back in his attempt to focus on the food tales. This inhibits the reader from really diving into Tucci’s psyche and getting to know the real man- even if through food. It isn’t until the end of “Taste” when Tucci finally “opens up” and highlights his cancer diagnosis and the correlation with food, eating, and what he learned from his medical life trial. However, even this section still doesn’t shed as many layers as it should/could.
Also absent from “Taste” is a section of photo color plates that seems to be the usual stylistic formula for celebrity memoirs. Although this isn’t a hugely tragic departure; it would have been nice.
“Taste” does end in a memorable and ‘cute’ way rounding out the text and going full-circle to the beginning of the piece. This is done well on a writing level and with its attempt to connect with readers concluding “Taste” on a positive note.
Tucci is a lovable man and my crush on his remains extant. However, “Taste”, although pleasant enough; is a bit too surface level and I expected a little bit more. “Taste” is a quick-read and suggested heartily for all Tucci fans but don’t expect to truly dive into the man’s diary and soul.