Taste: The No.1 Sunday Times Bestseller

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So often I could picture Tucci with his sly wit and slightly curmudgeonly manner telling me these stories. (He loves poking fun at Meryl Streep, too.) Taste really was just an all-around fantastic reading experience that made me so hungry, and I, well, devoured it in no time. In adult years, we travel with Tucci in his career and learn about the on-set food and hear wonderful tales of Italian food and history. It was part of my grandfather, whom we adored, and that made it the sweetest liquid ever to pass our lips. Boil them for a while. (I can’t remember what the health ruling is on this so/and/but I take no responsibility for any foodborne illnesses). Monday: Meatball wedge. As we had meatballs in a slow-cooked, homemade, ragù with pasta for Sunday dinner, this lunch was a natural choice.

Rome is another destination and Tucci explains what a true Carbonara is, its history and where to find “the best carbonara in a city of Carbonaras.” (chapter 8). We must eat pasta recipes that are approved by Italians! He lists wonderful pairings of pasta and sauce because “not all wheat flour pasta works with all sauces”. Guess what, he waited six months! I know. I'm calling him out here only to prevent someone else from doing the same. A good reader friend pointed out that this was probably anxiety, and not just a guy avoiding the prognosis. He’s right of course, and I mistook it for machismo, which was totally incorrect. Before Stanley Tucci became a household name with The Devil Wears Prada, The Hunger Games, and the perfect Negroni, he grew up in an Italian American family that spent every night around the table. He shared the magic of those meals with us in The Tucci Cookbook and The Tucci Table, and now he takes us beyond the recipes and into the stories behind them.

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An instant classic, Stanley Tucci's TASTE is as captivating, simple, charming and insanely moreish as the best Italian food. Take it to bed with you and you will fall asleep dreaming you're in Italy. But take it to the kitchen and you will find yourself using it as often as a pan or a peeler." –Stephen Fry Oh, the bit about machismo, in Stanley's last chapter he talks about his grueling bout with cancer. He had a cancerous tumor at the base of his tongue, in his throat, which started as a pain masquerading as a toothache. Or so he thought. He did go to the dentist, in the US and London. The London doctor said it might be cancer and gave him specific instructions on what to do next. Stanley Tucci puts the sexy in Sixty! He's that handsome, bald, Italian-American guy, with the devilish smirk, who you just know he's thinking about something good. My bad I guess because I was hoping for more funny similarities about Italian Americans growing up! Favorite chapters were when he talked about his shoots on films in different countries. The food that was provided. I think Iceland, surprisingly to him and me, was Iceland. The chapter when he talks about his family having to be isolated together due to Covid. Two young children, four over 18, himself and his wife. I was exhausted just reading about it.

Who is the author? Stanley Tucci is an Italian-American actor, director, cookbook author, writer, and self-declared food lover. When he’s not gracing our screen in movies like The Devil Wears Prada or Julie & Julia, he can be found exploring the varied landscape and cuisine of Italy in his latest award-winning television venture, Searching for Italy. During summer vacations we followed the same routine like crazed ants at an endless picnic. I don’t remember anyone in our neighbourhood ever going on an extended summer vacation, so we all just hung around together for those two humid months, going from one dwelling to another, eating our own and each other’s parents out of house and home. I found summer vacations so joyful. The days were long, allowing us to play outside until nine p.m., at which point we would have already negotiated a sleepover at one or another of our homes so that we might never be parted even in slumber. Summertime also brought my favourite holiday, besides Christmas: Independence Day, also known as the Fourth of July. I’ve made notes about food over the years, and I thought that maybe I would compile them into a book of observations and musings. It was suggested to me, by the publishers, that I write a memoir, and I thought, Well, is that right? Is that interesting? But they said to give it a try, so I did, and, as I started writing it, it started to make sense.

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Unless my editor cut it, but the word definitely came to mind. There’s something very choreographed about the ritual of cooking.

Take a lot of the tomatoes, shove them into the pillowcase, and squeeze the s#*! out of them over one of the tubs so that the juice of the tomatoes oozes through the weave of the pillowcase, making it look like a relic of the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre. Continue until all the tomatoes are gone or until you feel like Macbeth at the end of his play. The book started off well enough with memories of his mother in particular who cooked up a storm and growing up in an Italian American family. Many memories made me laugh because I also grew up in an Italian American family. In my family, however, my father worked two jobs to make ends meet and when things got tough, monetarily, my mom went out to work at a bank and rose in ranks as the head teller. Those were difficult times as we hardly saw our parents but my mother always, always “cooked up a storm” for her family.Italy is a very small country, really, in comparison to so many, but it’s so diverse geographically. And the influences over centuries and millennia are staggering: from the Middle East and North Africa, from Spain, from Germany, from France, from Austria and Hungary, from Greece. It’s incredible. All of those cultures have influence—yes, on politics, and, yes, the genetic makeup of Italians, but on the food, too. So, the food in the Veneto, where we’re going next, is completely different than the food in Sicily, and that makes sense because of topography, but also because of who ended up there and who ended up there. 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. A scrambled egg, fried potato, and sautéed sweet green pepper sandwich on two slices of Italian bread or in a “wedge” or a “hero,” which is a long loaf of Italian bread sliced horizontally and filled with whatever you choose to fill it with. In Philadelphia they are called “hoagies.” Taste is a reflection on the intersection of food and life, filled with anecdotes about his growing up in Westchester, New York; preparing for and shooting the foodie films Big Night and Julie & Julia; falling in love over dinner; and teaming up with his wife to create meals for a multitude of children. Each morsel of this gastronomic journey through good times and bad, five-star meals and burned dishes, is as heartfelt and delicious as the last.