The Book Wench

“Sharing food is one of the purest human acts.”

Food has always been an integral part of Stanley Tucci’s life: from stracciatella soup served in the shadow of the Pantheon, to marinara sauce cooked between scene rehearsals and costume fittings, to home-made pizza eaten with his children before bedtime.

Now, in What I Ate in One Year Tucci records twelve months of eating—in restaurants, kitchens, film sets, press junkets, at home and abroad, with friends, with family, with strangers, and occasionally just by himself.

Ranging from the mouth-wateringly memorable to the comfortingly domestic and to the infuriatingly inedible, the meals memorialised in this diary are a prism for him to reflect on the ways his life, and his family, are constantly evolving. Through food he marks—and mourns—the passing of time, the loss of loved ones, and steels himself for what is to come.

Whether it’s duck a l’orange eaten with fellow actors and cooked by singing Carmelite nuns, steaks barbequed at a gathering with friends, or meatballs made by his mother and son and shared at the table with three generations of his family, these meals give shape and add emotional richness to his days.

Stanley Tucci is one of those actors that makes you want to pay attention every time he comes on screen. There is something so engaging about him and his acting and I have loved everything I have seen him in (even if the character themselves are despicable as with his part in The Lovely Bones). When I saw an advertisement for Tucci’s What I Ate in One Year on Audible, I knew I wanted to give it a try. Especially since it was read by Tucci himself.

What I Ate in One Year mightseem like it would just be a boring food diary to some. To me, it was engaging, quirky, and a fun traipse through the culinary tastes of an excellent actor (and a chef in his own right). I have not read his first book, Taste, but I know just from reading this one that it will be an excellent book on food, family, and life.

First of all, I do have to lament over the fact that all of the luscious descriptions of food made me deliriously hungry. Unfortunately, because of my pancreatitis, I will never be able to eat a vast majority of the foods he describes because of their high fat content. “Why set yourself up to suffer?” you may ask. Because before I was sick, I was a foodie too. I love hearing about food, watching food network shows, and eating all in equal measure. My love of food has not been diminished in any capacity (a fact that leads me to struggle with my very limited diet). But hearing about food, while it makes me wistful, makes me happy. And I can still cook, should I feel up to the challenge (and my husband will gladly be the taste tester since I cannot). So, while listening to Tucci describe glorious dish after dish made me sad that I could never try such wonders, it made me happy to know that someone out there was still exalting in the beauty that is food.

Some actors, when they read their memoirs tend to get a little flat because they are trying so hard not to “act” out their memoir. In avoiding the innate penchant to act, they abandon a lot of inflection and end up sounding monotonous. Not Tucci. Listening to him read his book felt like I was on one side of a genuine conversation with the actor and it was wonderful. Tucci is one of those actors who I have often thought would be an excellent person to just know in person. In fact, I used to daydream (back when I was slightly inclined to the idea of acting myself) that Tucci could play the father figure to my character and that it would be just magical (especially if he was anything like his character in Easy A).

Tucci did more than just talk about food. He also ruminated on important things like family, work, and his health, especially his experience with cancer. But he didn’t inundate readers with darkness, which would have been fine in a regular memoir – maybe not one about food). His asides and explications gave a certain nuance to the memoir that really filled out the menu, so to speak. In fact, keeping with the food metaphor, these thoughts were like a robust table of side dishes that well accompanied the main dish that was the food.

All in all, Tucci’s memoir may not be fore everyone. But for me, a foodie who has had my own health trouble, it was a wonderful escape into the mind of a terrific actor. There was depth without troubling solace (it was an appropriate level for a food memoir, remember) and Tucci did a phenomenal job at conveying his feelings as he read his own thoughts. He even sought to make it more fun here and there with some amusing voices or out-of-pocket asides. I would recommend it to any foodies, fans of Tucci, or anyone who just wants to read a more light-hearted memoir. But be warned…it will make you hungry.