Stanley Tucci - Taste: My Life Through Food

Stanley Tucci

Taste

My Life Through Food

The Tucci Cookbook

The Tucci Table

Gallery Books

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, New York 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2021 by Stanley Tucci

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020.

First Gallery Books hardcover edition October 2021

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Interior design by Jaime Putorti

Jacket design by Saffron Stocker/Penguin Random House

Jacket image Francois Berthier/Contour by Getty Images

Author photograph by Gerhard Kassner

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Tucci, Stanley, author.

Title: Taste : my life through food / Stanley Tucci.

Description: First Gallery Books hardcover edition. | New York : Gallery Books, 2021.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021007791 (print) | LCCN 2021007792 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982168018 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781982168025 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781982168032 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Tucci, StanleyFamily. | Cooking, ItalianAnecdotes. | Food writersUnited StatesBiography. | ActorsUnited StatesBiography.

Classification: LCC TX649.T83 A3 2021 (print) | LCC TX649.T83 (ebook) | DDC 641.5092 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021007791

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021007792

ISBN 978-1-9821-6801-8

ISBN 978-1-9821-6803-2 (ebook)

To my incredible parents, for giving me and my sisters so much and for teaching me how and why to love life and food.

To my wife, Felicity, for her extraordinary mind, her open heart, and her appetite.

And to my gorgeous children, may they always find happiness wherever they are, especially at the table.

I grew up in an Italian family that, not unusually, put great import on food. My mothers cooking was extraordinary and there was a daily, almost obsessive focus on the quality of the ingredients, their careful preparation, the passing on of family recipes, and cultural culinary traditions. About twenty-five years ago I made a film called Big Night that told the story of two Italian brothers struggling to keep their restaurant going. It ended up heightening my interest in all things culinary and catapulted me into places, relationships, and experiences I never thought I would have. To this day, restaurateurs, chefs, and food lovers all around the world tell me how much they like and are inspired by the film. I am more than flattered and almost embarrassed by their kind words and, in the case of many, their generosity. I am always thrilled and thankful for such moments, as I so admire anyone who runs a good restaurant, decides to lead the grueling life of a chef, or simply takes the time and effort to make a good meal for people they love.

My love of food and all that it encompasses only continues to grow every year. It has led me to write cookbooks, become involved in food-related charities, make a documentary series, and it is ultimately what brought my wife, Felicity, and me together.

As it is fair to say that I now probably spend more time thinking about and focusing on food than I do on acting, as is evidenced by some of my recent performances, it seems appropriate that this primary passion take yet another form: that of a memoir of sorts. The following pages offer a taste of such a memoir. I hope you find them palatable. (More puns to follow.)

S. Tucci

London, 2021

Westchester County, New York, Mid-1960s

M y mother and I are sitting on the floor in our small living room. I am around six years old. I am playing with a set of blocks and my mother is ironing. The TV is tuned to a cooking show.

ME: What is she doing?

MY MOTHER: Shes cooking.

ME: What?

MY MOTHER: Shes cooking.

ME: I know. I mean what is she cooking?

MY MOTHER: Oh, shes cooking a duck.

ME: A duck?!!

MY MOTHER: Yep.

ME: From a pond?

MY MOTHER: I guess so. I dont know.

I am silent. I build; she irons.

MY MOTHER: How are you feeling?

ME: I think, better.

She feels my forehead.

MY MOTHER: Well, I think your fevers gone down.

ME: Will I have to go to school tomorrow?

MY MOTHER: Well see.

A silence as we watch the TV.

MY MOTHER: Are you hungry?

I nod.

MY MOTHER: What would you like?

ME: I dont know.

MY MOTHER: A sandwich?

I offer no response.

MY MOTHER: Would you like a sandwich?

ME: Ummm

MY MOTHER: How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

ME: Ummmm yeah.

My mother raises her eyebrows. I notice.

ME: Yes, please.

MY MOTHER: Okay. When the show is over in ten minutes I will make you a sandwich.

ME: But Im hungry now.

My mother just looks at me, eyebrows raised even higher. I go back to my blocks.

MY MOTHER: Do you remember that show when she made crepes?

ME: What?

MY MOTHER: Crepes. Those pancakes.

ME: Ummmm

MY MOTHER: That I make sometimes

ME: I dont know.

MY MOTHER: Well, anyway, do you want to help me make them this weekend?

ME: Ummm, sure.

A beat.

ME: Why is she cooking a duck?

MY MOTHER: I guess she likes duck.

A silence. We watch the television.

ME: Do you like duck?

MY MOTHER: Ive never really had it.

A beat.

ME: Do I like duck?

MY MOTHER: I dont know. Do you?

ME: Have I had it?

MY MOTHER: No.

ME: Then I probably dont like it.

MY MOTHER: You cant know if you dont like something if you havent had it. You have to try it. You have to try everything.

ME: Mmm. Maybe later. Someday, when Im older, maybe.

I watch the TV. My mother looks at me and cant help but smile. A silence. The show ends and we go to the kitchen.

She makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me, which I eat ravenously. She watches.

MY MOTHER: Wow, you were hungry.

I nod with a mouth full of food and then speak, mouth still full.

ME: What are we having for dinner?

MY MOTHER: Pork chops.

ME: Awwwww!!! No. I dont like pork chops.

My mother sighs.

MY MOTHER: Well, why dont you go next door and see what the neighbors are having?

I sigh dramatically and continue eating the sandwich. My mother smiles and begins to clean the kitchen.

This question was asked by my father immediately upon any guests arrival in our home. He lovedand still, at age ninety-one, does lovea good cocktail. Hes never gone in for anything fancy, but our home always had a very well-stocked bar that contained the necessary liquors for any drink a guest requested. My father himself usually just drank scotch on the rocks in the fall and winter, gin and tonics or beer in the summer, and of course wine with every meal no matter what the season. I loved to watch him make a drink for our guests, and when I came of age, this task was passed on to me and I proudly accepted it.