Taste: My Life Through Food

Tucci expands upon his food-and-love story with Felicity: the episode with the roast potatoes is not only high farce in the collision of cultures—Tucci’s palpable confusion at Felicity’s method of preparing the dish is hilarious—but it also marks another incremental step toward falling in love. Felicity’s fierce determination in making the dish, holding the pot “much in the way a pig farmer grabs the ears of a sow and drags it to slaughter” (214), endears her to Tucci and his parents. But it is the deliciousness of the dish that cements the deal: “I was in love. And so were my parents. And then we ate her potatoes and fell in love again” (217). The cultural dislocation is charming, but the food itself is winning.

This segues neatly into the following chapter, wherein Tucci discusses the rapid disappearance of trained butchers and specialized fishmongers. These institutions have largely given way to the homogenizing presence of “giant supermarkets,” which not only squeezes out the independent shop but also renders the ones who are left less than before: “Those few that still exist today are usually quite good, but for the most part, their selections are not very adventurous and their prices are very dear” (219). He mourns the loss of these shops as much for their interaction as for their products. Haggling over prices and discussing the quality of the day’s offerings is much more than a mere financial transaction: “Whether we know it or not, great comfort is found in these relationships, and they are very much a part of what solidifies a community” (221). Thus, not only is food the expression of familial love, as he has explored throughout the book, but it is also a building of communal bonds. He mentions “the third place,” a concept coined by Ray Oldenburg, as a space separate from home (first) and work (second): “These ‘third places’ are bars, cafes, and restaurants”—and, presumably, the independently owned shops he has just been discussing—“They bring people from all walks of life together and allow for casual interaction with others with whom we don’t work and to whom we are not related” (221). This, he implies, creates a broader sense of community, along with greater tolerance, openness, and even compassion for others who originate from different places.

This complements another of Tucci’s themes, that of origins and what one might call terroir. The concept of terroir suggests that an agricultural product, in particular, originates out of a specific location with particular flavors and characteristics that it could not possess should it have been grown or produced elsewhere. Thus, the EU classifies certain products with a stamp designating their origins to testify to their authenticity (for example, real parmigiana cheese, rather than parmesan, or authentic Champagne, rather than sparkling wine). While Tucci does not explicitly use this term, his appeals to original sources speak directly to the concept. When discussing seafood stew, he notes that specific variations of the idea exist throughout the world: “For instance, in Livorno there is cacciucco, in Croatia there is brudet, yet another from Liguria is called burrida, and of course from Provence, there is the brilliant bouillabaisse” (234). What is remarkable about this catalog is that all of these iterations are at once distinct and familiar, retaining unique flourishes within a basic template. It encompasses both the connections across cultures and the distinctive cultural authenticity that each version retains.

This desire to maintain cultural legitimacy often veers toward quasi-religious devotion: “Italians can be very dogmatic when it comes to food in general” (234). One might argue, after reading numerous Tucci pronouncements themselves, that he too has inherited this tendency. He employs religious metaphors throughout the text, none more significant than when he discusses his devotion to food following his recovery from cancer: “Until I began to fathom my deep emotional connections with food, I had always thought that the ceremonial eating of the communion wafer, a symbol for the body of Christ, was a strange, almost barbaric, pagan ritual” (277). Subsequent to his illness, however, Tucci discovers that this “may well be the only aspect of Catholicism that makes any sense to me at all. If you love someone, you just want them inside of you” (278). Brushing sexual innuendo aside, Tucci emphasizes how “[l]ove can and does enter through the mouth” (278). Feeding is nothing short of an act of devotion itself.

This might suggest that Tucci’s peripatetic life—living and working in various countries and traveling both for pleasure and for work—amounts to a sort of pilgrimage. It is another way in which his love for his wife, Felicity, is expressed: “Traveling with Felicity is always a pleasure. She is incredibly organized and well researched, particularly when it comes to restaurants” (238). She, like Tucci, seeks out the simplicity that gestures toward authenticity, as when they discover “[t]he simple but poignant spaghetti con zucchini alla Nerano,” which “points once again to the Italian ability to discover riches where others might find very little” (244). This encompasses Tucci’s philosophy quite neatly: he finds pleasure, love, joy, even spiritual revelation in the simplest of dishes and in the generosity with which such simplicity is offered.

This certainly goes some way toward explaining his depression and despair during his illness and long recovery. Not only does he find himself without the ability to taste, but he finds himself without the ability to commune with others: “Even at home I often found myself eating separately from my family because I was embarrassed about how hard it was for me to get through a simple bowl of pasta. [...] How I socialized was primarily through eating and drinking” (274). He is profoundly isolated and alienated when that is taken away from him. However, Tucci’s story is a triumphant one—he fully recovers, even overcomes old digestive impediments in the process—and he ends it in the same upbeat manner in which he approaches most everything in this memoir. His final list of foodstuffs that he craves and can now eat—including but not limited to “clams on the half shell, goat cheese, langoustine, pasta Bolognese, Swiss chard, Felicity’s roast potatoes” (279)—reads like an epic catalog, a list that proceeds for nearly a full page. Tucci is the conquering hero of his own epic tale.