Stanley Tucci is an undeniably charming storyteller. His new culinary journal What I Ate in One Year (Fig Tree, rsp: £20) spills over with tales of impressive breakfasts, disappointing lunches with celebrity friends, and dinners that may or may not have included His Royal Highness.

The book gives the reader a chance to reacquaint themselves with a celeb who feels like an old foodie friend. But at times, it feels like that same friend has been sitting on your sofa talking about his love of marinara sauce for the past seven hours.

Tucci’s debut memoir, Taste, gave him a reputation as a passionate narrator who did not shy from sharing both high and low points of his life – grief, the Italian diaspora, finding love late in life, battling cancer – through his relationship with food. His latest effort – despite featuring an abundance of steaks – lacks the beef to make it a truly great food memoir.

It’s slightly repetitive, and Tucci can be frustratingly reserved. Recalling an Italian dinner with Colin Firth and Tom Ford at the River Café, Tucci teases: “What we talked about is none of your business.”

Nevertheless, he remains a generous host. There is a chair for the reader at the table as he eats stuffed artichokes in Rome, calf’s liver at St John in Smithfield, and slurps bowl after tasty bowl of homemade tagliatelle.

Taste was always going to be a tough act for Tucci to follow. By comparison, this book feels like an entertaining amuse-bouche, but it lacks the depth of a filling main course.

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