I Regret Almost Everything: A Memoir of Discontent and Reflection
I’ve always been fascinated by New York City in the 1980s and 90s. There’s something utterly captivating about the vibrant blend of art, culture, and culinary brilliance that defined that era, with figures like Keith McNally at the forefront. So when I picked up I Regret Almost Everything, I was eager for a glimpse into the life of a man whose restaurants have shaped the dining scene. Unfortunately, my excitement waned as I turned pages filled with self-deprecation and restless memories.
From the start, McNally sets the tone with a provocative assertion: “Autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful.” This self-critical lens permeates the memoir, shaping McNally’s narrative and inviting a reconsideration of what it means to live well. However, I found his relentless negativity exhausting. While I appreciate that successful individuals often wrestle with their achievements, McNally’s discomfort—throwing away a James Beard Award, for instance—felt overly burdensome. There’s a fine line between honesty and defeatism, and unfortunately, McNally often strayed into the latter.
The memoir is curated around the harrowing experience of his stroke, blending family and career reflections with health struggles. This could have provided a compelling framework, but the nonlinear narrative left me disoriented; it felt like a jigsaw puzzle without the reference picture. While this method can sometimes lend depth, for me, it muddled the essence of his journey. We darted between memories without truly grasping the larger timeline of his life.
McNally shares a laundry list of dislikes—weddings, clichés, and even Patti Smith (for rudeness to servers)—which, while amusing in theory, overshadowed the narrative. His aversions often left no room for the anecdotes or insights that could have illustrated his creativity and exceptional taste. Indeed, while the discontent can be relatable (who hasn’t cringed at a dinner party?), I yearned for a deeper exploration of McNally’s artistic process, the why behind his celebrated restaurants.
On a stylistic note, McNally favors sweeping declarative statements, but they often lack consistency, making the reading experience uneven. It’s a missed opportunity, as compelling writing can carry a story even when the narrative structure falters. Unfortunately, McNally’s prose didn’t elevate the memoir to the levels I had hoped for.
While I can’t wholeheartedly recommend I Regret Almost Everything, I still admire McNally’s culinary contributions and would be excited to hear him speak in an interview or podcast format. The memoir speaks volumes about his internal battles and complex relationship with success, but I left feeling more curious about his kitchen than his confessions.
For those who relish stories of restaurant culture or appreciate the layered complexities of a flawed yet fascinating character, this memoir might still resonate. For me, it was a reading experience that, though at times enlightening, ultimately felt like a missed connection between a chef and his audience. I’ll keep my admiration for McNally’s work in the culinary world, hoping he finds a more balanced voice in future endeavors.
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