Not often that I read a memoir and come away repelled by the author. The misogyny (one small example - see what kind of 'broad' a man is with at a restaurant to gauge how much to upsell him on wine), the preening and egotism, the rampant promotion of his restaurants and his wine, the self-satisfaction....what an arrogant, grasping, desperate-for-attention jerk this man is.
Upped my review to two stars from one because I did read the whole book, in appalled fascination about what self-congratulatory nonsense he'd come up with next. Shook my head at his description of Eataly as some sort of common man's piazza (at those prices? please), open-mouthed at his utter inability to admit failure (his bad restaurants were just ahead of their time - the ideas and food were always good, it was the customers that failed to comprehend the genius). And get comfortable for the long smug passages about his wine knowledge, wine brilliance, wine intelligence, infallible palate and memory for wine - you'll be reading for a while.