At first, I was afraid this was going to be another mindless love letter to ridiculous extravagance, as I'd just attempted to read Miriam Keyes' "Making it Up as I Go Along," and put down that book in disgust when she gleefully described her hoarded, unused Chanel nail polishes as a "museum."
But Mayle tells you right up front that he has a modest lifestyle, making it seem that this was all he could afford (while still dropping over 1,000 pounds on a single hat or almost as much on a shirt). Somehow, though, the search for exquisite quality--for having a few things that will last a lifetime rather than buying a lot of everything--made this book bearable.
As a woman, I am clearly not Mayle's intended reader. Every place he goes is a gentleman's exclusive domain, and females are only mentioned as forms of entertainment, with our thighs the perfect table to roll a cigar on--seriously! This continuous, blissfully ignorant sexism began to grate on me after a while. I realize he was from a different era, but do "girls" always need to be included in a list of the "basic facilities you might want," which also include tennis and wind sailing? We're people, not a pastime. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Mayle could have benefitted from a bit of enlightening.
That said, two essays rescued the book for me and pushed it into four-star territory: "New Year's Resolutions" and "The Writing Habit," which I could completely relate to, in theory if not in practice. When he's at his satirical best, Mayle is quite entertaining. I also enjoyed hearing what it was like to travel on a rich friend's private jet, see how the finest champagne is made, and learn about the Great Antoine ("Cher Ami" is also wonderful). I was thrilled to see a nod to Harry's Bar in Venice, which I personally sought out and have such fond memories of.
But the way caviar is harvested is truly horrifying. If one is considering veganism, that essay will be enough to push you over the edge. I'll pass on that particular treat, no matter how tasty it is.