60 Minutes - Sunday, January 20, 2019

Episode Date: January 21, 2019

Steve Kroft travels to the Whiskey Islands -- to finish a story that was started by the late Bob Simon. Lesley Stahl finds out why Chef Massimo Bottura has been called the Pavarotti of pasta. Plus -- Sharyn Alfonsi takes a trip down Abbey Road -- and memory lane -- with Paul McCartney. Those stories on tonight's "60 Minutes." Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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exclusions, and terms apply. Instacart, groceries that over-deliver. Tonight on this special edition of 60 Minutes Presents, eat, drink, and be merry. The restaurant ranked number one in the world is in the little-known town of Modena, Italy, Osteria Francescana, where you have to wait months to get a reservation. Caesar salad in bloom. Chef Massimo Battura says it wasn't always like this. Those are flowers? All flowers, edible flowers.

That his avant-garde eatery might never have become number one, if not for a simple and spectacular dish of old-fashioned tagliatelle. So that turned everything around? Totally. You are known as the maestro. Yeah, now. Before they want to crucify me in the main piazza. 60 Minutes is constantly on the lookout for places we've never been before. So when our late colleague Bob Simon heard about a magical place in the Hebrides Islands off the coast of Scotland, known for making some of the great whiskies in the world,

well, the story spoke to him. Cheers. We get literally thousands upon thousands of single malt tourists coming here. They come from all over the world just to set foot on Islay. To study it? No, to drink it. Yeah, that's the thing, you know, good little band. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to meet Paul McCartney

and talk about the Beatles? Well, so have we. This is outside Abbey Road after we'd made the Abbey Road crossing picture. And I remember talking to John about his taxes. Someone had said to me, you better warn him because he doesn't know what's going on. About taxes. That's why you have this glum look on your face? That's maybe why he's got the glum look. I've got the I need to talk to you about your taxes look.

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whatever is next for you, that's the power of Pacific. Ask a financial professional about how Pacific Life can help give you the freedom to do what you love, or visit www.pacificlife.com. Good evening, I'm Sharon Alfonsi. Welcome to 60 Minutes Presents. Tonight, we'll eat, drink, and be merry. The food is from Italy, the drink from Scotland, and for Merriman, songs from a lad from Liverpool. First, let's eat. Today, chefs can be as famous as movie stars, but few rival the success and celebrity of Massimo Battura. His restaurant, Osteria Francescana, has three Michelin stars and ranks number one on this year's list of the world's 50 best restaurants. It's located in northern Italy in a city called Modna, where the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti

was born. This fall, when Leslie Stahl went to Modna to meet Chef Batura, she was struck by how operatic he is. Imagine, imagine, imagine, dream. You have to dream about food, okay? Do you dream about food? I always dream about food. I always dream. We first met Massimo Bottora shopping for food in Modena, the home of Italy's finest balsamic vinegar and parmesan cheese. He buys the freshest vegetables, like green tomatoes, that he likes to top off with 25-year-old balsamic vinegar. Are you ready? I can't wait. Okay. It's an experience that is going to stay with you for the rest of your life. I'm telling you. This is a huge moment. It's a huge moment for you. whole thing just like yeah just one bite

and close your eyes connect your mental palate and understand the the the your perception your receptor are talking to you right now there are so many different things going on in my mind it is it is it is complexity and that's his signature as a chef. And what's he making? He's making risotto, toasting rice with orange juice. Dishes that are complex mixtures of unexpected flavors. Two people, two super menus, don't go! In his kitchen at Osteria Francescana, he oversees a staff of 35

as they build his beautiful avant-garde masterpieces that he says are inspired by contemporary art. His creations are like canvases, and he christens them. He calls this camouflage made of wild hair, juniper berries, and cocoa powder. Oh, that's spectacular. Some of his dishes are beautiful. Some are whimsical. And then there's his version of popular Italian cuisine.

That's chicken cacciatore. This is chicken cacciatore. Oh, my God. You wouldn't recognize most of his Italian dishes. This is the crunchy part of lasagna. Spaghetti with tomato. Spaghetti with parmigiano. Spaghetti with fresh herbs.

Battora is one of the most successful chefs in the so-called deconstruction school, where food is presented like abstract art. What do you call this dish? In three parts. I don't know. His culinary creations are rooted in the traditions of northern Italy and his hometown, Modena, an ancient city of narrow streets and grand piazzas, where they've been making Parmesan cheese and balsamic vinegar the same way for centuries.

It's where Battora's love of food began when he was just a little boy hiding under the kitchen table. I remember my grandmother was rolling pasta. In the meantime, what I was doing, I was stealing the tortellini from under the table and eat the raw tortellini. That's how you were beginning to develop your palate, was from raw tortellini. Yeah, from a raw tortellini you can understand a lot. You can understand the amount of spices they use, the amount of parmigiano, the amount of ham, you know, those kind of things.

Even as a little kid. Balance. How old are you at that point? You're a kid. Yeah, like seven, six. And you're falling in love with food? In that moment, exactly. He started cooking for his friends when he was in high school, but his father wanted him to become a lawyer in the family's lucrative fuel business. I have to show my dad he was wrong, because he tried to, you know, he tried to convince me not to get into that business. Being a chef. Yeah.

He didn't respect that as a serious profession. No, no, no. No more money from daddy. Nope. That was it. No, no, that was it. Cut you off. And you're saying to yourself, I have to show you. I don't want to say it. Revenge is a very strong word. It's more like... Show that you were right.

Show that I was right. But he wasn't right right away. When he and his American wife, Laura Gilmore, opened Osteria Francescana in 1995, amidst all that tradition in Modena, they were offering Batura's minimalist rendition of a bowl of tortellini, just six little pieces of pasta. Six little tiny, and that was it. The biggest provocation of all. A tortellini is something, it's comfort food for modernies. It's like a religion.

If you don't believe in God, you believe in tortellini. But you don't want six. You want a nice, big, abundant bowl of tortellini with the hot broth. And he was serving this sort of room temperature broth gel, and the tortellini were there. And there were six of them, and the modernists were like putting their hands like, what did I come here for? Why am I here? Food critics ask themselves the same question. A very important modernist food critic came and ate.

The modernist food critic. The modernist food critic came and ate at our restaurant. Of course, the review was terrible. The review was like, please don't go there. Don't go there. And hardly anyone did. His food was seen as a sacrilege in a country that reveres mothers and their home cooking. Did you ever say to yourself, okay, I'm going right back to the old Italian cooking.

I can do it. I know how to do it. Never. No. Now you can do that. But after six years of bad reviews and empty tables, he gave in and introduced a handful of traditional Italian dishes, including an old-fashioned tagliatelle. And then a prominent national food critic happened by, ordered the tagliatelle, and wrote...

But these are the best tagliatelle in the world. He said that. Yes. So that turned everything around? Totally. You are known as the maestro. Now, before they want to crucify me in the main piazza. Now they call me maestro. That's the difference. Some of the maestro's dishes are improvisations born out of accidents,

like his, oops, I dropped the lemon tart. That's a classic. The story begins when his pastry chef, Taka, was making a lemon tart. I saw Taka completely white. He dropped one of the two tarts in the plate, upside down, just like that. Oh, God. Taka was like ready to kill himself. And I said, Taka!

Taka, no. Please don't. Don't kill yourself. Don't, don't. Look at that. That lemon tart is so beautiful that we have to serve the second one exactly the first one. We did it. We rebuilt in a perfect way the imperfection.

We smashed the other tart exactly as the first one. I can't believe we did that. If I think now, I was like, we were crazy. I was like totally out of mind. Oops, I dropped the lemon tart. Is Jackson Pollock on a plate? And it's one of the most popular dishes on a tasting menu of 12 courses that with, can cost more than $500 a person. They serve lunch and dinner five days a week, and it's always booked. Reservations open three months in advance and fill up in minutes. Are you prepared for the best salad of your life. He invited us to sample some of his other signature dishes in his well-stocked wine cellar. Caesar salad in bloom.

Those are flowers? All flowers. Edible flowers. All edible flowers. But there are 27 elements in that dish. It takes two chefs to build a salad leaf by leaf, petal by petal. And for this dish, it takes a splash of seawater. This is seawater transformed into paper. You make paper out of seawater?

Yes. It may not look like it, but this is Bottura's Filet of Soul topped off with wisps of dehydrated seawater. He calls it Mediterranean combustion. How am I ever going to eat normal food again? Ever. But you feel how light you feel? Very light. But totally delicious.

How long did it take you to create this one dish? Was it months? 32 years. 32 years of experience. Now 56, after all his hard work, Botura is riding high, sometimes on his customized Ducati motorcycle. But a few years ago, he began to feel something was missing in his life, that serving fancy food to international foodies wasn't enough. So like other celebrity chefs, he began to think about helping the poor by feeding them. This is late 2013. We had just sort of one year into having our third Michelin

star that we had worked 20 years to get. And I'm thinking, now you want to start doing this? I thought it was a terrible idea. But she relented and helped him open a number of what he calls refatorios, kind of souped up soup kitchens. But he didn't want them to feel like down and out stand in line cafeterias. So partnering with local charities, he created warm, inviting dining rooms in old abandoned theaters or unused space in churches where the working poor and homeless Italians and refugees from Africa sit side by side with volunteers who serve them three-course meals like in high-quality restaurants. The food, donated by local grocery stores, would have been thrown out because it's slightly damaged or near its sell-by

date. We are Italian, so we're going to make pasta. He's opened seven refatorios so far in London, Paris, Rio de Janeiro, and four in Italy with more to come. Where did that inspiration come from? The numbers are math. Numbers. 33% of the world production are wasted every year. 1.3 billion tons of food is wasted every year. You know, think about one trillion of apples goes in the garbage. Think about how many, you know, apple pie you could create with those, with trillions of, you know, that's insane. The man who has for decades insisted on the oldest balsamic, the finest parmesan, the freshest tomatoes, now realizes their salvation in discarded leftovers. If cooked well, they can nourish the poor, as he says, by filling their stomachs and lifting their spirits. And his as well. It's absolutely necessary to give back some of the lucky life you're living. So this is about giving back. It's what we need. We need dreams. If you don't dream

and you don't dream big, you know, you cannot change the world. When our late colleague Bob Simon heard about a magical place in the Hebrides Islands off the coast of Scotland known for making some of the great whiskeys in the world, well, the story spoke to him. The place is called Islay, and it's one of five whiskey producing regions in Scotland that make an expensive type of scotch called single malt. Islay's distilleries turn out relatively small amounts of their own handcrafted brands for a worldwide luxury market that's more than doubled in size in the last decade and become the spirit equivalent of the fine wine business. Bob liked good scotch and beautiful places, so he went off to Scotland but died

before he could finish the piece, leaving behind a stack of videotapes and some random notes. Back in 2015, Steve Croft decided to finish it for him and raise a glass in Bob's memory. Islay is a small island 20 miles off the west coast of Scotland. There are few trees, miles of windswept heather, and some of the most fertile agricultural land in Scotland. There are sheep and cattle everywhere and an abundance of wildlife. But that's not why people come here. This is eight small distilleries that produce some of the world's finest single malt whiskeys. This is the whole lifeblood of this island and everybody on it. This is all we know. Jim McEwen has been working at Isla's distillery since he was 15 years old.

He's now master of the work, said Brook Lottie. I just thank God that he chose the Scots and gave them whiskey because we appreciate the gift and we look after it. They've been making it here since the 15th century when supposedly some monks taught the locals how to use barley, water and yeast to make a spirit the Scots now call the water of life. They've been perfecting it for 600 years. The distilleries are easy to find, but hard to pronounce. Ardbeg, B'Mor, B'Gladi, B'Nahabin, Kalila, Kilhoman, Lagavulin and Laphroaig.

As Bob Simon noted, they get harder to pronounce the more you visit. For us guys in the west coast of Scotland, whiskey is a religion because it's a provider. And the great thing about whiskey is not just a drink, it's much more than that. Have you ever watched some old Hollywood movies? You say, scotch was always portrayed in Hollywood as a whiskey. When you were down or you were in trouble, the one thing that was going to get you back in your feet and out there was the scotch. Today, if you're down on your luck, you probably can't afford an Isla Single malt. The good ones start at around $70 a bottle. The rare ones can go for hundreds of dollars a glass

at chic whiskey bars around the world, where they're known for their distinctive smoky taste. It comes from peat, the mossy earthen fuel that's cut from bogs on the island. It was used to heat Scottish homes for centuries and is still used to toast the barley at Islay distilleries. John Campbell is the master distiller at Lafroy, one of the top-selling single malts in America. Peat is the thing that makes Islay unique,

and it really resonates with people and it just engenders a kind of love-hate relationship and the people that love it absolutely love it with a passion. And there seems to be no shortage of them. Islay is not easy to get to, usually requiring multiple flights, a long drive and a two-hour ferry ride. Yet enthusiasts continue to make the pilgrimage, especially for the Whiskey Festival. We get literally thousands upon thousands of single malt tourists coming here. They come from all over the world just to set foot on Isla. To study it?

No, to drink it. It's lovely. It's clean. It's fresh. It's vibrant. Officially, Whiskey Fest is a celebration of Isla's culture, but mostly it's about drinking. Absolutely beautiful. No off notes at all. As they listened to Jim McEwen extol the virtues of Brook Lottie, the novitiates, connoisseurs, and whiskey snobs approached each glass with reverence bordering on the religious. Oh, wow. The fruit in that is incredible.

As the glasses empty, the smiles got bigger. But the islanders will tell you that all of this warmth and good feeling comes not from the alcohol in the spirits, but from the spirit of the place. It is almost mystical, beautiful, dramatic, and quiet. There's no road rage, barely any traffic. If you do get hung up, it's probably because of a farm animal. They have the right of way. And if you do happen upon people, they'll almost always greet you with the Isla Wave.

Everybody just waves because it's just friendly. There's not so many of us, so you just wave to say hi. It's what Elsa Hayes liked about the island when she moved her family here from London to take a manager's position at one of Isla's thriving distilleries. It's strange, is it not, that such a small place with so few people, your products are known everywhere in the world. I know. It makes us all very proud. It does. There's such a boom worldwide for single malts.

It's fantastic. And you can really feel that on the island. A lot of the distilleries have doubled production. And so there's a lot of opportunities there as well. And there's no reason to believe that that won't continue. Well, times are good people drink, times are bad people drink. Is it possible to be socially acceptable to be a teetotaler on this island? Yes. Are there any?

Yes. I'm not one of them. Over the years, the island's people have learned how to entertain themselves, often at gatherings called calies, which feature traditional dance and sad songs, mostly about leaving Islay and yearning to return. To sit with my love on the bridge above the rippling waterfall. Go back home, never more to roam, is my dearest wish of all. If this looks and feels a lot like Ireland, that's no coincidence. It's only 25 miles away.

They come from the same tribe, share the same Celtic culture and Gaelic language, not to mention a love of good whiskey that gets them through stormy weather and the long winter nights. There are no movie theaters on Islay, no dry cleaners, no supermarkets, no McDonald's, at least in the fast food business. Jim McEwen says there's a long list of things that Islay doesn't have and doesn't want. We don't have any crime. We don't have mugging, carjacking, housebreaking, rape, just dope drugs. We don't have that. You can keep that. You're very welcome to it. How do you explain the fact that there's no crime here? There's crime everywhere else. If you commit a crime in a small community, you will be ostracized and have to leave. Not only that, your family, your children and your children's children

will be remembered as the children of the man who committed the crime. Most Scots are forthright, practical people who are proud of their country and the fact that their most famous export has withstood the test of time. They see themselves as artisans, and making whiskey is more about art and alchemy than manufacturing. Every distiller has their own secrets and superstitions. We'll give you the unclassified two-minute tour. Sorry, we can't offer you free samples. It begins with a bit of trickery on the molting floor, when barley that's been soaked in water is spread out and raked over and over to convince the grain it's spring and time to germinate,

releasing the starches that are locked inside. It's then dried with peat smoke to add flavor and ground into flour, sometimes with 19th century machinery, and then mixed with hot water, transforming the starches into a sugary concoction called mash. Smell that, Bob. Oh, yeah.

You can smell the goodness. Yeast is then added, changing the sugar into alcohol, a primitive ale which is then cooked a couple of times in copper stills, where the vapor is collected and condensed into this clear liquid. And that's the stuff we want to go into the barrel. But what I'm looking at is this looks like rubbing alcohol. This is in fact the whiskey. It's very good.

If you need a rub, there's no doubt about it. I bet it would be good. But once this goes into the barrel, from then it's just time. It's just time. And it's a great journey, you know. This is a child, but the cask is the mother, and that's what makes the journey. If you give a good cask, you're bound to get a good child. It's that simple. It takes less than three weeks to make, but requires at least ten years of aging in these oak casks,

which add flavor and color to turn it into world-class single malt whiskey. You'll see some of the names. There's Clement Springs, Buffalo Trace, Jim Beam. Bob was surprised to learn that 97% of the casks used to make single malt whiskey had been previously used to age American bourbon and bought secondhand from U.S. distillers. It's testimony to the ingenuity and frugality of the Scots, who have very few oak trees. Without the American barrel, there would be no whiskey industry. It's as simple as that. A sophisticated palette will detect a hint of the oak and bourbon in Islay's single malt, as well as the sweetness of sherry that comes from wine casks bought in Europe.

Before the final product is sold, it will have done time in a number of different casks. Master distiller Jim McEwan is the one who decides when to rotate them and when each barrel is ready to be bottled. He opened a young cask for Bob DeSantis. I would describe that as mellow yellow, absolutely pure. And it's only seven years old. That's right. Young whiskies are like young people. They're vibrant.

They're full of life. In fact, this for me is like coming home from work. At the end of the day, I work really hard. Nobody appreciates me. My wife doesn't appreciate me. My kids don't appreciate me. Life's a bitch. A couple of glasses of that and it doesn't matter.

A couple of shots of that and I am the king of the world. Absolutely. You know, frankly, I never liked this stuff, but the way you're talking me into it. But you've got to check every bar. I certainly hope so. Cheers. McEwen is the man responsible for the taste and consistency of the whiskeys at Brook Lottie, which requires a very personal involvement with the product.

I have heard you described as the cask whisperer. I do talk to casks. There's no doubt about it. In what language? Mainly English. Depends on how many whiskies I've had. If I've had a few whiskies, I tend to revert to the Gaelic language when I'm talking to the cask. It's just one of these things

you go into the warehouse and you pop the bung out. You draw your sample, yeah? And you look at it and you think, bung out, you draw your sample, yeah, and you look at it and you think, wow, you're beautiful. But you're not just ready yet. Tell you what, I'm going to come back and see you in three months, OK? And other times you find a cask which is so incredibly good, you can't not speak, you say, oh, my God,

you are the most beautiful thing I have ever tasted in my life. And you think, oh jeez, I just want to share this with somebody. But there's nobody around, it's just me and the casks. We'll stay. On most days, McEwan devotes several hours to quality control, checking up on several hundred casks. But it's a fantastic job, nosing and tasting whiskies. And you can still walk out of here in the evening? Occasionally, I need some help. There's no doubt about that. Yeah. Dying devotion to one's whiskey is apparently not all that unusual. While we were on ILEB, the camera crew ran into a party of Canadians, the friends and family of a deceased single malt lover named Bill, who wanted his ashes scattered in the waters opposite his favorite distillery. Funds for the pilgrimage were set aside in his will.

That's why he wants it. It's good. It's good. To Bill. To Bill. Now he's happy. Now he's happy now he's happy after that the only thing left was for bob to say goodbye to jim mckeown and it turned out to be last call for our old pal bob simon cheers bob hope you've enjoyed this little visit here you're speaking in the past it's's not over. Yeah, I'm going to get you out of here, man. You're costing me a fortune. Not long after our story first aired, master distiller Jim McEwen retired, but not for long. McEwen is now part of the team opening Isla's ninth distillery called Ardnehoe, the first to open on the island in more than 10 years.

At the beginning of this season, we wondered why we had never profiled the most successful musician and composer in popular music history. Maybe it's because it's nearly impossible to try and find something surprising to talk to Sir Paul McCartney about. How do you jostle a new memory from a Beatle who, over the decades, may be the most written-about person on the planet? Well, this fall, as the Beatles' White Album turned 50 years old, we decided to go for it. Mr. McCartney was funny and reflective as we used rare photos and film to walk him through some very personal Beatles stories

and wondered who, at the age of 76, he's still trying to impress. But let's start with a bit of a revelation. The man who has sold an estimated billion records, and maybe rock and roll's best bass player, can't write or read music. It's embarrassing. Is that true? I don't read music or write music. None of us did in the Beatles. We did some good stuff though, but none of it was written down by us. It's basically notation. That's the bit I can't do because I don't see music like that. I don't. That's interesting. You don't see music like that. Yeah. I don't see music as dots on a page. It's something in my head that goes on.

One, two, three, four. From his first countdown on their first song off their first album, That Something has translated globally and across generations. Today, McCartney is still seeing music in his hand. How do you feel about this one? I'm proud of it. I like this one. This one, McCartney's latest album, Egypt Station, debuted at number one.

When you are writing these songs, who are you trying to impress? Everyone, I suppose. That's a tall order. Yeah, well, that is an impossible order, you're right, but it doesn't stop me trying. But don't people always say, I love it, Paul, you're wonderful? That is an occupational hazard.

We spent two days with Macca, as friends have called him since Liverpool, touring his relic-filled recording studio on the South English coast. This was at Abbey Road, and this is like the fireman rushes in. Yeah. And we were surprised to find Paul McCartney, at 76, seems to feel the same need to prove himself as he did when he was a teenager. I think people worry about things. And it doesn't matter how elevated you get or your reputation gets,

you still worry about things. I mean, I'm sure... What are you worried about? What else do you have to prove? You know, I've heard people say that about me. He wants to be liked. But I'm going, doesn't everyone? Do you worry more now than you used to? No, it's just who I am, maybe.

For instance, when we were now famous with the Beatles, and we had done Revolver, one of the early Beatles records, and I got the horrors one day. I thought it was out of tune. I thought the whole album was out of tune. I listened to it and for some reason I thought, oh my god.

And I went to the guys. I said it's out of tune. I don't know what we're going to do. And they said, and they got a bit worried and listened to it. They said, no, it isn't. I go, oh, OK. We were with McCartney as he prepared to tour,

warming up with some surprise shows, including this one at Liverpool's Cavern Club. The Beatles played this club almost 300 times. And while McCartney's fans know every word to Hey Jude, Yesterday, and Band on the Run, we were surprised who didn't. When I'm doing shows, I listen to a lot of music, Beatle music, Wings music, to see what ones we're going to do and to learn them. Yeah. What do you mean? You've forgotten them? Yeah.

Really? It's too many. Too many words, too many notes. They're very hard. I mean, you know, it's not like they're all three chords. I've been told that I'm the same Well, if I am the same McCartney is at least a co-author of Rock and Roll's Constitution.

Baby, I'm a laser to wave. Credited with a stunning 29 number one hits. You write me when I'm wrong. McCartney's work has been covered by icons from almost every musical genre. Famously, John Lennon and Paul McCartney became songwriting partners as teenagers. One, a full-throated lyrical rock and roller. The other, a musical polymath

with a gift for melody and experimentation. Those first flute-tone notes on Strawberry Fields, John Lennon's masterpiece, were McCartney's idea. All of that. Were you guys competitive, writing with each other? Did you compliment each other? Me and John? Yeah, we were competitive, yeah. Not openly, but we later admitted, yeah, you know, so Paul's written a good one there,

I'd better get going. And I would similarly, mm, that's a bit good, right, here we go, come on. If he'd have written Strawberry Fields, I would write Penny Lane, you know. He's remembering his old area in Liverpool, so I'll remember mine. And when that happened, did you compliment each other?

Once. One time? John gave me a compliment. In how many years? Once, my lord! Now, I think it was Revolver, but Here, There and Everywhere was one of my songs on it. Here, there and everywhere

Making each day of the year And I remember John sort of just when he finished wrote a really good song there. I love that song. And I was like... Yes, he likes it. You know, I've remembered it to this day. It's pathetic, really.

Did you ever heap praise on him? Yeah, I would tell him his stuff was great. You'd normally have to be a little bit drunk. It helped. You don't need to be a Beatle fan to appreciate the importance of this part of London. For tourists, it rivals Big Ben or trying to catch a glimpse of the Royal Grandkids. Abbey Road Studios, where Paul, John, George and Ringo, along with producer George Martin, began denting pop culture. First with jangly, flirty harmonies. And later by exploring, then defining what music could be. Blackbird singing in the dead of night. beat. But during tense sessions for what would become the White Album 50 years ago, the Beatles,

still only in their 20s, began breaking apart. I love this picture. Yeah, this is very special for me, this series, because after the Beatles broke up, I kind of got accused of being the one that broke them up and that we always had terrible relationships. So this always reminds me of how happy we were together. I'm checking some lyrics or something. And it's just great the way John's sort of just smiling. We're obviously just two mates, you know.

Taking the pictures was Paul's first wife, the late Linda McCartney. Her photos from Life in Photographs are intimate and historic. We were in the studio downstairs putting finishing touches to the album. And we had another title going on that we didn't really like. So I just said, hey, why don't we just call it Abbey Road? And what we could do, we'd just go right outside,

walk across the crossing, it's done. You know, and it was like, yeah. Okay, everyone agreed. Where were your shoes? I had sandals on, but I just left them over here to the left because it was a very hot day.

This is outside Abbey Road after we'd made the Abbey Road crossing picture. And I remember talking to John about his taxes. Someone said to me, you better warn him because he doesn't know what's going on. About taxes. That's why you have this glum look on your face? That's maybe why he's got the glum look. I've got the, I need to talk to you about your taxes look. What about this one?

This is in our back garden. And Yoko's in it. And you can see by the looks on our faces, all except John, we're kind of going, why is she in the Beatles photo? But how did that happen? How did what? That she was allowed in the photo? Because they were madly in love and John wanted to take her everywhere.

I think none of us dared say, John, you know, but we all felt it. So it was a bit awkward for us, I must admit. This is my very favorite photograph. That little baby in my jacket now has four children of her own. McCartney credits his love of family and music to his father, Jim, who raised Paul after his mother died when he was just 14. Today, the man who wrote Mother Nature's Son has four grown children, a 15-year-old daughter, and eight grandchildren. We also showed McCartney what amounted to home video of the Beatles. Here we are. It's cold and we're coming out.

From their last live performance together. It's me testing the roof. The Apple Rooftop concert in London. Yeah, that's the thing, you know, good little band. Sounds pretty good. It does, huh? Million-dollar business conflicts and creative differences were carrying a lot of weight. But watch them try and hold back smiles as they walk through a song they wrote as teenagers. I think you see it here. They said move over once, move over twice.

Come on baby, don't be cold as ice. Let's travel on a one after 909. That doesn't look like a band about to break up, that look between you two. Yeah, I know, it's funny, isn't it? It was when the business crept in and it got a bit sticky, you know. It never got really that bad, but we ended up pitching at each other from afar, you know. The business part of things worked out pretty well for Mr. McCartney. He's worth more than a billion dollars.

But for the last seven years, he says his good fortune is due to his wife, Nancy, an American, who he calls beautiful and real. Though he realizes it's probably tricky being married to one of the most famous faces on Earth. Just being recognized by everyone. I mean, you don't always need that. I mean, it's a very difficult thing, you know, because you don't want to sort of be mean to them because they're nice people, they genuinely like you.

But you have to draw the line. These days, everyone's got a camera. Everyone has a camera. So the first thing when I see people, they can't say anything, they've just got to... a camera. Everyone has a camera. So the first thing when I see people and they're not they can't say anything they've just got we'll do a picture and I say

I'm sorry I don't do pictures but I'm very happy to shake your hand and we'll have a chat. No selfies? Who cares? The headline is if you meet Paul McCartney you can have a chat. And who doesn't want to have a chat with a Beatle? Or listen to one on his new world tour.

Where are you most content? When are you most content? I live on a farm in England. It's about 20 minutes from here. And for me, it's great because I can have been in like Australia playing to 40,000 people two days before. Now I'm back on the farm and I'm on my horse and we're going into the woods and it's quiet, little birds singing. So that is very satisfying, and it's a great balance. What's the biggest misconception about you? I don't know, really. I don't hear about them.

I don't know what people think about me. I can try and guess. I'll tell you what, you must have no insecurities. Just like anyone else, you have insecurities. Because everyone has them. And no matter how high and great and wonderful you get, there's still something will make you worry. Are you ever just going to go, I'm good, I did it all? I would like to think I could do that, but I think it would be boring.

And I think I'd sort of give up trying, and I quite like that I don't think I've done it good enough yet. Imagine that. Paul McCartney won't just let it be. I'm Sharon Alfonsi. Thanks for joining us. We'll be back next week with a brand new edition of 60 Minutes.