Vanity Fair

Paltrow and Batali—who seemed to have the nonchalant intimacy of friends who can go months without talking and then pick right back up again seamlessly—both spoke briefly to the room before the dinner got underway. First Batali described, in vivid detail, the meal about to be served (which included a tricolore appetizer, and a choice of halibut and beef short rib for the entrée), before ceding the stage to Paltrow. “So now that we all want to have sex with our food, based on [Batali’s] description . . .” Paltrow began, and it was possible to imagine, as the crowd all chuckled, that we were inside her palatial, pristine foyer, at her home in Los Angeles, that she was about to walk around and pour us all glasses of sparkling rosé (or watch, approvingly, as someone else did). She went on to note that she and Batali had been friends for 18 years. “He was just teasing me about every boyfriend I brought to [Batali’s restaurant] Babbo over the years. He liked Brad Pitt, if you want to know. Didn’t like Ben Affleck that much.” Batali chimed in at this point with a joke about babysitters, to which Paltrow chastised, lovingly, “Shut the fuck up.” She then told a short story about Cadillacs (her grandfather Buster was an obsessive fan) before signing off: “Thank you all for giving us your Wednesday night, and buon appetito, and enjoy!”

Firewatch

Firewatch Studio, PO Box 3464, Running Springs, CA 92382