Sex and Food Face Off at Le Cirque

nyworld 19 Sex and Food Face Off at Le CirqueLast week, I was at a party at the sophisticated Le Cirque restaurant on East 58th Street street for the HBO documentary Le Cirque: A Table in Heaven. I asked fabled Le Cirque owner Sirio Maccioni, a very elegant man who smelled great, what happens when his beautiful wife of 38 years, Egidiana, sees hot women all over him?

“I can tell you one thing,” said Mr. Maccioni. “For me, a world without women would be impossible. But also I’ve never been stupid. I respect myself and I respect my wife and I respect my children. When we were at the other restaurant on 65th Street, we had the most beautiful women in the world. You know what was my satisfaction? I’d say, ‘Yes, you’re attractive, I’m sorry I cannot go with you.’ As a joke, that was for fun. It’s all mental what you do. I knew that I could have done, I know that I could do.”

I could smell the animal on him. I asked my new hero what his favorite sex act was?

“I like all of them,” he said, his leonine head inclining toward me. “I have done it all. I have done it all in the right way and most of all, always with beautiful woman—beginning with my wife.”

“No, no, no,” interrupted Mr. Maccioni’s biographer, Peter Elliot, who was standing nearby. “Ending with your wife.”

It was that kind of night. What was I doing there, anyway? I had, like, five bucks to my name, and here I was, at a fancy restaurant, when, to me, food just means Burrrrp! Pffffft! Plop! Flush! But sex still works when I can get it (twice a month max, thanks to the economy).

Well, I was just doin’ my job. The whiskey was sloshing inside but I was still nervous approaching socialite Debbie Bancroft, whom I’ve always wanted to spoon. I wagered a question: We all know New York men have gone flaccid; how can New York City women get these men back to old-school boning?

“I think if the women were less selfish, and less involved in things they can acquire, they might actually pay more attention to the man they’re with,” she said. “So this may all just jibe beautifully with the recession: No money, no shopping, so look at who you’re with, talk to him.”

What does she like better, food or fucking?

“Can I put a martini first, then food? Then fucking.” She said the word as if it had four syllables; my tape recorder was inches from her lips. I asked what was the best dish she ever had at Le Cirque?

“Foie gras ravioli.”

Favorite sex act?

“Are you serious? Holding hands. Nicole, here’s your wine glass.”

Nicole Miller, the glamorous fashion designer, was before me, looking sultry and in the mood.

“Food or fucking?” I blurted, spilling whiskey on my khakis.

“Oh my gawd,” she said. “I’m happy to have both.”

She talked about the time Mario Maccioni, one of Sirio’s three pretty sons, brought her bread crusts with lard and white truffle shavings—on the house! Zounds!

Her favorite sex act?

“Kissing.”

Blech!