From left to right: Kristi Jacobson, Steve Buscemi, Lori Silverbush and Jeff Bridges (Getty Images)

Last Wednesday night, at around 8 p.m., the Transom spotted celebrity chef Mario Batali ambling through the Museum of Modern Art in his bright orange Crocs. But he wasn’t here to see the Munch exhibition. He was en route to the New York premiere of A Place at the Table, a somber new documentary from directors Lori Silverbush and Kristi Jacobson, about America’s widespread--and underpublicized--hunger problem.

And while one imagines Mr. Batali doesn’t know much about being hungry, he was here to learn about the topic. And he wasn’t alone. Lots of star power turned out for the screening of the film—which hit theaters across the country last Friday and is also available on iTunes and on demand—including Steve Buscemi, Jon Stewart and Jeff Bridges, who appears in the movie.

Mr. Stewart left before the screening, presented in association with the Cinema Society, but he had already seen the film, which mostly documents the travails of three individuals who deal with food insecurity. In fact, the film's directors had appeared on The Daily Show the previous night. We had seen the interview and noticed that the dialogue had been unusually straight-faced. No jokes were cracked. Why so serious, we wondered?

Mr. Stewart, who will be leaving The Daily Show for 12 weeks to direct his own movie, let out a big laugh. "I try, but sometimes I don't nail it," he told the Transom, going on to talk about the power of the film. "Sometimes you see something and you get so wrapped up."

We asked Ms. Jacobson how she felt she had fared on The Daily Show.

"I was incredibly nervous," she admitted, "but to be honest, once Jon started talking, it got easy. There are times when the subject doesn't lend itself to making a lot of jokes, but we had fun.”

"It was pretty surreal," Ms. Silverbush said of the encounter with Mr. Stewart, "but I came away from it feeling excited and empowered."

And the directors feel that their film will have the ability to empower hungry people around the country. Ms. Silverbush told us that the reality of hunger in the United States--more than 50 million Americans struggle with food insecurity--hit her on a visceral level when, years ago, she realized that a young girl she mentored was going hungry.

It took three years to make A Place at The Table, whose executive producer is Tom Colicchio, the chef and restaurateur who owns a number of elegant eateries throughout the country and happens to be married to Ms. Silverbush.

And the directors say the movie has a precedent: Hunger in America, a CBS documentary from 1968. That film galvanized the nation, they explained; the government took action by creating a food safety net and helped to end hunger, almost entirely, by the end of the 1970s. During the Reagan years, though, reforms were pushed back, the movie argues.

We asked Ms. Silverbush—who, with her co-director, has unleashed a social action campaign in conjunction with the movie's launch—if she thought her film would have the same effect on the country that Hunger in America had on a previous generation.

"I know that it will," she said, without hesitation.

After the screening, guests headed over to Riverpark, a Colicchio outpost on 29th Street, near the East River, where they were treated to a sumptuous, late-night buffet of wagyu beef brisket, Berkshire pork rack, fried chicken, shrimp, lobster, oysters and more.

The John Dory Oyster Bar.

“The water is warm,” announces the John Dory Oyster Bar. You could have fooled our safety-orange galoshes as they slosh through the brown slush, but we do dig the raw bar and seafood at John Dory, and we last spotted Mario Batali slurping oysters in his ugly Crocs there, which made us feel just a little more like a true foodie. The John Dory at The Ace Hotel, where the staff is tattooed and dressed to look like pilgrims that got moshed with 1970s Seattle grunge rockers, is a cool spot, and the restaurant is opening its chef’s table to eight to 12 “lovely” people who are smart enough to make a reservation way in advance.

The John Dory Oyster Bar, 1196 Broadway, (646) 214-5764, 7pm seating.

“Hopefully, we’re going to change the way people consume,” he said, sitting at a table in Eataly, the Flatiron grocery store he opened in August 2010 in a partnership with Mario Batali, his mother, Lidia, and Italian businessman Oscar Farinetti. Before him was a plate of lentils and a glass of red wine. Asked about the rising price of food, he quickly fired off his reply in his distinctly outer-borough-bred baritone: “We’re going to change the balance of the plate. Less proteins, more carbs, more legumes, more rice, more barley. The era of cheap, abundant food is gone.”

He swirled his wine. “This is going to be a great article by the way, if you write it correctly,” he said. “The poorest people in the world eat this,” he said, tapping his plate with his fork. “And it’s delicious.”

The night before, Mr. Bastianich was on double-duty at the Fox network upfront party, helping both to cater the massive event and appear as one of the network’s stars (he’s a judge on MasterChef). And a moment after speaking with The Observer, he would embark on a rapid-fire wine tasting with an assistant, unleashing a fusillade of instructions at the young woman sitting across from him: “This is great. We could charge another two bucks for this. What else do you have for me?”

Pour, drink, spit.

“Let’s pull this one and wait another year.”

After that, he’d hop in a yellow cab (he owns the medallion and personally employs the driver) and head to JFK, then fly off to begin shooting the second season of the Italian version of MasterChef. Meanwhile, he’s somehow managing an empire of 18 restaurants—or more, depending on how you count them—scattered from New York to Pittsburgh, to Kansas City, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Hong Kong and back, along with three Italian wineries. Then there are his three children, Olivia, Miles and Ethan, with his wife of 17 years, Deanna.

Amid all of that, he’s somehow found time to write a memoir.

Restaurant Man was sold to Viking at auction in October 2010 for an advance reported by New York to be somewhere between $680,000 and $710,000, no small take for a book from a guy who—while a veritable kingpin—isn’t exactly Molto Mario.

The memoir, which has rightfully earned comparisons to Anthony Bourdain’s seminal service industry tell-all Kitchen Confidential, is a dinner rush–paced sprint through the last 30 years of the restaurant industry in America. It follows a rise to prominence driven by—among other things—a distinctly Boomer-ish fear of not winding up richer than his parents.

The book is filled with borderline-misanthropic wisdom, offered up in a Scorsese-esque grumble. (“You’re just happy to know what people are stealing from you,” he writes at one point. “After that, it’s just how much you’re willing to tolerate.”) It is often enthralling, as when he extols the virtues of being a “cheap fuck,” including which vendors to pay last. And it is unapologetically direct—breaking down immigrant workers’ skill sets by nationality, for instance, and walking readers through the process of deciding whether to fire a manager. Restaurant Man is funny, often surprising, and if anything, illuminating. After all, Mr. Bastianich's track record speaks for itself, though his wisdom has proven somewhat abrasive for certain palates.

One anti-Bastianich critic described it as a “meltdown dressed as a memoir” and compared it to the rantings of a “street corner lunatic.”

“It’s a tough world out there,” Mr. Bastianich said, when it was suggested that his take seemed aggressively cynical. “It’s such a drag-your-knuckle, fuck-me-or-I’ll-fuck-you business, and then, you gotta put on a suit and get in the dining room every night to wine and dine, and see the power brokers of the world.”

During his post-lunch tasting, Bastianich asked the young woman pouring the wines if she’d read it.

“Some of it,” she said.

“Do you think I sound like a cynical lunatic?”

“Not really, but maybe that’s because I know you.”

Bastianich was born in Astoria and raised in Bayside, Queens, where he spent most of his formative years in his parents’ first restaurant, Buonavia, in Forest Hills. As a teenager at Fordham Prep, he watched his parents open Manhattan’s Felidia, as Lidia became a star in the food world (then, still a fairly obscure stripe of celebrity).

After graduating from Boston College in 1989, he did a quick stint on Wall Street as a bond trader. “I was doing capital markets, swaps, govies [government bonds], you know, that kind of stuff,” he explained.

It didn’t work out.

In the book, he describes the experience as being “like American Psycho without the chainsaws,” adding, “I didn’t want to be that guy, and I didn’t want to fuck clueless women.”

Leaving the Street with his bonus, he purchased a one-way ticket to Italy, where he bought a used VW Rabbit, embarking on what he calls an “intellectual journey” and “very primal, sensory trip” across Italy, sampling the local foodstuffs, terroirs and women. While the younger ones were comparable to the Virgin Mary, he writes, the divorcees were “giving it away.”

Bastianich’s preference for over-salted prose with four-letter words is prevalent; the book may as well be called Eat, Fuck, Profit. But his thorough understanding and appreciation for all things food—especially native Italian wine and cuisine—is passionate and eloquently conveyed.

On his return to New York, Mr. Bastianich opened up his first restaurant: Becco, in the Theater District, earning decent reviews. Soon, his mother introduced him to Mr. Batali, then the co-owner and chef of Po. Together they opened Babbo in 1998. The restaurant, which featured an offal-laden menu and a loud rock soundtrack, was a hit, and a three-star review from Ruth Reichl at The New York Times certified it. Since then, his empire has relentlessly metastasized.

Not surprisingly, Mr. Bastianich has won some detractors along the way, especially in recent years. One big hiccup occurred in November, when Mario Batali compared the evils of investment banking to those of Stalin and Hitler. He apologized, but not before sparking a Wall Street revolt, including a Twitter hashtag (#Bataligate), rumors of investment banks refusing to honor expensed lunches at Batali/Bastianich restaurants, and Bloomberg terminals categorizing all their eateries as “DON’T GO.” Despite his own unpleasant experience in finance, Mr. Bastianich (who raised money for Del Posto in part from “a couple of guys at Goldman”) is still defensive about the episode.

“That was Mario’s thing,” he said. “I really have nothing to do with that.” But isn’t Mr. Batali his business partner? “He’s entitled to his opinion. You know, whatever. Quite honestly, he was misquoted.” Even so, restaurants like Del Posto—which earned four stars in 2010, what Bastianich feels is one of the most important moments in his career—can’t risk alienating deep-pocketed patrons. Especially given the restaurant’s tumultuous history.

Del Posto was almost closed shortly after opening due to its lease changing hands. The new landlords—described by Mr. Bastianich as “the most unlikable fucking New York douchebag landlords ever” (page 206) and “pure fucking evil” (page 210)—served an eviction notice, claiming the partners had violated the lease agreement with unauthorized construction. Eater claimed it all went back to a pasta dinner the management refused to comp to the new owners.

The ensuing 18-month legal battle included a trip to State Supreme Court. Though he prevailed, Mr. Bastianich is still seething about the fight. In the book, he calls the opposing counsel, Warren Estis, “the fucking antichrist of landlord-tenant lawyers” (page 210), and describes the landlords’ PR advisor, Richard Rubenstein, as the “Hermann Göring of publicists” (also: page 210).

Recalling the dispute, Mr. Bastianich’s eyes glazed over, as if he were having a bad flashback. “I was fighting for my very life, for my 15-million-dollar investment,” he said. “We spent well over a million dollars fighting that shit.”

But it was the press war that stung the most. “The fact that you can buy that kind of ink in The Post ...” he said, trailing off.

The New York Post did go hard on Del Posto. Food critic Steve Cuozzo slammed the restaurant—in a filing that also took on its neighbor Morimoto—under the headline “Bum and Bummer.”

In the book, Mr. Bastianich addresses Mr. Cuozzo directly: “I just want to ask Steve, ‘Are you a real-estate reporter, a restaurant critic, or just plain fucking stupid?’”

Mr. Cuozzo responded in The Post, calling Bastianich “dumb” and a “lunatic,” asking if he remembered the episode incorrectly: “Did Mama Lidia beat him with a zabaglione whisk for the mess he made of Del Posto’s launch, when it was nearly evicted for violating its lease?”

He finished with the taunt: “Lidia, talk to your boy before he costs you real money.”

It was far from the only hostile reaction the book earned. In response to a passage about the time when Esquire’s food critic John Mariani, a “self-righteous, condescending prick,” berated him and “sliced my balls off tableside” over a bad meal, Mr. Mariani fired back through gossip items. He called Mr. Bastianich’s recollection of events “not just vile but so duplicitous that it’s difficult to imagine you are truly the son of your ever cordial, ever civilized parents.”

Regarding the backlash to the book’s more fiery passages, Mr. Bastianich initially claimed to be taken aback. “Quite frankly, it’s surprising to me,” he said.

He later admitted: “Oh, Mariani, yeah. I knew he’d freak out. I mean, whatever. It happened, it’s the truth. I don’t hate him.” Still, he said, “I wish they would leave my mom out of it. She is probably a kinder, more gentle person than I am, and she doesn’t deserve to be brought into this.”

Still, those dustups are fingerling potatoes compared to the labor lawsuits that have been filed against the company.

In 2010, a suit was brought alleging labor violations and demanding back pay. The original lawsuit—which started with only two Babbo employees and alleged that a percentage of wine sales was being deducted from the tip pool—was eventually expanded to a class-action suit against eight Batali/Bastianich restaurants in 2011, a few months after Mr. Bastianich called “bullshit” in the press (a line that was quoted in the judge’s decision to expand the suit to a class-action).

Initially, Mr. Bastianich told service industry gossip site Eater that “we’re going to fight this to every inch of the law, because we know we’re right” and later remarking to The Post that the suits were the work of “money-hungry lawyers” who were “shaking down the very foundation of Manhattan’s restaurant industry.”

One of the lawyers Mr. Bastianich was no doubt referring to was Maimon Kirschenbaum, who brought the suit against his company, and who has handled numerous such cases against many of the largest names in New York's service industry, winning more than $35 million in settlements.

“I don’t think it’s confidential that that guy doesn’t like me,” Mr. Kirschenbaum said in a phone call with The Observer. “I called him a thief.”

Mr. Kirschenbaum hasn’t read the new book, but when told of some of the opening passages, in which Mr. Bastianich explains the various ways in which employees can rip off their bosses, he quickly fired back. “I’m of the opposite mind,” he said. “Employees have to be incredibly suspicious of restaurateurs, because restaurateurs sort of believe that there are two groups of people. There’s the businessman and the employees, and you are the slave. So you should be happy with whatever I give you, and you should not be getting rich in my establishment.”

In the book, Mr. Bastianich plays both sides of the net, initially describing professional waiters as “generally overeducated, artistically deprived, bitter people who feel that every dollar they earn is blood money, and they resent being there” (page 95).

He then goes on to praise his own wait staff as “passionate” and “great,” explaining that “we create a positive work environment” (page 96) where he wants to “make them as much money as possible, and I want to educate them as much as I can” (Page 96). He also lays claim to “encouraging them to stay with us as long as they can” so they can become “part of the family.” This much is true: They have made partners out of former waiters, like Jason Denton, who started working for Batali at Po, and is now a restaurateur in his own right.

At the time of the waiters’ initial lawsuit, Bastianich explained: “We’re not going to let them shake us down for a quick settlement.” Only one of Bastianich’s pledge part proved true: The fight was by no means quick.

In March, almost two years after it was filed, the suit was settled for $5.25 million.

“Yeah, well,” Bastianich sighed, “I was wrong. I was wrong in that I didn’t have the resources or the time to fight this thing. I spent two years of my life fighting lawsuits when what I should really be doing is opening restaurants.”

Still, the concession had to hurt, no?

“Yeah, it hurts,” he said. “Five million is a lot of money.” At this, he put down his fork: “I can’t comment on this a lot because we signed those rights away,” he said. “But there is no justice in this, I can tell you that.”

Did he learn anything from the experience?

“I learned that I should shut the fuck up. And I learned to eat my words.”

When The Observer's conversation was wrapping up with Mr. Kirschbaum, we suggested that maybe he and Mr. Bastianich weren’t so different: They both come from immigrant parents. They both view the restaurant business as a fundamentally blue-collar profession, of servitude. And they are both sufficiently cynical to the point of misanthropy about the motivations of those they stand in opposition to.

“Look, my parents opened a restaurant, too,” he interjected. “It was a Kosher restaurant called Luvana. It was open for thirty-something years.” The restaurant, which was on 69th between Broadway and Columbus, wasn’t that far from Felidia. Did his parents ever have any problems with their waitstaff?

He pauses to think about this for a moment, and then, answers:

“Not that I know of.”

On the horizon for Mr. Bastianich is the third season of American MasterChef, and the second of the Italian MasterChef. Eataly is expanding to Los Angeles and Chicago. Two months ago, Babbo began lunch service. Lupa Osteria Romana recently received a one star review by The Times’ Eric Asimov, and they’ll want more. Del Posto’s challenge is to retain its four stars, while keeping the seats filled.

And there might be another New York restaurant on the way. In a heated moment during the labor dispute, Mr. Bastianich told The Post he was done opening restaurants here.

When asked if this was still the case, he turned to the publicist sitting with us: “Did I say that? Really?” he asked. She nodded.

“Fuck,” he said, admitting that a new local spot was “percolating,” after all.

He laughed. “I was just in a fit of rage,” he said. “Time heals, and life goes on.”

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

Marty and Mario. (Office of the Borough President)

Presented without comment: Two gentlemen of great stature spotted in the wilds of Brooklyn Borough Hall yesterday, for the announcement of a new rooftop farm in Sunset Park, to be the borough's biggest. Can you guess who?

mchaban [at] observer.com | @MC_NYC

Her energy level is through the roof and her style rivals that of many tight-lipped editors: We're talking about Brisbane/Sydney native, Angela Gilltrap. Having worked as an actor, author and editor, this Aussie beauty has now eased into the role of Omni Media Director for fashionweekdaily.com and Daily Front Row (glossy media staples during fashion week). She not only tweets like a fiend, but is one of the faces behind the publications' surreptitious editorial escapes: the not-quite-a-gifting-suite Style Sessions. We cornered her for further explanation:

What do you do for the Daily Front Row? How does fashion week affect your job?

I am the Digital Strategist at The Daily Front Row. I’m here to support the edit staff so that all of our DFR fans get the most up-to-date insider information from inside the tents and beyond.

For most fashion folks, this eight-day week is a mammoth undertaking requiring super hero-like strength, endurance and patience. Not to mention oodles of lip gloss and a handbag full of Cynthia Rowley band-aids.

What’s all this commotion I hear about some clandestine luxury suite for celebs and editors? Are there other such spaces around town?

VIP suites are the new black. Editors everywhere are scheduling these mini-breaks into their packed calendar and for good reason! The fashion world works hard and deserves to play hard. This is the second season we've run The Daily's Style Sessions—the ultimate VIP lounge that combines the best in entertainment, beauty and hospitality.

Here, the fashion elite can leisurely sip on a glass of Moët Chandon while catching up with their favorite celeb; tweet away the hardships of their life while enjoying pampering Meaningful Beauty by Cindy Crawford and talk shop with other editors over a manicure by Essie.

Where else are people flocking to for merriment or escape?

Another great getaway that combines two things not always seen on the same billing—food and fashion. Goodness, a pop[-up] restaurant created by Elettra Weiderman brings fine dining to fashion. Each day a different chef showcases the best in fine dining. This season Mario Batali, Alain Allegretti, Julian Medina and Leo Forneas are on!

Have any celebs dropped into the suite? Or are slated to show up?

We always have a big celebrity presence at The Daily's Style Sessions everyone from the Bensimons to the Kardashians. Entry is by invite only so fashionistas, editors, trendsetters and those in the know will be there.

Which designers make you “have a moment?”

Bibhu Mohapatra! He is one of my favorite designers, so talented and yet so humble. And of course, Carolina Herrera is always a highlight!

Batali.

There's a lot of fuss at the moment about Mario Batali, who told Forbes that "the ways the bankers have kind of toppled the way money is distributed and taken most of it into their hands is as good as Stalin or Hitler and the evil guys." But Mr. Batali is not the only man to bring Hitler into the debate about wealth inequality. Remember last year, when Blackstone Group chairman Stephen Schwarzman, a billionaire, struck out against raising capital gains taxes? What was it that he said? Oh, that's right, he compared Obama to Hitler. Don't these people ever learn?

"It's a war," Mr. Schwarzman was reported as saying in Newsweek about Obama's attempt to eke out some more tax revenue from the country's wealthiest investors. "It's like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939." And this guy has a library named after him.

For now, bankers have loudly proclaimed they will boycott Mr. Batali's truffles, Mr. Batali claims Forbes twisted his words, and the whole thing is likely to blow over in a matter of days.

Dr. Anita Hill with a bunch of white guys.

This afternoon, Time magazine held its annual lunch and panel for it's prestigious person of the year issue. We went in with our money on Occupy Wall Street, but most of our other journo diners seemed to take it as a given that the honor would be bestowed on Steve Jobs.

It was an impressive panel led by Time's Rich Stengel: NBC's Brian Williams, Anita Hill, Jesse Eisenberg, Mario Batali, Seth Meyers, and Grover Norquist, president of the advocacy group Americans for Tax Reform.

The panelists themselves were split about the Jobs vs. the Arab Spring/OWS phenomenon (which Mr. Eisenberg voted for as a general "Populist Movement.") Mr. Williams cast his lot for the Apple founder, though Mr. Stengel was quick to point out that Time has never chosen a deceased person for their cover. (As if that would be a big deal...they put the friggin' iPad on there.) MSNBC contributor and Who's Afraid of Post-Blackness? author Toure may have had the only good point against putting Jobs on the cover, which he likened to giving someone who died an Academy Award even if they didn't give the best performance. "Did Steve Jobs actually change the world in 2011?" he asked the panelists. Mr. Stengel also likened putting Mr. Jobs on the cover with giving someone "a lifetime achievement award."

Mr. Batali was pro-Jobs, saying: "The smartphone has changed the world as much as the Bible has."

Mr. Williams worried that giving the honor of "Person of the year" to a protest wouldn't sit well with readers. "There is an institutional distaste for a movement without a face."

Perhaps that is why Dr. Hill chose  Elizabeth Warren for her attempts to enact real change in Washington. She also nominated a woman involved in the uprising from Cairo, because a "social justice movement" was more important than the technology behind it.

Mr. Meyers cast his lot with Nicolas Sarkozy or Angela Merkel should be in consideration for their role in trying to stop the euro debt crisis, but didn't know if they would end up being considered heroes or villains when the dust cleared.

Eloquent on stage, Mr. Eisenberg sounded like Jeff Goldblum on meth after the panel when we tried to ask him about Occupy Wall Street. Had he been down? What did he think of it?

"Sure, sure, sure," Jesse said, nodding his head vigorously.

Wait...so...he has been down to Zuccotti Park?

"Sure, yes, I have."

Thoughts?

"These protests are, uh, always good and, I hope that, you know, it grows into something."

There went our hope that the Social Network actor had winked at us earlier...it was probably just an involuntary tic.

Zak Pelaccio’s Williamsburg hotspot Fatty ‘Cue opened its West Village outpost last month, and, now, Bedford Cheese Shop—probably Brooklyn’s most noted cheese monger—has signed a 15-year lease at 67 Irving Place.

Besides grabbing 5,000 square feet of high-end retail space in Gramercy Park near Mario Batali’s Bar Jamon and historic Pete’s Tavern, the cheese purveyor’s landlord has also agreed to modify the space to make it more Williamsburg-y.

“The doors and façade will be changed. We’ll make it more suitable to Williamsburg clients,” said George Constantin, Principal at Heritage Realty Services, the operator of 67 Irving Place.

The landlord is a high net-worth European family, which owns the building through a corporation in the Netherlands, said Mr. Constantin.

The boutique cheese purveyor, which currently operates at 229 Bedford Avenue, will pay $240,000 in annual rent, or about $80 per square foot. They plan to offer cheese classes and charcuterie in addition to lots of fromage at the new location.

The 12-story, 46,000-square-foot Gramercy Park address is home to retail and commercial tenants, and close to the Union Square subway station.

Al Lawrence of Heritage Realty Services represented the landlord, Puble N.V., and David Chaiken of Sunburst Advisors represented the tenant.

He grabbed an orange from a huge tub on the way and placed it on the podium.  

"This is the first restaurant that Joe and I have ever been associated with that was high when it opened," Mr. Batali said with a cherubic grin. The audience, mainly a mix of Americans and Italians, tittered (lost in translation?). He was referring to Joe Bastianich, one of his partners in the place, alongside Joe's mom, [Mama] Lidia, and Oscar Farinetti, founder of the original Eataly in Turin.

"We're at 200 feet, this is the tallest building we've ever had to cook in." He was referring to 200 Fifth Avenue, formerly called the Toy Building, once home to the likes of Mattel and Hasbro and site of annual conventions that dictated what the kids of the Free World would play with in the coming year. Now, with Birreria—a dignified, hip place to get sloshed on beer crafted 30 feet from you sit by Little Rock-born, Rome-raised brewer Brooks Carretta—it's for the adults (doesn't hurt the analogy either that engagement-ring racket Tiffany's has its corporate HQ downstairs).

Martha Stewart showed, to a warm welcome from Mr. Batali, though she left rather quickly, just as Transom steadied itself from a beer, wine and hors d'oeuvres dinner for an approach. Mama Lidia and Sam Calagione, the rock-star-ish founder of brewery Dogfish Head who has helped put the "Birre" in "Birreria," stayed past 9 p.m., around the time the beer really got flowing from the bar.

Mr. Batali, like Ms. Stewart, split on the early side. His orange, however, remained.

tacitelli@observer.com :: @tacitelli

"Four hundred thousand meals a day are served at the Food Bank," Stewart said. "It really is a remarkable organization."

The Food Bank For New York City's fundraiser also served as a platform to honor committed members of the organization for their dedication to the hunger-relief cause. Among those recognized were Lucy Cabrera, Ph.D., President and CEO of the Food Bank who will retire in May after 23 years of service.

"You challenge us to give more, to do more, to say more, to fight hunger," said Co-Chair Mario Batali. "I believe when I started coming to this event about 11 years ago we made somewhere in the neighborhood of $250,000. Tonight I can tell you we're probably going to break $1.4 million. That's all [fellow co-chair] Susan [Cahn] and Lucy. You showed us that we can make a difference and we hope to carry on the legacy."

Celebrity chef Rachael Ray particularly enjoyed the meal, albeit with a touch of poignance: "When you're at an event like this you try to imagine what it's like to be hungry and it makes you ten times more grateful for eating anything," Rachael Ray said.

That's not to say that guests were unable to pinpoint a few guilty pleasures, or in Mr. Batali's case, guilt-free pleasures.

"I feel no guilt at all about pleasure, to be quite frank with you," said Mr. Batali, who donned orange crocs for the evening in support of the food bank's signature color. "I've just come off of two weeks of vacation and I probably had a piña colada every morning."
And the confessions kept coming. Designer and self-proclaimed ice cream "whore" Isaac Mizrahi prefers mint chocolate chip, actor Dominic Fumusa admitted to a "strange addiction to Jujyfruits," and when hung-over, the only thing Sarah McLachlan wants to see is a McDonald's Filet-o-Fish. (We thought she was an animal-rights type!)

Noticeably absent from the event was ardent supporter Stanley Tucci who, according to Batali, was "in London filming a movie and sending dirty text messages as we speak." Still, Tucci sent his support by means of technology and it was announced that he would match every thousand dollar pledge and above for ten minutes. Pledges could be sent via text message and were displayed for all in that strangely shaped room to see.

"Literally, we couldn't be worse than if we were in a line," Mr. Stewart said. "This is maybe the dumbest fucking shape I've ever seen for a banquet hall in my life. But I mean that with all due respect to Chelsea Piers and to the piano that is always here."

cnolan@observer.com