Turns out, Bobby Flay and Anne Burrell know how to get things cooking on the dance floor as well: The chefs were among a slew of food celebs at the Macy's after-party for the Wine & Food Festival's SWEET tasting, at The Xchange on 28th Street.

Flay, flanked by a circle of women, was one of the first guests to hit the dance floor, which ended up jammed with the likes of Restaurant Girl Danyelle Freeman and a hyper-energized Burrell, her spiky blonde ‘do bobbing high above the crowd. (If you’re wondering: Yes, Flay does know how to pull off a smooth Tony Manero, although he does more of a shoulder shimmy-shimmy than all-out fancy footwork.)

By the time the DJ went all ‘80s and cranked out “Jessie’s Girl,” Flay had ditched his fancy blazer and was sweating it out in a black tee, while Burrell, within earshot, did her best karaoke sing-along impression. All together now: "WHERE CAN I FIND A WOMAN LIKE THAT?!!!"

(In the corner: Top Chef’s Dave Martin, dressed in shorts and Birkenstocks, dancing away solo most of the time.)

Now, let’s play “Spot the Chef”…

A number of notable selections at this year’s New York Film Festival were of the français persuasion with the Film Society favoring directors Olivier Assayas, Agnès Jaoui and Arnaud Desplechin’s new work and choosing Laurent Cantet’s Cannes-winning The Class to open the festival. All four films were distinctly contemporary depicting modern day France in all of it’s beautiful, and at time infuriatingly disconnected, glory.

Like Hou Hsiao Hsien's The Flight of the Red Balloon which played at last year's festival, Assayas’s new movie Summer Hours initially began as a commission by the Musée d’Orsay to commemorate their 20th anniversary. While it does include some scenes shot inside the gorgeous Parisian museum and featured some artwork lent to the production, Assayas veared off of track from lauding the institution to questioning whether artwork belongs behind a glass case at all. A family story of mourning and negotiation, legacy and memory, it includes a knock-out performance by Juliet Binoche and will be getting a theatrical release next spring.  

Desplechin and his star, French cinema icon Catherine Deneuve visited the Film Society to discuss their film after a screening to the press. The drama titled A Christmas Tale follows the long holiday weekend spent by an extended family coping with the mother’s cancer diagnosis. The all-star cast includes Mathieu Amalric, Melvil Poupaud, Emmanuelle Devos and Chiara Mastroianni (Deneuve’s daughter) who play some of the grown children returning to the nest. Deneuve, still stunning after all of these years on screen, had nothing but praise for her director remarking to the audience, “I was amazed by the energy and the cheerful atmosphere on the set. He’s like a child in a playroom.” The movie gets a regular theatrical release in mid November.

—Karen Wilson

Catherine Deneuve and Arnaud Desplechin speaking at Walter Reade theater. Photo by Karen Wilson.

Like a folding chair to the back of the head, Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler, comes out of nowhere and packs a wallop. Serving as the closing film for the 46th New York Film Festival this weekend, it concludes the Film Society's annual parade of the best international cinema with a bang. The man responsible for delivering that cinematic body slam is Mickey Rourke, an actor who garnered considerable praise in the '80s for his performances in 9 ½ Weeks and Diner but then with his personal struggles and a stint as professional boxer went back under the Hollywood radar. In the film he plays aging New Jersey professional wrestler Randy the Ram whose fading tan, aching body and grown out dye job is nearly as sad as his estranged relationship with his daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) and his stripper girlfriend Cassidy (Marisa Tomei).

The thing that makes the movie, and in turn Rourke's performance, so compelling is how he and his character don't hold anything back. Randy throws himself entirely into the wrestling ring, even if that means picking glass and razor wire out of his skin afterwards. Rourke told a packed press conference audience that he spent "a pretty extensive rehearsal time" with a number of professional wrestlers (who also served as extras) learning their moves. Even though his fight scenes are heavily choreographed "like a ballet" Rourke really was getting hurt on camera, just like the professionals. "I'm no spring chicken," the 56-year-old reminded the audience. "I was so glad when this movie was over. I was just tired all of the time."

 [The Wrestler gets a theatrical release starting December 19.]

—Karen Wilson

Photo Credit: Wild Bunch

Sporting close-cropped, greasy brown hair and one pair of dirty cut offs throughout the movie, Michelle William’s role in New York-based director Kelly Reichardt’s new movie Wendy and Lucy is decidedly unglamorous. But as an acting performance it’s utterly arresting. Williams plays Wendy, a young woman passing through Portland, Oregon on her way to Alaska where she hopes to get canning work. Wendy’s only companion on her frugal journey is her faithful dog Lucy, who goes missing after Wendy leaves her in front of a grocery store where she is arrested for shoplifting some supplies. With her car broken down next to a drugstore and her stash of cash quickly dwindling, Wendy is unmoored from society, sleeping in the back of her car and bathing in the sink of a nearby gas station.

During a press conference following a screening of the movie at the New York Film Festival, Reichardt talked about how the film’s bleak storyline was inspired by the rootless existence of some of the Katrina survivors. Like Reichardt’s last film, Old Joy, Wendy and Lucy was shot in the Pacific Northwest, includes roles for musician Will Oldham and Reichardt’s own dog, and is based on a short story by Jon Raymond. The unlikely collaboration between the Hollywood A-lister and the lesser known director came about through an introduction by Reichardt’s executive producer Todd Haynes, who had recently cast Williams in I’m Not There (which played at the last year’s NYFF). “She had seen Old Joy and was looking to do something outside of Los Angeles or New York,” explained Reichardt. “She was very game even though she wasn’t allowed to wash her hair for 20 days.”

[Wendy and Lucy will be playing at Film Forum for two weeks in December.]

—Karen Wilson

Photo Credit: Oscilloscope / Film Society of Lincoln Center

Like the an unexpected tropical breeze blowing in off of the Thames, British director Mike Leigh’s newest film, Happy Go-Lucky goosed the audiences at the first weekend of New York Film Festival with it’s infectious lightness. Leigh and his star, Sally Hawkins (who won the best actress prize at the Berlin Film Festival) were both in attendance after a screening last week to accept the press’s rapturous praise with grace. It’s not surprising Happy Go-Lucky has been so well-liked since the main character Poppy Cross’s modus operandi is “being a good person” according to Leigh, even if it puts her in direct conflict with everyone else she meets from her angry driving instructor to a taciturn bookseller. “But it’s not enough to talk about her as happy. She has a great depth and profundity.”

To further enhance the sunny disposition Poppy, a singleton primary school teacher living in London, radiates throughout Happy Go-Lucky, Leigh worked with his long-time cinematographer Dick Pope to develop a whole new visual aesthetic for the film. Using a brand new film stock produced by Fuji called Vivid and shooting for the first time in cinemascope, Leigh told our audience he needed each frame “to burst with color and light.” And boy oh boy, does this joy-inducing movie shine. You can't help but leave the theater with a grin on your face.

(The Museum of the Moving Image is bringing Mike Leigh to present a screening of Happy Go-Lucky at the Scandinavia House on Sunday, Oct. 19 at 5 pm.)

— Karen Wilson

Photo Credit: Simon Mein/ Courtesy of Miramax Films / Film Society of Lincoln Center

Mario Cantone at Thursday's "Sex and the City" DVD launch at the New York Public Library (Getty)

It was sex and politics last Thursday as stars celebrated the “Sex and the City” DVD release at the New York Public Library. amNY’s Julie Gordon was on the scene where she chatted with SATC star Mario Cantone about his distaste for Sarah Palin.

“If I was voting for McCain, I should just take a syringe of air and pump it into my vein and kill myself or put myself in quarantine, which is what they want to do anyway,” Cantone told us, referring to McCain’s stance on gay rights.”

Inside attention turned to the event’s drink specials which featured a vodka drink named after each of the four principles—the Samantha, a mix of grape-flavored vodka and champagne, quickly became a staff favorite. Until the next morning. Ow.

Photo: Courtesy of Advanced Style

Hats off to The Cut for giving us our latest obsession: Advanced Style. As their editor Amy Odell succinctly notes, the new blog is "like the Sartorialist, but with elderly people." Started last month by blogger Ari Cohen (this is his first blog!), Advanced Style sets about to photograph all types of advanced style looks, from the "sophisticated and well dressed to the accidentally stylish and colorful folks out on the town." We're bookmarking immediately.

You know how when you wake up in the morning you can't make a very strong fist? Our brain feels that way right now about this email we received about Prime nightclub's renovation (reopening September 20) and "new attitude," in which instead of requiring idiots to buy bottles at the door, they'll require idiots to buy $800 tables at the door, and instead of harassing and raping people at the door, they'll be creating an atmosphere of 'fun.' Uh oh, we just lit our computer screen on fire.

Actual quotes from good old John 'JE' Englebert:

" the goal is to create an environment where the customers can go out to a fun place on Saturday nights without getting raped or abused at the door while spending thousands on bottles they don't want".

"the business model will not be based solely on the idea of extorting bottles at the door. The business model will be based on creating a fun product where people are treated like human beings".

"The latest renovation will introduce ... a revamped 'fun' decor which will bring back the 'fun'. The entrance/exit situation has been fixed. This will eliminate the 'drama' of getting in, and the 'confusion' caused when leaving or during re-entry."

"If someone looks good enough to get in and comes with the right attitude, they will get in without bottles. ... The hassle and 'bottle' rat race at the door is now over. Bottle minimums will be replaced with 'real estate minimums', where each table (piece of real estate) will be for sale for a certain amount of money; whether bottles of grey goose or bottles of water."

"Of course we will still sell bottles and offer bottles to anyone who wants them"

Wait, what? What's happening? Who lives in New York? It's time for everyone to go home now. We've called our mom, she's picking us up soon. Until then, we're going to put our head on the table.

Even when the cameras aren’t rolling, Anthony Bourdain’s booming exuberance toward the highs and lows of the modern-day culinary scene (ah, the many lows) reports for duty.

Case in point: Prior to yesterday’s StarChef’s International Chefs Congress “Role of a Chef” panel at the Park Avenue Armory, we witnessed Bourdain struggle with the concept of the at-home espresso machine. “That absolutely looks like urine,” said Bourdain to a companion, referring to the jaundiced-hued liquid spewing from the apparatus stationed at the back of the media room. No boom mics around. No people, really. Just him and a bush-league mechanical barista. And he let it have it.

Bourdain has standards, striving to enjoy “the good stuff,” as he commonly cites. And when the stuff ain't good, somebody is going to hear about it.

Enter his friend Marco Pierre White, a legendary British chef with a quick temper and a similarly candid, sometimes curmudgeonly take on restaurants.

Pierre White and Bourdain were joined by moderator Michael Ruhlman to discuss the role of the chef: in the kitchen, as empire builder and on TV. The 45-minute talk kicked off with Ruhlman asking both about what “defines a chef.” White’s chef is somebody who works up the ranks from “boy cook to head of the kitchen,” stressing that the chef’s name on the door should be the person cooking the food—either stationed at the burner or working the pass. He referred to many chefs as “living lies” by not cooking in their own kitchens.  Bourdain stressed chef as a “leader, who can get somebody to show up to work every day.”

Bourdain did slightly defend the Ducasse and Boulud global-franchiser ethic (aka those not always working in their three-star institutions), noting that it was “cruel and snobbish” to expect somebody at 52 to be in the kitchen 90 hours a week, half-joking that he “sure hasn’t worked in nine years.” Pierre White countered that is was a chef’s “duty to be there working the pass.” Later during the Q&A session, White straight-up called Ducasse “soulless.” 

A sort of stalemate was reached and both unilaterally bitched about the absurdity of the 24-course, three-hour tasting menu. Bourdain is apparently over it, unless it featured really great sushi. He also added that the “pastry chef always gets fucked in the process, because nobody wants to eat four types of desert at the end.” There was a loud pop of applause from the pastry contingent in the auditorium.

Onto chefs on TV, a meta-topic (given the audience) and a boring topic—OK, The Food Network has some crap on-air talent, we get it. So what’s the point of the television chef? “TV is a way to inspire people to cook. People don’t learn to cook from others, they teach themselves to cook,” said Pierre White. And about Gordon Ramsay—whom White recently took over for on the British version of “Kitchen Nightmares”? “The last thing you should be doing in the kitchen is belittling people,” said Pierre White adding the barb that Ramsay even made himself cry on TV. Bourdain took the requisite Sandra Lee shot and added that Mario Batali was the most qualified stand-and-stir host the network has seen. The event’s host, Ted Allen, looked on uncomfortably during the extended lashing of chefs working in the medium. —Matt Rodbard

Photo by Jason Ough
 

Last night's New York Brewfest, where thousands gathered at South Street Seaport to taste 300 beers for five hours (5-10 p.m.), was three parts frat party, one part nightmare. Interpret according to how you feel about frat parties. Imagine a picture of hell that you've seen, except it was raining instead of on fire, and it was all guys in their late 20s, and no one had to do any labor. The lines were claustrophobically dense, like someone dumped a rush-hour subway train full of yelling, wet people in front of each and every beer tent.

Except around 8 p.m. it magically stopped raining, and maybe it was because we were on our fifth or seventh 4-ounce glass of triple pilsner, or chocolate stout, or whatever it was that kept us from stabbing every junior Wall Street monster who bumped us in the eyeball with his oversize umbrella... Anyway, it cleared up, kind of, and we made our way far enough down the pier that the beer-waits were only a couple minutes long and you could occasionally stretch out your arms without ever touching young bros in plastic-bag Yankees ponchos bellowing at their bros. And it was all right for a while.

Highlights: Zotler's Bier, Kelso of Brooklyn's Chocolate Lager, Keegan Ales' Mother's Milk stout and a pumpkin ale from a brewery we can't recall... but then again, we mostly just went for the lines that looked wait-able. Leaving was another highlight, as was our Spanky's BBQ pulled pork sandwich and the commemorative Brewfest glass we got to take home.

Lowlights: Arriving. Realizing we would have to stay for at least a half an hour. Seeing the gray, undulating and unending carpet of drunken masses slathering Piers 16 and 17. Almost wetting our pants because of our refusal to use the shadowy, rain- and urine-drenched Port-o-Potties. Seeing puke puddles in the middle of actual puddles (of rain). Trying to find a cab.