When Rob Reiner, Conan O’Brien, Larry David and Martin Short were schmoozing, eating and drinking at Giorgio Baldi back in early ’22, they lacked clairvoyant understanding of what the future would bring. They guessed or suspected this or that but knew nothing. No idea that Trump would be re-elected in ’24, much less that awful tragedy would befall Reiner in early December of ’25.
Life is so much better and more soothing when you’re Giorgio Baldi-ing rather than grappling with the hard, thorny, oh-my-God stuff at home or at work.
I’ve eaten at Giorgio Baldi twice…no, three times. The first time was 15 years ago with Hurt Locker screenwriter Mark Boal (Zero Dark Thirty was years off at the time). Clint Eastwood and Sean Penn were sharing an indoor table. Three or four years later I ate there on my own dime, and then returned again in ’16 or thereabouts. It’s pricey but excellent. The Dover Sole is heavenly — moist and light, bursting with flavor, sprinkled with lime.
But I’ll tell you one thing. If I was rich or famous enough to have a security guy with me, and if he were to gently place his hand on my back as I stepped into the waiting SUV, I would probably stop and turn around and ask, “Why are you putting your hand on my back?”
Security: Sir?
HE: Why did you place your hand on my back as I was stepping into the car?
Security: We’re just here for you, sir. No issues.
HE: What are you trying to do, guide me into the car?
Security: Just an instinct, sir. We’re right behind you.
HE: I know you’re right behind me, but don’t touch me.
Security: Sorry.
HE: It’s okay. Just don’t do it.
Security: Okay. Understood.
HE: I’ve been stepping into SUVs all my life.
Security: Of course.
HE: I’m sure you’re a good man.
Security: I try to be.
HE: And you are.
Security: Yes sir.
HE: Okay, good.
