She's a class act, the only gossip columnist who has never stooped to conquer. In her best seller, Natural Blonde, Smith told her story in a Mark Twain meets Louella Parsons style—covering her Texas girlhood up to her current reign at the New York Post. In her new book, Dishing (Simon & Schuster), Our Lady of the Tabloid recalls—teaspoon by teaspoon—meals past with everyone from Liz and Dick to Nora and Nick (Ephron and Pileggi). Over lunch she let us know exactly what was on her mind.
My pet party is the yearly fête I throw for dachshunds at Tavern on the Green.
My first phone call of the day—at 6 a.m.—is to my godchild. The home number I'd most like is Bruce Willis's.
I wear a fragrance from Givenchy, but I swear I can't pronounce or spell the name. So how in the hell do they think they're going to market it!
My favorite new restaurant is BLT Steak. Absolutely incredible.
True confessions: Yes, I do sleep in the nude, I eat black-eyed peas for good luck, and Vincent at Saks has colored my hair since he was 16.
The french fries at Rare on 38th and Lexington in Manhattan are my most recent indulgence.
The best Christmas gift I got was my orange quilted Bogner ski parka.
I couldn't live without The Week. It's the media's own little secret publication: so clever, so comprehensive.