It’s tough for some people to accept Gwyneth Paltrow’s transformation from movie star to domestic goddess. Something about the combination of her willowy looks, her glam life style (she is married to Chris Martin, the Coldplay front man), and the unlikely food tips in her e-mail newsletter, Goop—“I was stationed at the deep fat fryer (Delight! Fried zucchini! Fried anchovies!)”—produces cognitive dissonance. But Paltrow takes it in stride. “I’ve been the cook amongst my family and friends for years,” she said the other night. “That’s why I wrote the book. Because my friends are, like, ‘How do you make that? I want your chili recipe!’ ” The book is Paltrow’s first cookbook, “My Father’s Daughter”—the title refers to her father, the late television producer Bruce Paltrow. It advises readers, “Invest in what’s real. Clean as you go. Drink while you cook.” Paltrow, who was hosting a dinner party to celebrate her publication, was not yet drinking, but she had a glow. She wore a white racer-back dress, tan wedges, and a linen apron with the book’s title printed on the chest. She eats at home, she said. That day: “a cappuccino, some poached eggs with spinach, an apple, almonds, some cheese and bread, and a turkey sandwich with avocado and tomato.” She said, “People who don’t know me think that I only eat seaweed and rice balls.” 
 
 Dinner guests included people who do know her: Jay-Z, Cameron Diaz, Alex Rodriguez, the Seinfelds, and assorted food-world worthies. Most guests saw nothing unusual about getting cooking advice from a stick-thin actress; in fact, many said that they associated Gwyneth Paltrow with food. Mario Batali, in pink cargo shorts, was talking to Ruth Reichl. “She eats like a truck driver,” he said of Paltrow. He recalled being in Valencia, Spain, and “watching her eat an entire pan of paella as big as a manhole cover.” 
 
 Michael Stipe added, “Once, a duck she was cooking caught fire, and she threw it in the pool.” 
 
 Paltrow greeted people by the door, holding a glass of cucumber water. Her mother, Blythe Danner, arrived. 
 
 “Hi, Mommy,” Paltrow said. 
 
 Danner unfurled a white monogrammed cloth: “I brought you something. Daddy’s napkin.” 
 
 “Oh, boy,” Batali said. “The tears are gonna fly now, baby.” 
 
 Christy Turlington looked on. “We are lucky in that we have been the recipients of many meals with Gwyneth Paltrow,” she said, and mentioned a stuffed-lobster dish that Paltrow and Martin had served in Amagansett. “They do everything themselves, including the killing of the lobster,” she said. “It’s not the boiling-in-the-pot-and-screaming lobster thing. It’s a different, faster approach. I could never do it.” 
 
 “You smack it against a tree or something?” Batali asked. 
 
 “You stick a knife through the head,” said Turlington, who seemed suddenly troubled. “Oh! That’s awful to say.” 
 
 A financier at the party said that he associated Paltrow with scungilli: “My family and I were conch-diving down in the Bahamas. They’d cook the conch right there on the beach. And they had a TV in the little hut there, and that’s where I watched the Oscars this year.” (Paltrow sang a song on the broadcast.) 
 
 “I loved her in ‘Shakespeare in Love’!” said Martha Stewart, who was checking out the minimalist place settings provided by the Web site One Kings Lane. She said the only thing she consumes while watching movies is bottled water. She later tweeted, “Is Gwyneth the next Martha?” 
 
 At 9 P.M., the guests went out to a pair of long tables on the terrace. Diaz, A-Rod, and Batali sat near Chris Martin, who had arrived looking cranky. (A publicist warned, “He doesn’t want to talk.”) Paltrow sat a few seats away, flanked by Jerry Seinfeld and Jay-Z. (The next day, she and the rapper posted reciprocal interviews on their Web sites. Paltrow: “I could sing to you every single word of N.W.A’s ‘Fuck tha Police.’ ”) Paltrow announced the menu: roasted red peppers with anchovies, escarole salad, pasta with duck ragout. Jessica Seinfeld made a toast: “There is no one who is more comfortable or more capable in the kitchen, naturally, than you,” she said to Paltrow. “I don’t know how you do it.” She turned to the assembled guests. “And you are all so lucky to be part of Gwyneth’s world. Because this is the real deal. And she’s invited all of you good people in here. I would never do that.” 
 
 Wendi Murdoch, sitting nearby, had said that she is a reader of Paltrow’s blog: “Only one thing comes to mind—healthy and organic.” She listed her favorite recipes: “Pumpkin soup, grilled market vegetables. It’s good. I get my chef to cook it.” 
 
 “But you’re directing the chef,” Kelly Behun, a friend of Murdoch’s, interjected. Behun, an interior designer, was the only guest who didn’t have a Paltrow-related food memory. “Gwyneth?” she said. “When I see her, I don’t think of food.” ♦ ||||| Chris Martin Hates Gwyneth Paltrow's Pretentious Dinner Parties 
 
 Email This On a recent evening in New York, a group of FFOGs (Famous Friends of Cameron Diaz, 
 
 
 
 It is first worth noting that Paltrow's husband, Coldplay frontman Chris Martin, was not nearly as psyched as the other guests to sample his wife's duck ragout. According to the New Yorker write-up, Martin arrived cranky and a publicist warned, "he doesn't want to talk." 
 
 
 
 It's a little odd when your hubby doesn't want to talk at a party promoting your project, no? 
 
 
 
 Thankfully for Gwyneth, everybody else wanted to talk. 
 
 On a recent evening in New York, a group of FFOGs (Famous Friends of Gwyneth ) turned out for a dinner party to celebrate the actress, singer and blogger's debut cookbook, 'My Father's Daughter.' New Yorker scribe Lizzie Widdicombe was there to rub shoulders with guests like Jay-Z Alex Rodriguez and the Seinfelds and to document exactly how Gwyneth is not just like us.It is first worth noting that Paltrow's husband, Coldplay frontman Chris Martin, was not nearly as psyched as the other guests to sample his wife's duck ragout. According to the New Yorker write-up, Martin arrived cranky and a publicist warned, "he doesn't want to talk."It's a little odd when your hubby doesn't want to talk at a party promoting your project, no?Thankfully for Gwyneth, everybody else wanted to talk. 
 
 Jessica Seinfeld reminded the crowd how lucky they were to be invited."You are all so lucky to be part of Gwyneth's world," Seinfeld said to the guests. "Because this is the real deal. And she's invited all of you good people in here. I would never do that."Christy Turlington revealed that Gwyneth is a whiz when it comes to killing lobsters."It's not the boiling-in-the-pot-and-screaming lobster thing. It's a different, faster approach. I could never do it," Turlington said about how Paltrow prepares them for the boil. "You stick a knife through the head," said Turlington, who seemed suddenly troubled. "Oh! That's awful to say."Michael Stipe was happy to rib Gwyneth for a cooking faux pas. "Once, a duck she was cooking caught fire, and she threw it in the pool."Still, amidst all the laughter, we picture Martin stewing the corner, displeased at having to make small talk with Martha Stewart and Mario Batali about canapes again.
– When you think of sentences that Gwyneth Paltrow's friends often say to her, here's one that probably does not come to mind: "I want your chili recipe!" But yes, they do in fact exclaim that all the time, Paltrow revealed at a recent dinner party attended by New Yorker scribe Lizzie Widdicombe. Widdicombe paints an interesting picture of Paltrow as "domestic goddess" at the party celebrating her new cookbook. Many of those on the guest list, which included Jay-Z, Cameron Diaz, Alex Rodriguez, and the Seinfelds, claim they associate stick-thin Gwyneth with food. Mario Batali insists "she eats like a truck driver." But PopEater points out perhaps the most interesting part of the profile: When hubby Chris Martin arrives at the party, looking "cranky" and, according to his publicist, "he doesn't want to talk." Writes Jo Piazza, "We picture Martin stewing (in) the corner, displeased at having to make small talk with Martha Stewart and Mario Batali about canapes again." Click to read the entire New Yorker piece, which is incredibly entertaining.