Maybe I don’t get out to the movies enough anymore, but the brilliant “Michael Clayton” seemed to be phat with food significance, and not just because a couple of whistle-blowers have already been found as “suicides” in contracting scandals involving nutritional support for the troops. I loved that the law firm’s faux pity party for the dead partner was at the Waverly Inn, the implication being that the only way schlubby lawyers, no matter how rich and powerful, could ever eat there would be to rent out the entire restaurant. I liked the back story on the failure of the Clooney character’s restaurant (location, location, loan sharks). But given that the whole script was built on corporate greed to protect the bottom line at all costs, I really had to laugh at the sight in one scene of a stack of margarine containers in the refrigerator next to the Dom Perignon. Obviously the owner had stocked up for his manic armload of fresh baguettes from a bakery in SoHo. But you have to wonder how many legal beagles are on retainer to protect against future claims against that fake food sold as the healthful alternative to butter. Good night and good luck indeed.