The Angry Zen of Matt Dillon

"I've got to tell you something," Matt Dillon says. "I'm not particularly interested in my past. I'm interested in my life now. I'm into the future. I mean, I feel like every time I do one of these things, everyone's always like, 'What was it like to be discovered?' When, sort of, like, really, at this point in time, I'm just here with you."

Dillon pulls his gigantic eyebrows together, juts his chin forward and puts on a fairly big "don't take it personally"-type smile that may or may not be real, him being an actor -- Oscar-nominated for his racist-cop part in Crash and about to show up as a fictionalized version of tender tough guy Charles Bukowski in an adaptation of Bukowski's novel Factotum. He seems like an OK enough fellow, though, and it's certainly understandable, his desire not to have to once again tell the tale of his discovery at the age of fourteen, a rough kid with long hair and two broken front teeth ambling through the halls of a public junior high in Mamaroneck, New York. But one thing soon becomes clear: Dillon loves the sound of his own deep voice, and he'll probably get around to telling the story anyway.

Meanwhile, the present awaits, inside a hidden-away old-school Italian restaurant called Gino, in midtown Manhattan. As it happens, Dillon is partial to lots of things Italian. A few years ago, he decided he needed a second language, so he studied Italian ("I'm conversational") and along the way, courtesy of an Italian girlfriend, picked up a few Italian hand gestures, including the one for "Let's get together a little bit later and not let anyone know." Today, though, he forges ahead in his native tongue.

"How's the prosciutto?" he asks the waiter.

"If it's not good we don't give it to you."

"Terrific. What's the veal Capri?"

"Thin slices of veal dipped in an egg batter, with lemon, white wine and capers."

"OK. I'm going with the veal piccata."

"All right. The same veal, dipped in nothing."

"Yeah," Dillon says, not even cracking a smile. "And broccoli rabe. And let's have the clams, too. The little big ones."

And so there you have it, a thin slice of Matt Dillon, 42, dipped in nothing, at this point in time, just here with you, clams on their way, and not particularly interested in the past.

Mangia!