I feel sort of sorry for Jennifer Westfeldt, because you know her entire life lately just involves people shoving past her to get a slice of Hamm. If he is the Honey-Baked Hamm of the Hollywood buffet, she’s like the napkins: Everyone expects her to be there, and it would be weird if she didn’t show up, but no one ever got all excited because they were about to bask in the glory of some really awesome napkins. No one has been gleefully anticipating napkins or craving napkins or thinking about what condiments they want to put on their napkins.