"He looked tanned, robust, relaxed. Javier Bardem looked built to last, half man, half monument. We went inside the house and we walked into the kitchen, and he offered up a Coke. That would be great. The fridge was already open, and out she came from behind the stainless-steel door. In my memory now, she is surrounded by cold mist and doves are flying around her head. “This is Penélope,” he said. She smiled, and she gave me a Coke. I’m pretty sure my voice cracked when I said thanks for the most delicious Coke I will ever drink. She had just woken up, and she was fresh out of the shower, her wet hair still slicked back. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but her skin was flawless. Her eyes were bright, and her teeth were perfect, and she was wearing a top that revealed her brown shoulders. It’s hard to write about how beautiful a woman is — especially another man’s new wife — without sounding like a creep or a pervert, but I defy any man to meet her and not wonder whether his Clarke’s nucleus has just exploded. No wonder Bardem thinks he’s dying. His heart must stop a thousand times a day."
— Chris Jones interviewing Javier Bardem for Esquire Magazine October 2010