It's not eating the amazing meal that's the problem...

...it's paying for it. But good thing I didn't have to tonight.

See, I have this sweet job. It's one of the part-time ones that started in college, and the only one to keep going and going and going. It's also the only thing helping me pay my rent right now, but we don't have to go there. Basically, I grade and edit students' practice SAT essays so that they can rock the supposed-biggest-test-of-their-lives. But once in a while, my boss comes in to the city and takes out her favorite editors.

Usually, she takes my word for restaurant suggestions.

Sometimes, I book the tables myself.

Now, you must realize that a foodie living in the West Village with no salary is the worst kind of temptation that there is. Murray's Cheese is right below me--as is Risotteria, Rocco's bakery, and a slew of exquisite food shoppes--and I'm still shopping at freaking Gristedes. I won't lie, their 99-cent bin is my new best friend, but I'd rather buy lamb from Ottomanelli's.

That's why it was so exciting that tonight, my boss (and the company's expense account) came to visit. Finally, the restaurant that tempts me every time I walk to the stupid Gristedes was mine to savor--Perilla. It's not the it-restaurant of the moment; it's not the new big thing. It is, however, Harold Dieterle's restaurant, and Harold Dieterle is the first winner of Top Chef. We love Harold Dieterle (we're not yet on a first-name basis).

And so our meal began with the nightly special--a beautiful foie gras terrine with a gooseberry compote. Alongside it, we had duck meatballs with a tiny little quail egg cracked delicately over them. What a rich, wonderful start to a meal... anything with runny egg yolk makes my heart melt. Mmmm, runny egg yolk.

My entree, a grilled hanger steak with a sunchoke creamed spinach and shallot puree, totally lived up to Bruni's review so long ago. And the desserts, which had been touted as either hit or miss, were hits tonight. Lemon verbena-scented donuts with vanilla sauce and chocolate ganache, a chocolate tasting platter, and a red velvet cake did not survive long on our table... and that's an understatement.

Ah, but the night was young. And that's when our waitress suggested we go back to the kitchen. Yes, we could meet Harold Dieterle. Yes, we could take pictures together. And better yet, we could call him Harold.

Now if only we could afford the meal on our own...