Perilla, New York

Venite ad me omnes qui stomacho laboretis, et ego restaurabo vos. That, says the Larousse Gastronomique, was the dog-Latin sign of one Boulanger, Parisian bouillon seller: "Come unto me, all you whose stomachs are aching, and I will restore you." With that sign, Boulanger set up the first restaurant around 1765, the word derived from restaurer, to restore. Again according to Larousse, "gastronome Brillat-Savarin referred to chocolate, red meat, and consomme as restaurants." Soup, meat, and chocolate? Sound restorative to me, though I would've added wine and cheese to that list, especially the decadent triple-cream named in honor of that gastronome.

If restaurants are the place for restoration, there are few cities equal to the R&R (riot & restoration) offered by New York. So, after my ex-employer requested my absence, I was quite happy to fly to Manhattan for a week of food, plays, and art. And yes, I am 13 months behind in my blogging--so much for taking advantage of the medium's immediacy.

For a theater-chow double-header, it's hard to beat Greenwich Village--midtown may have Broadway shows, but have you tried to get a good, non-extortionately-priced meal there? And don't get me started on the crowds; I'd rather get lost in the Village diagonallies than salmon up Seventh Avenue any day. Thus my first stop was Neil LaBute's In a Dark Dark House at the Lucille Lortel, followed by a late late dinner at Perilla on Jones Street.

Perilla had just opened the month before, the first restaurant from the first winner of Top Chef, Harold Dieterle, and accordingly it had a certain amount of buzz. That buzz, though, seems to be what Perilla is not about: it's not a velvet-rope, see-and-be-seen scene, nor is it an exotic-ingredient, specialized-servingware, extravagant-tasting-menu temple of cutting-edge cookery. Nope, Dieterle has dared to be humble, opening a cozy neighborhood restaurant with an unpretentious menu. And that's quite all right: fireworks aren't for every day.

I arrived early, but the staff behaved as if they were the ones causing inconvenience. They asked that I wait 10-15 minutes at the bar, where they graciously and unnecessarily comped my wine and the host kept checking on me. I was glad to have a few minutes to scan the place: a long bar with about 10 stools on the right, 18 tables and banquettes along the left and back, and an old-fashioned pressed-tin ceiling.

Once at my table, I started with peekytoe crab salad with mango, avocado, and ginger vinaigrette. That's not a groundbreaking combination (and sounds like something you'd find at a nontraditional sushi joint), but it was delicious, creamy rich in texture, appropriately light for a hot night. Perilla is a serrated-leaf plant from the mint family, more commonly known in the U.S. as shiso, but I didn't see any shiso that day, and this crab is the only Asian-esque dish that I can recall there. Besides his CIA training, Dieterle took a cooking sabbatical in Thailand, so those eastern influences do pop up on the menu.

Wagyu skirt steak was my entree, not a slab of meat but rillettes on a bed of spinach creamed with sunchokes, with shallots and chanterelles and a fruity steak sauce the consistency of apple butter. I thought the sauce was made from cherries or plums, but the waiter said it's just reduced beef jus and red wine. It beat the hell out of A1--I was looking around to see if I could sneak a plate-clearing swipe with my finger. I love creamed spinach, too, though had my doubts about substituing sunchoke for dairy, but it was smooth and tasty. (And sounded familiar: sure enough, that combination was one of Dieterle's Top Chef recipes.) The wagyu was tender, pink, and flavorful, as you'd expect from well-marbled beef. Wagyu refers to several types of Japanese cattle bred for a judicious amount of fat in their flesh; Kobe is a subset of Wagyu. My understanding is that much of what appears on American menus as "Wagyu" or "Kobe-style" beef actually comes from cattle that are domestic Wagyu-Angus hybrids. In short, I wonder if Wagyu and Kobe are becoming menu marketing words more than a guarantee of superior quality.

Though I love sweets, I couldn't resist getting the cheese course instead, with selections from down the street at Murray's. Accompanied by grilled bread and quince paste, the trio included moussey, three-milk La Tur, mild here but it can get mushroomy and slightly pungent as it ages; gouda-esque Prima Donna (there are three types; I'm guessing this was the fino); and Bayley-Hazen blue (from Jasper Hill Farm, producers of Constant Bliss, which is), tasting a bit murky compared to the bitchen Colston-Bassett stilton I'd had the night before (still my favorite blue). Then it turned out that I didn't have to sacrifice dessert, because Perilla brought two quarter-sized oatmeal-raisin cookies for petit fours.

Six months later I was back with my father and step-mother, who couldn't come up with a Christmas wish list and so got dinner instead. I didn't notice a ton of menu changes or many changes period, which was fine--the food and service were as good as the first time. (Sorry, by the way, that I didn't take photos.) I started with a special, celery root soup with wild mushroom garnish, which was exactly what a winter soup should be, hearty but refined. Next I had pancetta-wrapped pork tenderloin slices (pig squared, hurrah!) on rutabaga puree (a mite sweet), with brussels sprout leaves, walnuts, and a black mushroom custard. That sounds like a lot on the plate, but it was a reasonable amount. This was one of the first times I noticed brussels sprouts peeled like a head of lettuce, which I've seen several times since, even a salad made of sprout leaves (which poor prep cook drew short straw on that task?). Finally, I had a rockin' dessert: four square, compact, "vanilla-scented" donuts with sides of lemon curd and dark chocolate to dunk them into. Ooee, those were good, hot and fluffy and not too sugary, with the curd and the chocolate offering two completely different shades of astringence to give a flavor punch to the dough. I believe Perilla has had donut variations on the menu since opening, and I'd definitely go for them again.

You have a mind-boggling number of restaurant options in the Village (and I'll be writing up some of those soon...or someday), and Perilla wouldn't necessarily be my first recommendation. It would be on the shortlist, though--I enjoyed everything I had there. It's on the money if you're not out for a "destination" restaurant but for a comfortable, reliable, fairly priced neighborhood spot with quality ingredients and well-prepared dishes. And don't forget the donuts.