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Byline: Sally Singer
To partake or not to partake of dinner? That is the question gnawing at me one November night at Sant Ambroeus, the West Village's prettiest Milanese trattoria. On the face of it, not to would be madness. My plate holds branzino with cherry tomatoes. Next to it is a salad of carciofi laced with grana. A pool of olive oil glistens in a saucer, waiting for a crust of bread to take a dip. A Bellini fizzes. Every convivial and hungry bone in my body cries out for a square meal. But square meals are precisely what I must avoid. On this ultimate New York occasion-a celebration of Grace Coddington's just-published Catwalk Cats, attended by the likes ...