PERSEPOLIS

A sense of dread crept upon me as I approached the site of my evening's dinner reservation, which was just too, too ominously, precariously, next-door close to another disappointingly lousy restaurant I had the misfortune of visiting, the bafflingly enduring Turkish joint Uskudar.  Like the fear of a contact high, I was afraid all the mediocrity manifested in Uskudar would infiltrate Persepolis, it's Persian neighbor.  As it turned out, my prescience proved unfortunately accurate.

I had made a reservation, which was a good call because by the time my guest's arrived (slightly later than targeted) there was nary a table available.  It never will cease to astound me how absolutely packed mediocre restaurants can be, while excellent ones close for want of business.  But there's no accounting for taste, and thus, Persepolis is a neighborhood hotspot.  The decor is vaguely Mediterranean, a map of old Persia on one wall, some Byzantine replicas across from it.  "Experience the World's Oldest Cuisine" their website tempts, and by the looks of thing they haven't updated their menu in about as long.  The
 website and the food photography is vastly more attractive than in real life, which may have led to my pretty high, unmet expectations.  Tilapia is on the menu (always a bad sign, even if they did try and sort of slip it in there by spelling it "thilapia"), but other than that the menu reads like an intriguing exploration of the region, so the lackluster execution proved even more disappointing.




We started off with an eggplant trio; I wanted to give as much a try as possible, and one of my tablemates rhapsodized about the eggplant side dish.  Well, maybe we should've stuck with that, since none of these were spectacular (although all tasty enough).  They all remained unfinished, but in retrospect I wish I would've hung onto them to use as sauce to daub my entree, which was pretty one-dimensional.   The main dishes are big enough not to necessitate ordering a ton of appetizers or side dishes, although those might be stronger than the mains.  My thilapia (sic) wasn't
 the worst version of the fish I've ever had, which can often taste like dirty dishwater or the bottom of a murky, stagnant pond.  This just didn't taste like much, although sumac is a favorite of mine, and it was nicely crusted with a ruddy coat of it, and the lemony spinach salad aside was quite pleasant, if not earthshaking.  Both of my tablemates ordered the ground beef kubideh, kebabs of seasoned
 sirloin that exhibited a sort of mushy texture.  One got them with a cucumber and tomato salad ruffled with herbs, the other chose the Polo adas (basmati rice with lentils and raisins), both of which benefitted from the verdant zhoug-esque dipping sauce which accompanied them.  The rice was tender and fragrant, so at least they got what it one of the
 mainstays of Persian cuisine right.   I had lobbied one of them to get a stew instead of doubling up on the kebabs, but I'm also never one to force people into ordering what they don't want just for the sake of diversity.  That said, I convinced them to add on a vegetarian stew as a  dish just to test out more of the offerings,  from which we had three to choose: Gaimeh Badamjan, a spiced dal-type stew with a tomato base, Ghormeh Sabzi featuring "green leafy vegetables, red beans and dried lime" or the Market Vegetables, which was listed under Stews but I'm pretty sure it actually wasn't, as it was

 described as a steamed or sautéed platter.  At any rate, we chose the Ghormeh Sabzi, which has obliterated anything green or leafy that ever existed about those vegetables into a soupy brownish sludge, dotted with random kidney beans and only consumed for my part) to amp up the vegetable ratio of my meal, although with how aggressively they had been cooked I'm not sure they even qualified anymore.

Wrapping things up, Persepolis dessert menu is dominated with ice cream-y options, from a three-scoop sampler to variations on lemon sorbet or a saffron rose flavor.  There is also the standard, baklava, which seemed a little heavy.   One of my companions who was a regular there suggested the ice cream trio, which featured chocolate-strawberry-rose water.  I inquired whether we could sub out the chocolate for lemon sorbet, which didn't seem like too much to ask, but apparently it was.  So we deferred to their rote offerings, and ended up finishing only about half of the three small scoops, letting the other half melt into their respective puddles.

While I fully understand that not every restaurant has to be revolutionary or bursting with nuance, it's still astounding to me that a place like this could be bursting at the seams while so many other excellent establishments struggle to fill their tables.  As a neighborhood mainstay, I suppose it fulfills its purpose at a bare minimum, but that is the extent of it.  For my own sake, the place has too much in common with the city for which is was named: its mountainous terrain and remote location which probably determined the city's demise is much the same sentiment I feel for the Upper East Side.  The city's nebulous history is as mysterious as to how and why this mediocre restaurant endures, but at least with my help via modern technology you can avoid squandering your dining dollars here.

 1407 2nd Avenue
Phone: 212 535-1100