Hey Persians, Nice Job!
Last night my wife and I went to a Persian restaurant, my first time eating the food of those happy people, whose president would wipe Israel off the map. All I have to say is: nice job! The place is called Lala Rokh, which (to my disappointment) does not have anything to do with karaoke, but instead is apparently a term of affection meaning "tulip cheeks." (A side note: I sometimes get tulip cheeks when I sit on the toilet too long.)
If you're wondering whether mashed-up olives and garlic taste good with pomegranate seeds, I have the answer: no. But that was the only thing we had that was not flat-out terrific. We had mokhalafat sampler, which is the Persian equivalent
of the appetizer plate you get at TGIF where they give you potato skins, wings, and jalapeno poppers. In this case, it was the aforementioned olive paste, some kind of cold spinach thing with white shit on it, and a delicious onion and eggplant dish that was so good it gave me a little bit of a boner.
In addition to the mokhalafat, they give us a basket of tasty bread and a small bowl of garlicky hummus. Boy, do I like hummus, especially the garlikcy kind. Does it give me bad breath? Yes. But does it make my breath any worse than it was before? No. As far as my breath goes, it was a wash.
We shared asl (entrees): The first was a duck stew with more pomegranate seeds. For some reason, pomegranate and duck is perfectly paired. It was sweet and kind of velvety. So velvety in fact that in addition to being delicious, it was also a fine balm for my shingles. Then we shared a lamb shank with potatoes, okra, chick peas, and green beans. Not as good as the duck, but also yummy.
The worst part of our meal was the couple behind us. They were obviously on a date, possibly Harvard students, who were trying to woo each other by force of their massive intellects. The guy was the worst, responding to everything she said in a very loud, affected voice by saying, "That's so fascinating!" Then he told a long story about being in Egypt and meeting "the bedouin," who invited him for coffee, where they conversed in English and "some Arabic." The content of the conversation wasn't offensive, exactly, but the eagerness each had to display how fascinating they were was horrible. I felt like I was being molested by his enormous brain. My wife wanted to tell them to "go fuck already," but she wisely restrained herself.
If you can stomach the mighty intellects that may envelop you in their gravity, I suggest Lala Rokh for a fine meal of unpronounceable food.