Restaurant review, Greek Revival.

During the course of my gastronomic wanderings, I’ve exposed my debonair, Upper East Side mother to all kinds of strange and unsettling restaurant trends. Over the years, she has endured dinners at countless cavernous discos/dining palaces, puzzled over bizarre fusion creations in endless bizarre fusion joints, and gamely dined on everything from haute-barnyard duck eggs to stewed tripe. So it’s no wonder that when we met for dinner at a new Greek restaurant on East 60th Street called Persephone, she seemed a little surprised. There were only fifteen tables in the small room, each one topped with white linen and set with a bouquet of coral-colored roses. No aggravating club music played over the stereo. The whitewashed walls were decorated with black-and-white Matisse prints, and the cover of the simple menu was colored a deep, Aegean blue. “How nice it is,” my mother said, as she settled into her chair, “to be in a restaurant of the old-fashioned kind.”

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