A Persimmon blossoms in Fremont

For all the times I've meant to check out Persimmon in Fremont, with some vague idea of its location, I was still surprised to find the little seven-table restaurant practically across the street from one of my favorite pizza joints, meaning it's been staring me in the face for nearly two years without ever registering.

RESTAURANT REVIEW

PERSIMMON

PHONE: 206-632-0760

ADDRESS: 4256 Fremont Ave. N.

WEBSITE: No

PRICES: Brunches from $8.50-$12.50; dinner entrees from $11.50-$24

HOURS: Dinner Wednesday-Sunday 5:30 p.m.-9:30 p.m.; brunch Saturday-Sunday 10 a.m.-3 p.m.; closed Monday andTuesday

BAR: Wine and beer; a few dozen young, relatively inexpensive vintages

SMOKING: Smoke-free

RESERVATIONS: Accepted. Six-person minimum required for brunch, no limit for dinner

PAYMENT: Major credit cards accepted; personal checks OK

SOUND: Conversation-friendly

ACCESS: No barriers

PARKING: Free street parking

KID-FRIENDLY: Tolerated, but no amenities offered, and a small enough place that restless youngsters will soon infringe on other diners. Highchair available

BEST BETS: Brunch corned beef hash $10.50; brunch Reuben $9.50; mushroom "escargot" 6.50; braised chicken $15.50; molten chocolate dessert $8

RATINGS:

Food: **

Service: * 1/2

Ambience: ** 1/2

Ratings guide (full explanation)
**** extraordinary
*** excellent
** good
* fair

"Hidden in plain sight," said co-owner Sara Moot, who said even neighbors still walk in with surprise for the first time.

And now that I've found it, here's why I think others should give it a try. Persimmon has a warm and distinct personality, from the menu to the decor -- it's attractively clear that individuals with a personal vision are behind the place. Dishes were almost invariably beautifully cooked and well executed (the lone exception being a warm spinach salad that almost crossed the line to saute). Flavors are quiet, but provide plenty to consider and enjoy, such as the lemon and smoked cumin and coriander subtly enriching a mild bean spread. And menu choices are just as slightly off the beaten path; there's nothing wild, but chef Moot also feels no obligation to offer the standard salmon that automatically fills the first slot of most dinner menus in town.

Instead, there's a daily fish special -- flaky sole on one visit -- and you may as easily enjoy one of the flesh-free dishes that made it unusually simple to visit with two vegetarian friends, such as mushroom pappardelle with a creamy sauce of mascarpone and goat cheese ($16.50). We got a kick out of sliced mushroom "escargot" ($6.50), served in a ceramic snail plate, complete with fork, bathing in herb butter filled with chopped parsley (for-real escargot is available as well).

Meat also is well-represented on the small menu: Chicken is braised in wine, bacon, shallots and carrots, browned skin so imbued with pork flavor that you must devour it despite whatever number of Weight Watcher points it consumes. Tender rounds of pork tenderloin were set off by a pool of Montmorency cherry sauce that was just barely sweet, making us think of the way chocolate enhances mole.


		GILBERT W. ARIAS / P-I
	Waitperson Gretchen Bone lights candles at Persimmon. The cozy restaurant hasn't had a high profile but it has added dinner service, which should help its visibility.

A brunch-time corned beef hash was an indulgently delicious variation on the usual theme; small chunks of Market House corned beef and potatoes formed into a creamy cake with a roux of drippings and flour. And that corned beef turned up again on a fine, moist, well-proportioned, not-at-all-greasy Reuben that gained an extra edge of superiority from the homemade horseradish on the side.

Some dishes were only adequate -- plain crepes; a jambon and Gruyere omelet that tasted like a heap of ham had been piled in without much else to help it along; nicoise salad that fulfilled all the requisite ingredients without excitement -- but we also found dishes to enjoy on each trip.

Persimmon got its start in 2003 as a lunch and brunch place, but it's juggled its focus around in recent months. It now serves dinners, plus a weekend brunch, but has dropped weekday lunches at least for the time being, after the owners decided the finances and traffic flow didn't pencil out.

Moot and Tim Larsen are longtime friends with decades of restaurant experience between them; he was most recently at the Two Bells, she's an alum of Le Gourmand. The menu is French-influenced, particularly in the appetizers, but only lightly so, and it relies on local producers and organics "whenever possible."


		GILBERT W. ARIAS / P-I
	A moist, well-proportioned Reuben gets a boost of perfection from Market House corned beef and a side of homemade horseradish.

The two rooms are small but uncluttered, painted in cheery persimmon-like colors; a warm orange in the front, red in the Oriental-influenced back, with artwork on the walls including the namesake fruit. There's a counter with a row of stools, and tables spaced comfortably apart, recently decorated with seasonal squashes and attractive flatware ("From Williams-Sonoma. That was back when I was still making money," said Moot, who worked a second job the first year the restaurant was open.)

It's romantic enough for a date, also casual enough that we're not too bothered by the sprouting green in the middle of our roasted garlic head on an appetizer antipasti plate ($12); we concentrate instead on the lovely bean spread, the soft and dreamy Cambazola cheese, the sharp little cornichons, and the thin strips of grilled vegetables that make tasty packaging for cherry tomatoes.

Service was pleasant, but did seem overstretched with a single person on the floor, despite the small number of tables. We had a mixed-up entree one night, and thought it was handled just right, with a sincere apology, an offer to bring the correct order, then the dish silently disappearing from the bill.

And a warning: Go on a day without time constraints. Our food was generally slow to arrive from the little kitchen, with a 45-minute break one night between the end of the appetizers and the start of the entrees. At that point, we did want an alert from the server, or an explanation as we tried to figure out whether we'd been forgotten.

If you allot enough time that you have some extra at the end? Order the molten chocolate dessert, which takes an extra 10 minutes to prepare, made with bittersweet Belgian chocolate and tasting like the lightest, airiest brownie ever.

P-I reporter Rebekah Denn can be reached at 206-448-8190 or rebekahdenn@seattlepi.com.

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