The Persian food at busy Alborz, all emerald-and-ruby hues and satin-and-velvet softness, is not stuff you would wolf at a bus stop. It merits waiting, sitting, and savoring. Don’t even try to pretend that it’s humble. Elegance gleams from its glossy surfaces and from its little special-touch festoons: dazzling yogurt lightning-bolts, scarlet barberries, and crushed nuts studding creamy spreads and dips. Melt-in-the-mouth kashk bademjan is a grilled-eggplant appetizer scattered with candylike crushed almonds, lolling luxuriously in a reflecting pool of high-quality olive oil. House-specialty kabobs — some of which boast whole Cornish game hens — are served alongside reefs of majestically fluffy, saffron-tinted, perfectly hydrated baked basmati rice. So majestic is the sensual onslaught, the lushness of what can be done even with only fruit, nuts, and milk, that sometimes you’ll feel like bursting into tears over meals here, tears of I-don’t-deserve-this bliss.