Gung-ho: MP Taverna Astoria

Upstairs in the handsome industrial space, our table is soon crowded with dips and pita.

          Having closed more great restaurants in Manhattan than most chefs even dream of opening, Michael Psilakis has been seeding homestyle tavernas in outlying burbs. First in Roslyn, then in Irvington. Now he dares to bring his riff on Greek cooking to Astoria, the Queens community that claims more Greek citizens than Athens.

          Not that he hasn’t tried to be humble about it in his puffed-up way. “It’s being able to cook for the people who really know the food,” Psilakis, the son of immigrants, told the Daily News. “I’m serving the stuff my mother cooked in a refined way through a chef’s hand.”

Michael Psilakis with marvelous lamb chops at Anthos before he got distracted by fame.

          So I wasn’t expecting the brilliance of the late, lamented Anthos, or even the audacity of Onera that first got serious foodies to notice him when he braved Manhattan. But I’d been to the first MP Taverna in Roslyn and loved the Greek-style pastitsio (macaroni) with four cheeses, the delicate sheep’s milk dumplings, and noted the amazing intensity of the lamb chops. I thought: okay Michael, take on Astoria. What the hell. Why not? Let your humble servant show the locals how good great classics can be.

Doors thrown open, MP Taverna is carved into stone far above, invisible from the sidewalk.

          Amazingly, I’d scored a reservation on that first Saturday night, and I persuaded the adventuress, Rina Oh, to drive from New Jersey and bring us to Queens where we would meet our buddy, the EthnicJunkieLINK.  He had come early by subway from Brooklyn and was shopping his way along Ditmars Boulevard for exotic ingredients.

          The gleaming new Taverna is on a corner, front doors thrown open to the street. I don’t see a sign because it’s carved into stone high above, not visible from the sidewalk. There’s a long marble bar stocked, I learn, with 120 whiskeys, 70 beers and 50 wines by the glass or the three-ounce taste. I sense the tension of standees determined to wait no matter how long, as I eavesdrop on a macho bully haranguing the manager to be seated immediately if MP Taverna hopes to survive. We’re led up industrial steel steps to a quieter retreat, great-looking, with black steel banded windows and light over the table.

I meant to ask for Grandma’s Greek meatballs with lemon, pita and tzatziki.

          Aside from the citation on the bottom of the menu, offering to cook a whole spring lamb, kid goat, rib steak rack or suckling pig with five days notice, the menu didn’t seem very Michael Psilakis to me.  Crab croquettes. Roasted lemon chicken. “Beef Burger” with American cheese. Where is the hummus, the tzatziki, the taramosalata, melitzanosalata? What is the romance of chickpea, yogurt and eggplant dips? Why would I want Greek paella? Is something wrong with me? Am I holding on to a Disney World vision of Taverna?

The signature octopus is as good as the manager promises. We order an encore.

          And it’s not that the octopus tossed with tomato, torn greens and chickpeas isn’t wonderful. “It’s the chef’s prize-winning octopus,” the young man taking our order assures us.  The creature is tender, but not too. It’s so good, we order seconds.

          And why is the manager taking our order? Someone has recognized me. But even so, it takes a long time for drinks.  When he notices I’m not happy with my wine choice, he offers to bring another, “fruitier and in the same price category.” I would call it “a fun Pinot Noir.” Perfect with souvlaki. The kitchen creeps. Not unexpected this early. Though I find it odd that Psilakis isn’t around on the first weekend.

Plump, carefully cooked mussels, with gigante beans, tomato, sausage and bread crumbs.

          Big fat mussels are excellent too, perfectly cooked and still in the shell, heaped into a black iron skillet. It’s a messy but tasty toss of Greek pork sausage, tomato shreds, spinach, gigante beans and bread crumbs. We’re pleased we chose the bulgar salad, a tangle of sweet and salt, with dates, almonds, pomegranate seeds, olives, onion and pistachios.

Dates, pomegranate, olive, red onion and pistachio make a sweet and spicy bulgar salad.

          The meatballs aren’t bad, but they’re drowning in a banal tomato sauce – I meant to order grandma’s meatballs with pita and tzatziki (how did that Greek word creep in on this modernized menu?). And the “Dips”  -- yogurt, eggplant and tomato-tinged chickpea mash -- served with triangles of warm pita (Warmed when? Already stiff), are only good if you never tasted the sensational spreads of the globalizing chef in his unassuming early days at Onera.

I remember pillow-like sheep’s milk dumplings, not these lumpen pasta rolls.

          Remembering gossamer sheep’s milk dumplings I could never resist, I find tonight’s pockets of pasta with spicy lamb sausage and sun dried tomato primitive and gluey.

          Our fivesome has ordered the lamb shank as well as lamb sausage with potato, but the portions are huge – and we beg to cancel the shank because we’ve already eaten too much. A hot younger crowd is arriving as tables keep turning. We can’t stop staring at the Real Housewives of Astoria in their minis and spikes, their escorts paling into the ether.  

From the look of this calamari you might guess that it was less than thrilling.

          Should we skip dessert? I vote for the walnut and parsnip cake because it sounds Greek to me. Yet another waiter, maybe the assistant manager, urges us to try the galaktoboureko. It is not the Greek classic we know, he confides proudly, but has been crossed with crème brulée and topped with cherries and citrus.

The reconstructed galaktoboureko with a crackle topping, citrus, and berries.

          Every few minutes with every course, someone comes to ask how we like it. Now our dessert guide wants to know which we prefer. Three of us vote for the corrupted custard. A fourth and I favor the fabulous cake. What does that prove? Taste is either what I say it is, or how the table votes.

My friend Peter and I favored this walnut and parsnip cake with candied nut rubble.

          This is just a first impression, of course. Remember, we drove 40 minutes from East 96th Street to get here. I loved the adventure of cruising in traffic along Ditmars Boulevard, seeing where the Greek heart of Astoria is turning Middle Eastern. You might like a voyage without passport too, now that you know what to expect. And the tariff will seem shockingly modest -- starters mostly $8.50, entrees $15 to $22, calculatedly catnip for the neighborhood.

31-29 Ditmars Boulevard on the corner of 32nd Street, Astoria Queens. 718 777 2187.  Monday through Thursday noon to 11 pm. Late night menu 11 pm to 1 am. Friday and Saturday noon to midnight, late night menu midnight till 2 am. Sunday noon to 10 pm.

Photographs may not be used without permission from Gael Greene. Copyright 2013. All rights reserved.

Click here to follow my Twitterings.