MP Taverna: A Greek Bearing Gifts

 
Is it Colorado or the chef's alchemy that gives the lamb so much flavor? Photo: Steven Richter

         Obviously you don’t need to drive 40 minutes outside Manhattan to Roslyn, Long Island for cuisinary rapture. That setting for Michael Psilakis’ new MP Taverna will certainly challenge the chef’s groupies. But as the critic who first discovered the young Greek cooking Italian in Garden City and was thrilled with his New York City debut at Onera on West 79th Street, I was not daunted. GPS takes you anywhere. And if you think a Tuesday night roundtrip to Roslyn for marvelous sheep’s milk dumplings and a groaning board of first-rate lamb chops sounds like an adventure, then go. Consider it a detour on your trek to the Hamptons where you can fill up on splendid meze and bitter greens while avoiding the worst of highway traffic.

Fried calamari stars in a fritto misto of cauliflower, zucchini, chickpeas. Photo: Steven Richter

         It was a seriously deprived gourmandlich local whose ecstatic report alerted me. “It was only the third night, but it’s already amazing. We’ve booked a standing reservation for every Friday night through the summer,” she wrote. “Don’t miss the octopus, the crispy cod, the scallops with dried cherries in brown butter, or the lemon chicken.”
        
        I enlisted an equally game foodie with a car and driver that very day. We shared lamentations for the wandering Greek from our memories of loving his food as we hit the road. (Tuesday, no traffic, but don’t count on it.) In his avowed mission to translate the Greek kitchen for Americans, Psilakis has danced between the rustic folkloric Kefi and the haut creativity of Anthos with the Mediterranean mix of Mia Dona as an encore. When he split with his partners and Anthos closed, he seemed to disappear, as well as his Gus and Gabriel. Then came the eccentric, almost wonderful Fish Tag, with its excess of philosophy that daunted loyalists as well as critics.

Our waiter Ionysus finds Roslyn a vacation from Queens. Photo: Steven Richter

        Ionysus, our waiter from Queens, is instantly intimate. “Now you know you’re in Long Island,” says our companion as we settle into a booth on this sparsely colonized weeknight. There is a lot of dark wood, neat slats, red and gold striped fabric on the banquettes, freshly done and accessible.

         “Actually, I’m from Queens,” the waiter corrects, friendly and full of more information than we need to know. “Being in this town is like a vacation for me.”
     
         It’s one of those menus where my friend Harriet and I want everything. I’m not into beer, but I see a treasure of Craft beers listed. Not to mention an adjective-loaded roster of wines that could make a local dizzy, including a red from old Greek vines at $13.50 for a three-ounce glass.

Small saucers of Greek spreads with pita is more than enough for three. Photo: Steven Richter

         The more focused Road Food Warrior doesn’t care what we choose “as long as I get calamari and lamb chops.” Ionysus critiques our order, pointing out what we’ve missed…I know, I know. But we’re only three people. We need to survive the night because tomorrow is Wednesday. He studies his notes and suggests we start with the trio of spreads, then let him bring a meze or two at a time.

Meatballs bob in a tomato sauce with olives and onion. Photo: Steven Richter

         Not to suggest that the garlicky yogurt and cucumber tzatziki and feta with spicy chili aren’t wonderful. We like both better than a dryish chickpea-tomato puree. We’ve gone through a huge basket of pita waiting to be distracted by meatballs smothered with olives and onions in tomato sauce that arrives a bit belatedly, along with a tangle of fried calamari, cauliflower, zucchini and chickpeas with battered lemon peel and sticks of fried dill. Take one, I dare you. You’re a goner.

         Then the waiter sidles in with mac ‘n’ cheese and a second fritto misto. “Maybe the chef wants you to have another,” he says, as puzzled as we are. Except we’re not that pleased with the macaroni swimming in cheesy sauce – the chef’s chauvinistic melt of feta, Kefalotiri, Graviera and Metsovone with béchamel. I want more macaroni in my macaroni and I want it sticking to the baking pan. I guess it’s my mom's vs. Michael’s. The bottom line – we’re finishing off the redundant calamari congregation.

        I wish the salad were less salty because I’m wild for the crumbled ribbons of spicy and bitter greens – Tuscan black cabbage, Russian red kale and chicory with slivers of smoked cheese and pine nuts. After all, a Psilakis signature is two or three too many ingredients per dish.

Yes, it’s salty but I wouldn’t miss this salad of spicy and bitter greens. Photo: Steven Richter.

         And if there is a too muchness in the sheep’s milk dumplings, I am overlooking it. Spearing a gummy little dumpling or a chunk of spicy lamb sausage, dipping it in the lively tomato sauce fortified with sundried tomatoes, spinach and pine nuts – I am loving it. We’re too full to ask what happened to the lamb ribs that never came.

         “How’s your meal so far?” our waiter asks again and again. Maybe he’s lonely on this quiet night. There is a collection of good old boys eating at the bar, but that’s not his station. I suspect weekday traffic will grow once the locals get a taste, see how big the portions are, and check out the prices – entrees starting at $15, all under $20 except for the lamb chops and some daily specials like Thursday’s pork ribs with smashed potatoes or Friday’s lobster with thick spaghetti and tomato.

         Is it the lamb –“good old American lamb from Colorado,” Psilakis says – or is it the chef’s alchemy that teases out so much flavor? There are five chops, rare as ordered, alongside slabs of loukaniko (Greek pork sausage, a $9 side) on the wooden charger. Too much for Steven, who happily shares.

Chef Michael Psilakis is on a mission to expand the notion of Greek food. Photo: Steven Richter

         The chef emerges from the kitchen in stained whites. He apologizes for his expanded waistline. “I’m tasting all the time,” he says, reminding us it’s not even a full week.

         Why Roslyn to spread the Greek gospel? “I live nearby and I can see my sons more often,” he says. Roslyn already has two successful Greek restaurants. They are more focused on fish, he explains. “And we’re all over the place.”

         He is hoping clients will special order whole animals – baby lamb, kid goat, suckling pig, a whole shank of veal – to celebrate the way Greeks do.

         “Did you order the brownie?” he wants to know.

Halvah brownie or honey’d Greek yogurt from Canada? Have both. Photo: Steven Richter.

         We’ve decided we cannot eat another bite, but there are spoons and forks going down on the table. “I guess we can share one,” I say, caving instantly. The very thought of chocolate is reviving.

         Out comes a small chocolate cupcake wearing a toque of sesame ice cream sprinkled with sesame seeds and chopped smoked almond. My friend Harriet takes a bite and hyperventilates, or maybe that’s an exaltation. Me? Ditto. What is this amazing chocolate? “Brownie mixed with halvah,” Chef confides. “The tahini underneath is like crème anglaise,” he suggests.

         I didn’t think I needed yogurt with honey either. The rubble of seeds sprinkled on top put me off – flax, hemp, sesame, pumpkin. But it’s Skotidakis from Canada. A thick cow and goat emulsion, with honey from Greece. I know honey is just sugar. And seeds are just fiber and yogurt is just milk. But dessert alone could convert me if I’d wandered in from the mall.