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| - Milos Montreal, owned by Costas Spiliadis of Estiatorio Milos in Manhattan, is currently in the charge of renowned Italian chef Franca Mazza, previously at Little Italy's Il Mulino. A Greek meal cooked by an Italian in Montreal! It seemed out of place but it would have to do. And the suggestion, purloined by a couple visiting New York from Montreal, was worth every bite.
Spiliadis has taken it upon himself to elevate the status of Greek cuisine, which is commonly associated with gyros lathered in oily tzatziki, salty Greek salads with cheap feta and olives and syrupy baklava that cloys to one's molars. Many Greek restaurants eschew Greek for the more common appellation of Mediterranean--hardly a sin, but telling. A quick inspection of the catch, and the total absence of fishy smell, iced on display in front of the open kitchen reassures diners that the prices for this lesser esteemed cuisine is justified. If not altogether charitable.
If people are uncertain of how Greek food can be, they need to talk to Mr. Spiliadis at one of his restaurants.
Milos serves family style meals: whole groupers that feed five, enormous salads that waiters plate at your tableside, and bountiful sides such as baked beets or greens. The two of us, unable to fully enjoy such a feast chose the five-course tasting menu and a bottle of highly recommended 2005 Assyrtico (Areti, Ktima Biblia Chora) over an Alsatian Riesling.
Greek wine is not as various as Italian or French, but this bottle worked throughout the meal.
While we waited for our meal to begin, we munched on hearty bread that steeled our appetites and warmed us--the walk from the subway to the restaurant was much further than our map portended. We noted the success with which the rustic/chic interiors had been designed and the crisp, formal (if not old-fashioned) service of the staff (my fiancé was excluded from almost all decisions and questions). We sat at wide, spacious tables that were stationed at comfortable intervals or pushed together for large families. The floors were a matted brown, which offset the formal white, and the fish, imported foodstuffs and ironwork reminded me of the taverna tradition.
The first course arrived. Grilled octopus atop thinly sliced, raw onions. Portioned into medallions, the octopus was nicely charred but still tender and sprinkled with sea salt and olive oil. Filling the plate were grilled oyster mushrooms and colorful peppers whose tender flesh resonated with grass and straw flavors that met balsamic and olive oil directly. The onions provided a crunch that balanced the dish.
Quietly, the plates were taken away and we were presented with a more ambitious course: grilled shrimp on lemongrass skewers with the fixings of a Greek salad. The shrimp were delicately imbued with the citrus notes of the lemongrass and quite succulent. The Greek salad was comprised of tomatoes, which were a bit flavorless, a bring feta and olives arranged to fill the remaining space of the plate but offering little else to the shrimp. This dish was the least impressive of all. The attempt to reinvigorate the Greek salad came off as unimaginative, forced.
The crab cake that Milos boasts as "famous" followed. Actually, it contained a meaty lump of crab meat spiced with something not unlike Old Bay, and slices of calamari served after prolonged boiling and a quick trip to the grill. The crab cake was bound almost wholly by meat and was not over-breaded or mealy. The nod to Old Bay was charming, appropriate and delicious. Having nearly filled ourselves with crustaceans and mollusks, we patiently waited for our entrees. I was moving inland, hoping for the arrival of lamb chops and fries. My fiancé had ordered a dish of grilled salmon and beets.
I am not a fan of salmon, having eaten too much of it when it was the only fish my mother allowed in the house, so leaving the sea was an easy choice--even at a seafood restaurant. My risk was rewarded. The chops were rubbed with salt and rosemary, grilled to medium and served with crisp fries sprinkled in sea salt. The salmon, however, was the superior dish. As fresh a piece of fish as I had ever seen upon a plate, the flesh was firm, a beautiful hue and cooked with care. An undisturbed surface yielded to glassy meat in the center. A side of beets gave the dish weight and the deeper hues emphasized the appealing appearance of the fish.
By the time dessert arrived we were ready to loosen our belts. Knowing full well that we would be wondering through a city of French pastries, a plate of baklava seemed superfluous. But our server insisted and I added a cup of Turkish coffee to the bill. The baklava was as flaky and light as my mother's, but prepared with honey it surpassed her recipe. It was topped with crushed pistachios and fresh strawberries that were surprisingly tasty.
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