Taverna Kyclades

The subject of Greek lore on Long Island for much of my formative years, Astoria loomed in the distance like a giant, lamb juice oozing, tzaziki-laden gyro I had yet to devour. I always knew Astoria was there, and had wanted to go, but it just never happened. Until now!

For those of you who don’t know, Astoria is located below the Triborough bridge, by Long Island City, in the borough of my birth. It’s home to the largest Greek population outside of Greece and has been touted as the go-to for the best and most authentic Greek cuisine this side of the Atlantic. My dear friend Kristin has been shacking up in this Queens neighborhood for the past month, waiting until she can move into her new East Village apartment (hollaaaa). At the first mention of Astoria, Kristin and I immediately had the same thought: Greek night. Obviously.

Admittedly, my genuine knowledge of Greek food was limited to gyros and souvlaki and baklava. All completely delicious foods in their own right, but clearly I was missing something. I had heard that “real” Greek food was healthy, flavorful, fresh and intoxicating. I enjoy a good souvlaki from time to time (to time to time…), but rarely is it a life-changing experience, nor is it healthy. Enter seafood. And fresh ingredients. And cigarettes, ouzo, and fried cheese. These are a few of my favorite things?!

As some of you may recall, I am new to the seafood game. Although I will never, ever eat lettuce, these days I can be seen slamming clams and scallops with the best of them, and I do. The highly recommended restaurant we went to was called Taverna Kyclades, on Ditmars Avenue. We arrived around 9:30 on a Monday night and there was still at least a 30 minute wait. After heading to a nearby bar, returning, and being seated at a prime corner table on the outside patio, we were perusing the menu and making our selections.

Kristin and I split a bottle of Greek white wine that had a hint of pine resin in it. It was bitter and strange- I literally had flashbacks to my younger years when I would eat pine needles off the Christmas tree (whatever)- but paired extremely well with the seafood we ended up ordering. The four of us settled on a greek salad, grilled octopus and saganaki (fried cheese) for appetizers. Not being a salad eater, I merked some of the feta off of the giant blocks they served and got down on some fresh bread and olive oil. The saganaki was divine; not too heavy, only lightly fried, oozing with olive oil. It went extremely well with the other standout appetizer: the octopus. Being half guini myself, I am no stranger to calamari but I have never had octopus that was a) not calamari and b) not fried. I expected it to be rubbery and awkward, instead it was tender beyond words, juicy and had an incredibly fresh flavor, brought out by the olive oil. Formerly scared of tentacles, I found myself going back for seconds, thirds and fourths. Great success.

For our entrees, we decided on a chicken kebab (I insisted on some meat at the table) and the “Kyclades special”: a seafood platter with pan-fried clams stuffed with crab meat, lobster tail, crab-stuffed jumbo shrimp, scallops, and a filet of sole. As side dishes, we ordered swiss chard, lemon potatoes and rice. It was an incredible amount of food for four girls that just OD’d a little on appetizers, but we tackled it in full force. I had a little of everything and a lot of scallops. The seafood was fresh and cooked exactly as it should have been; everything was moist, tender and seasoned perfectly with olive oil, sea salt and lemon. The beauty of Greek seafood, I’ve realized, is in the ingredients. There is no need for heavy marinades or elaborate seasoning because as long as the food is fresh and in optimal condition, you need little to bring out its outstanding flavor. Knowing this, and knowing how to properly apply seemingly rudimentary garnishes such as olive oil and sea salt, is the trick to mastering this kind of cooking. The result is delicious food where simplicity is king.

Dessert was galaktoboureko, a pastry made of custard and filo dough. Even though I had turned into a stuffed pig by that point, I couldn’t resist digging in as I will eat anything wrapped in filo, so I did. It was not memorable, but a nice, sweet ending to the meal. I decided that the most fabulous digestif of all time, Ouzo, was in order, and ordered a few shots of it. Ouzo is not much different from sambuca, absinthe or any other anisette but it packs the same punch and sits beautifully after a full meal. I was full, drunk and essentially: in heaven. Greek heaven. Visions of Zeus and white columns and scantily clad Spartan soldiers danced through my head. We left, taking note that the clientele was mostly Greek speaking, and trekked back to 30th ave so this little one could make the long march back to the Village. Astoria is an incredible juxtaposition of what it means to be Greek-American- in that these people are fully American, with their brick row houses, tacky metal railings and tiled walkways; yet also fully Greek. Men lounged in the sidewalk cafes, each with their own pack of cigarettes sipping on three-tiered coffes, speaking the native tongue and dipping pitas. One could easily be forgiven for thinking you were indeed in Europe, but a look beneath the surface reveals a much more complex identity. Astoria, I think I love you and all of your fish. And that middle-aged Greek hottie sitting at the table next to me….Good God.


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