Poli kala

One of the supreme pleasures of life for me is experiencing a new, good restaurant with friends, a pleasure I have enjoyed all too rarely here in Maine. I got to do it twice on my trip to New York. The evening of my arrival my friends and I, with two other friends of theirs whom I was meeting for the first time, had dinner at Periyali, a popular and acclaimed Greek restaurant on W. 20th, in what is called the Flatiron district (after one of the many architectural gems of New York City, the Flatiron Building).

The restaurant is housed in a not unusual NYC location, the basement of its building. You walk down a few steps from the sidewalk to get to the entrance, and they have a table in the tiny paved "yard." They asked us if we wanted to eat outside, but Fae and I agreed it was a bit muggy for dining al fresco. Instead, we were led down the length of the casually elegant, low-ceilinged, white-painted main room to what I thought of as the sun room. It seemed to have been built on, as one might add a sun or garden room, and had a skylight through which, I announced to the people at the table about halfway through our meal, one would expect a body to come plummeting from the building above, in a good thriller movie.

The food and drink were excellent. We were fussing about what wine to order, the wine menu having been passed to Fae's husband Jim, the resident wine expert, but I said we were in a Greek restaurant so really should have a Greek wine (reminiscent of my determination to have a German beer at Richard's German restaurant...after all, when in Rome...), and Jim professed he knew nothing about Greek wine. The waiter encouraged us to have a Santorini wine, but having been to a wine tasting at one of Santorini's wineries years ago, and having dumped all but one of the samples into the bushes, I was skeptical. However, the waiter assured us we need only try the one he was recommending -- if we didn't like it, it would go out to the kitchen (and, as Jim said, become the by-the-glass wine for the evening). So we all tried a sip, and all liked it. My present frustration has to do with not being able to specify exactly which Santorini wine it was. All I know is that it was pleasantly dry, with decent body, and "Santorini" could be clearly seen, written in an arch around the top of the label.

I had the lamb chops (I was disappointed that the waiter, who looked Greek, didn't understand me when I tried brushing off my pronun-ciation on the Greek name of the dish, paidakia thedrolivano) which were delicious, though I could have stood another chop. We were all eating off the Restaurant Week menu -- prix fixe of $35 for an appetizer, entree and dessert -- which may have resulted in slightly smaller portions. Perhaps when you order from the regular menu ($31, just for the entree) you get three.

Others had the swordfish, the charcoal-grilled shishkabob of filet mignon, the salmon in a flaky crust with spinach, and the lamb shank, all pronounced excellent. My appetizer was a small slice of spanikopita (spinach pie) with salad greens. It was better than any of the spanikopita I had in Greece -- and I had it frequently, since it was a favorite "fast food" item. This wasn't the least bit heavy, or greasy; really perfection.

As was the evening, even with the typically mad cab ride uptown to the apartment where I was spending the night.