Flavor of the Greek

Chocolate baklava. I had no idea it existed and its existence is absolutely revelatory. Heaven in a bite-sized form upon my plate, sharing air with a coconut, almond, and traditional bitty baklava.

We went to Astoria, Queens, this evening – our first trek into the borough that didn’t involve an airplane (LaGuardia is in Queens) – which could as easily be called Little Greece. For that matter, maybe it is.

Our trek started off as so many of them do, with us deciding – maybe three months ago, around the time we moved here – that we needed good Greek food. It took three months before we made the 45-minute journey, partially because there’s enough to do in Manhattan to never have to leave the island, and partially because there have been more reasons to go to Brooklyn than any other borough.

Actually, for that matter, we’ve done more in the Bronx than Queens, which is saying something because it’s, you know, the Bronx. Sorry, Queens. And Staten Island remains the one borough I’ve neglected to take Steph to see. Soon, SI.

But we made up for it with sheer determination borne about a week ago to actually get the Greek food we’ve been discussing to death for so long, looked up some random places online when our network of friends, family members and acquaintances fell through with suggestions, and set off.

For anyone who hasn’t been there, it’s a very cute, if strange, area. Th train tracks run above ground, which means if you walk along 31st, every few minutes you have to pause in your conversation for the screeching and clanging of the subway going by. And despite the minor gridlock we might see going to and from our respective jobs or destinations, whatever Grand Central highway or access road we had to cross around 28th or something near the Neptune Diner was definitely an experience I haven’t had since moving here, if only for the fact that I’m just not near gluts of cars like that anymore.

But then we came upon well-lit streets with families and couples and all sorts of people walking by, lights strung up in trees, bright signs on the sidewalks, and we were enamored.

The restaurant we went to wasn’t gigantic, but it had Greek people eating there, or at least people who looked Greek and spoke Greek and shared ouzo with the strangers across the room, which is as much a mark of its favor as any number of stars in yelp or urbanspoon. The service was pretty bad and the initial basket of tough, tasteless, generic bread didn’t bode well for the evening, but the tzatziki sauce and its four accompanying spreads, together with the fresh-baked pita, followed by amazing entrees more than made up for it. I’d recommend the restaurant if you’re curious, but only with the caveat about what to expect from the waitstaff.

Our desserts were complimentary, which was awesome, but other than assuming they were incredible and authentic Greek delicacies, no one gave us any indication of what we were eating. We still don’t know what we ate, but by gosh, those plates were clean a few minutes later!

It was a wonderful place to take a stroll, to stumble upon a bakery – which we did, although it’s not the one with the aforementioned chocolate baklava – to pass by a Chase bank where two large men might be wrestling with head locks included in the ATM area before smiling and punching each other (so manly!) and to just enjoy the beautiful, temperate evening as we made our way to another recommended eatery past dim, residential areas, about nine blocks away.

Bakery number three, here we come!

And now we’re back at the beginning, with the four micro desserts vying for attention on the plate.

Given both our obsessions, the other three didn’t stand much chance against the chocolate, but they were all delicious, especially when coupled with a cold, foamy frappe that delighted me with its wealth of foam. Seriously, like two-thirds of the cup.

Between all that food, all that sugar, and the caffeine in the evening, I see a long night ahead of us. But I wouldn’t do one thing differently.

Ok, maybe I’d get two chocolate baklava.