taste.KEFI :: Upper West Side, New York

Kefi: a Greek word which translates roughly to English as "a rush of feeling that can only be expressed through singing or dancing." Unlike those stereotypical plate-shattering Greek restaurants such as those off of Boulevard St. Michel in Paris, Kefi on the Upper West Side is Michael Psilakis' more subtle intepretation on this state of grace. Instead of concentrating on a theatrical atmosphere, Mr. Psilakis concentrates on the food. The result is something rather special, and though its small, intimate, subterranean rooms might prove such revelry to be a bit difficult, Kefi has enough spirit and intimate romance to open the walls as well as your mouth to receiving an evening of convivial company, blissful cocktails, and of course, food that is worth celebrating.

Kefi is tucked down and away on a lovely but lonely block on 79th Street between Broadway and Amsterdam. Though I first was a bit lost, convinced that it would not be on a street across which I had walked hundred of time without noticing it before, I was happily proven wrong. Indeed Kefi was right there, happily and invitingly welcoming diners down a small flight of stairs to a large door that opens to a space decorated in light wood and deep navy blues. At the end of a short and cramped hallway, the back room opens to a small space with rows of modest, small tables. White fabric runs along the ceiling in undulating waves about chatty diners in small, intimate gatherings. This bustling room is a fesitval in itself, where the beautiful epicurieans of the Upper West Side come to taste a bit of Greece, throw back an ouzo or five, and drift away from the city under the guide of a handful of handsome, Grecian waiters.

Though the restaurant takes neither cash nor reservations, one would have thought we had paid off the reservations host when we were seated inside a personal, four-person dining alcove outside of the main room. The alcove, with a small, round pine table, navy blue walls, a strip of white moulding and a photograph of a statuesque goddess, was made rather private by two windowpane walls with an open doorway in the middle. The room was in need of something soft, like a celing fabric as was found in the main dining room, to keep the loud echo from invading conversation, but overall the intimacy of the room made it feel as though it were a world apart from the hot, summer city outside.

The whole menu was as mouthwatering as it was affordable; we ordered three courses, with plenty to share. Our charming and friendly waiter suggested the Roditis Momewasios Momemvasia white wine, 2004; upon first taste, notes of citrius and pear left a refreshing, crisp and dry finish on my toungue, and I began to understand why the restaurant had been given its name. The cocktail we ordered was even more impressive: the Gin and Tear was a perfect nod to the traditional gin and tonic, but spiced to Greek perfection with fennel syrup, and beautfully decorated with a layer of anise seeds at the bottom of the golden-green drink.

We started with the Greek salad, which despite its generous dressing, was a refreshing prelude to our foray into Greek cuisine. With fresh, creamy chunks of feta cheese, salty kalamata olives, and flecks of oregano, the salad was begging to be relished, and every last drop of Olive Oil to be wiped up with bread. We gladly obliged. The second appetizer, the Sheep's Milk dumplings with Lamb Sausage in Tomato sauce, was a surprise and an absolute delight. The dumplings were scrumption little squares with a soft and thin dougy outside, inside of which was a thick, creamy Goat's cheese that just barely melted by the heat of the dish. The sausage was outstandingly fresh and meaty, which was complemented perfectly by the red tomato sauce and well-portioned fresh sauteed spinach. The whole dish felt like it had been prepared by a loving -- and well-trained -- Greek Yiayia, and as I finished my last bite, I immediately began making plans to visit her again.

For entrees, the men ordered the two homemade pasta dishes, while the women kept exploring the meze. S.K. had a delightful Sheep's Milk Ravioli in a butter and sage sauce, which same with crisply fried tendrils of sweet onion. Brian's order of Hilopites kouneli, Flat pasta with Pulled Braised rabbit and Graviera Cheese, was quickly and heartly enjoyed; it was cooked in a red sauce that looked similar to the dumplings, and was finished by wiping bread to clear the plate to white. Hannah the Feta sto fourno, pita, Warm Feta with Tomatoes, Caper, Anchovies and Feta; it also came with beautifully fresh haricots verts, dressed in a delicious and savory olive oil. Upon recommendation before arriving at Kefi, I tried the Otapodi stin sxara, revithia, fasolia, tomates liastes: the Octopus and Bean Salad. The small plate arrived with one large, curling tentacle on top of a small mound of fresh white chick peas and white beans, to my friends' surprise. It was perhaps the best cooked octopus I have ever tasted: the outside skin was cooked to a perfect crisp to that the inside was still moist and chewy that the external toast served as a perfect compliment to the pure meat inside. The skin gave way to my knife, especially where the suction cups were larger, allowing me to taste the meat in its pure and delicious form. The bean salad was a lovely, fresh compliment to the heavy tentacle meat; the beans were fresh and al dente, whereas the bits of dried tomato gave a summer heartiness that made the little herbed salad rather elegant and savory.

The dessert menu is sparse, but absolutely do not ignore it. Though sorbets and gelatto might be the boring part of any dessert menu, at Kefi, they are certainly center stage. With gelato flavors as exotic as sesame seed, the one sorbet, rasperry port, is a sophisticated compliment. We all tasted the Poached pear dessert, which was a delightful surprise. The pear, made into a sort of violet-brown paste with chopped walnuts, was at the center of a nest of phyllo dought strands, with a bit of the sensual sorbet The rich, buttery nest fibers of the phyllo dough were offset well by the sorbet, balancing the heavy and the light to balance the dish and send us on our way, happy and satiated, with enough room left to dance and to sing.

About $25/person for shared three courses and a drink. I highly recommend going either for an intimate date or with a small group of friends to enjoy the handsome and friendly waitstaff and the elegant homey atmosphere ; the portions are satiating without being overwhelming, and the prices are generous. The food is excellent overall, and I will absolutely be returning for more. Opa!!

Kefi

222 W79th Street

btn Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue.

212/873.0200

Cash Only
No reservations

Menu from New York Magazine

Try nine recipes from Kefi chef Michael Psilakis, care of Food & Wine magazine: Michael Psilakis's Recipes

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Parting Thoughts.

Before I left for England, I got in the habit of telling people who asked about my journey that I was going specifically to London. This seemed to be a benign and logical explanation to me; I was on the last leg of my tri-city trifecta of travel to the three great Western cities of New York, Paris and London. I live in New York, I've left a piece of me in my appart in Paris, and now London was new territory in which I hope to someday live and make my mark. In my mind, this journey in June was in part a trial visit. But mostly, I was embracing the chance to see Naomi, to spend time with my dear friend who had only just moved back her family's home in England the week before.

The truth was, London was not my primary destination, per se. My immigration card to the UK marked my rather elusive destination as: "The Priory, Priory Lane, Little Wymondley near Hitchin, Herfordshire, England." I was not set on making a trip for exclusively romping about the capital of the imperial world; rather I was going to see Naomi and her family, to see England like an Englishwoman would, and to debunk the myth the English food offers little more than beans on toast. But it was easier to tell my fellow New Yorkers that I was going to London, rather than constantly explain the geography of provincial England.

So where did I go? To Hitchin. Where is it? You should know by now... that is, if you read Parts One and Two of this serial travelogue.

I immediately discovered after motoring out to the 'Shires that England is a beautiful country, the exploration of which should not be limited to its capital. If you have the chance, go to England, not just London. You should visit these provincial towns, these villages, the countryside; see the way people live, how they eat, what they value and how they spend their time. See the tourist sites, go to Stonehenge, tour London in a double-decker bus, find your own path that allows you to get a taste of the whole country through the eyes of those who live there.
But Most importantly: go to England to eat. Eat up the stereotypes of pub food, taste the cuisine of Britain's former colonies, sip a coffee at a Starbucks in Notting Hill, have high tea the The Wolseley, ignore the exchange rate in order to understand why a Michelin star is indeed such a regal award. Get married at The Priory, find your London neighborhood, explore a village in the provinces, watch The Vanguard, go punting in Cambridge... go to England with an open eye and an empty stomach.

England is an epicurean country with exceptional cuisine for those who are willing to be discerning and go find it. I have a special place in my heart for all of the England that I was able to see, for the friends I now have there, and for the food that I savoured with such joy.

taste. travel. live.

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Part Four -- Cambridge

taste.travel.ENGLAND: Part Four -- Cambridge

- Introduction: A Cambridge Afternoon
- Punting on the River Cam
- Fitzbillies
- Midsummer House

Introduction: A Cambridge Afternoon

Cambridge University: the cradle of some of England's most revered intellectuals. Some of the notables who have walked through the university town's cobbled streets include Sir Francis Bacon, Oliver Cromwell, John Milton, Charles Darwin, Lord Byron, C.S. Lewis and A.A. Milne. The whole town of Cambridge is teeming with students and school masters, a number of whom can still be seen wearing the traditional academic gown. On the sunny Saturday of my visit, most students were milling around the River Cam, a pint in one hand and a textbook in the other.

Cambridge is an ancient university town. Located about 50miles north-northeast of London in the county of Cambridgeshire, the town still maintains its academic and historic integrity; as I walked around the cobbled streets, I felt as though I were ambling through a novel by Charles Dickens. All of the buildings and streets are made of beautiful, old stone, with slate roof tiles and stocky brick chimneys. Because all of the structures are so old, each one is relatively small at just three stories high; as a result, the skies over Cambridge are wide, open, and on this particular day in June, very bright and blue.


Punting on the River Cam

Passing through the town of Cambridge is the River Cam, a shallow and small river that runs from the public land farm fields, curves around the backs of the university (the local term to refer to "backs" of the university buildings), and ultimately connects with the North Sea at King's End. It is here on the River Cam that the Cambridge crew team can practice its sport. Of more important note, however, is the pastime for which this little river is known best: punting.

Every day, the River Cam is trafficked by hundreds of long, narrow, shallow-bottomed boats known as punts. These boats were originally built as cargo boats for shallow rivers and canals, but nowadays they are mostly used for pleasure trips like the one I took with the Hopes down the River Cam. Puntees in Cambridge can choose to chart a course themselves or they can hire an expert punter to be their guide. There are many different companies whose representatives walk all over the ancient streets and invite amblers to take a punting ride (much like New York PediCab drivers in Central Park). We took our punting trip with Cambridge Punt Tours, a delightful company with extremely friendly guides. (A punting trip for four on a shared boat cost £40 total.) Punting is not just a pastime for tourists; families, Cambridge students, Hen Parties (Bachelorette Parties) and dates all take punting tours to engage in lessons in history, picnics, cocktail parties and all other sorts of tomfoolery.

Some punts are small, while others are quite large. Our punt was the Cadillac of punts, affectionately named "Big Bertha." Despite the friendly ridicule we received from our lovely ship's name, we had a comfortable cruise during which we stretched out like Romans after a feast as we drifted through heavy afternoon punting traffic. The ride lasted forty-five languorous minutes, just enough time for a lesson in history while taking in a bit of sun. Our punt driver, a chap by the name of Rufus, kept us entertained and afloat as we learned all about the ancient univeristy. In addition to learning about the history of each bridge, the architecture of the buildings and the rivalry between Trinity College and St. John's College, we also learned about some smutty adulterous history between a University notable and a wealthy French lady, Rufus' "pet hate" of hen parties, and the fact that Oscar Wilde had affectionately dubbed the famous and ornate King's College Chapel "The Upside-Down Pig."

The most notable bridge is the Bridge of Sighs which runts between the college's Third Court and New Court. The bridge was named after the original Bridge of Sighs in Venice, but Rufus claimed that it was so called because Cambridge students must cross that bridge with bated breath as they pass through to write their exams. After a bit of Wikiresearch, I learned that the Bridge of Sighs is a popular prank site involving the use of cars:
"On two separate occasions, students have pulled the prank of dangling a car under the bridge. In the first incident (in 1963), a 1928 Austin Seven was punted down the river using four punts that had been lashed together - then hoisted up under the bridge using ropes. The second incident (in 1968) a Bond three-wheeler car was dangled under the bridge. In neither case was the bridge damaged."


Fitzbillies

Before our puntabout, we stopped for lunch and some fruity rosé at an elegant and jolly little place called Fitzbillies on Trumpington street in town. The restaurant is next to the original Fitzbillies bakeshop, a celebrated bakery that was founded in Cambridge in 1922. The bakeshop is known best for their Chelsea buns, delightful sticky cinnamon buns with raisins. The bakeshop still has its historical 1920's facade, and the windows are open and decorated in a style true to its origins.

If you are in town, this is a great place to stop for nice lunch. The menu dresses up simple lunch meals like wraps, soups and salads. Of note are the Greek salads for their fresh vegetables, lettuces and milky feta cheese, and the Salade Niçoise, which to my surprise, came as a rich tuna steak with green haricots verts, boiled egg and tomato in a warm olive-oil dressing -- without greens.

The service is friendly and quick if you want it to be, but this is a place where you can linger for a while with a juicy bottle of rosé after a long punt on the River Cam.

Midsummer House

There are few things as exciting to me as being taken to a restaurant for the first time. I love the anticipation of a meal out, of not knowing anything about the restaurant itself (except for the dress code, of course), and then to have its mystery slowly unraveled, hint by hint, until finally it finally comes into view and I know that I have arrived. It was this romancing of the restaurant that I was so fortunate to experience when I was taken out to dinner by the Hopes one evening in Cambridge to a lovely restaurant called Midsummer House.

But before I continue, I must pause to express my gratitude to John, Ann and Naomi for giving me this incomparable gift of sharing a first-rate meal. The food and that atmosphere were, as you will see, most exceptional. But in keeping with my central tenet of culinary culture, rarely can a meal of any caliber be enjoyed so well by yourself as it can in the company of others. To share an extraordinary meal with an extraordinary family – that in itself is a unique and blessed gift for which I will always be grateful and happily revisit often in my memories.

I was truly glad that I had packed the new dress I purchased at the Saks Fifth Avenue First Cut Sale the week before, because when I asked Naomi if a formal dress would be appropriate for dinner, she said: “Well, I do believe so, yes.”

In the morning, I asked John the name of the restaurant. “Midsummer House,” he said nonchalantly. “We’re going back to Cambridge. That's the second time this trip! It must be a sign, Amanda. I think you’re due to come back here to England someday after all.”

That evening, I followed Naomi’s lead as she elegantly and daintily slipped into the little red Mercedes wagon car, and once inside and after having crossed the pebbled driveway in her house shoes, she unpacked her heels from a shoebag and popped them on her pedicured feet. Anne sat queen-like and elegantly in the front, while John was at the driver’s wheel, stately and calm though the level of excitement was perceptibly high.

“So, tell me a bit about this restaurant, please, John,” I asked as I got my mental pen and reporter’s notebook ready in my head. “The chef is Daniel Clifford.” That was the first clue. When someone mentions the chef of a restaurant first, this clearly means that the restaurant is of significant note. “The chef and his staff change the menu every month.” This second clue affirmed the first clue to the restaurant's excellence in showing that the chef’s monthly menu change would mean a sharp attention to detail in his food. “And I think it has two, yes that’s right, it has two Michelin stars.”

I was then really happy that I had decided to bring my dress.

To get to Midsummer House, one must first navigate the very tiny and crowded residential back roads of Cambridge, and then start praying to the parking gods that there will be room enough on the street to park the car. After finding a spot and a leisurely walk on an enchanted-looking bridge over the River Cam, the restaurant came into view through the weeping limbs of an ancient Sycamore tree: it was a regal, Victorian stone cottage with a veranda and two chimneys. A garden was walled in with privacy screens atop, within which was a large greenhouse extension with wall-to-wall glass that come together in the front in two round bay windows. A little green, waist-high gate was the entrance onto the charming property, behind where a doorman opened the heavy wooden door with a smile and a polite salutation of “Bonjour, mesmdemoiselles.”

The décor of the restaurant is a very simple white, and uses artistic, wooden accents and glass sculptures to complement the stunning garden outdoors. The tables, dressed in white settings with a single, burgundy calla lily reclining in a clear glass vase, are spaced far enough apart to make this very intimate space seem like your own private dining room. As the four of us were seated, I felt like the very grateful guest of the Royal Family of the Priory, and my enchantment with my surroundings and my new friends took my breath away.

The menu of Midsummer House is available à la carte or as a tasting menu. The à la carte menu features a three-course prix fixe, with a cheese course and a coffee course available at an additional charge. We opted for the prix fixe, which gave us the chance to debate and explore our options as we sipped our aperitif.

The meal began with champagne and a toast to happiness and good health. A short while after, one attending waiter rolled a wooden cart to our table, which carried a beautiful pink and turquoise glass globe. Out of the globe’s top was a spray trigger, like those one finds on old-fashioned spritzer bottles. From this he sprayed a pale, white-pink cloud into purple glass cups shaped like the flower of the calla lily, as he explained: “Grapefruit foam with Champagne.”

The foam was sweet, tart and danced on my tongue. It was like tasting the cream of champagne foam, if such a thing existed to be able to scoop it with a tiny, silver spoon. It can only be described as one would describe a fine wine: it had notes of citrus and spring wildflowers, with a creamy finish and an aftertaste that sparkled. I ate this bit of cloud very slowly, hoping that it would not finish – or fall – too soon. After the cool refresher, we were treated to another delight: a warm pea velouté, smooth with a foamy cream. The velvety green soup was mostly broth, but in addition to the occasional green pea, there were bits of prawn suspended in the thick near the bottom of the four-sided pyramid-shaped bowl. This soup taster was not strongly flavoured so as to showcase the fresh purity of its ingredients. After the cool foam cleansed our palates, the warm smoothness of the pea velouté warmed our stomachs in preparation for our forthcoming meal.

Our whole table chose the same starter: a scallop dish of seared, hand-dived scallop, topped with truffle and Granny Smith apple matchstick accents. Off to the side was a smear of a celeriac purée, and around the plates components was drizzled a savory-sweet caramel sauce. I find scallops to be one of the most difficult things to cook perfectly; now thanks to the team at Midsummer House, I have a model to follow the next time I try to achieve seafood perfection. The scalloped were seared on the outside, while inside they were cooked just over the threshold of coming fresh from the sea. Their meat was almost like eating a ripe sea-fruit, kept moist and salty by the taste of seawater. The pure scallops were a stand-out by themselves, but their simplicity was perfect for enjoying the rich celeriac purée, the woody truffles, and the delicate caramel sauce.

The main courses were all different, and each was presented with an explanation and humble flourish by the charming French waitstaff. John ordered the Cannon of Lamb, which came with confit tomato, cous cous, broccoli purée and girolles. Ann ordered a beautiful dish of Anjou Squab Pigeon, poached and grilled rare, with sweet potato and spinach, cherries and pistachios, then finished with a theatrical drizzle of Valharona chocolate syrup and shaving of this fine chocolate on top. Naomi and I both ordered fish. Naomi enjoyed the Turbot, which came braised with a peanut and pistachio crust, atop a bit of spinach and spears of fresh green asparagus, decorated with pieces of squash and finished in a light vanilla sauce. I ordered the John Dory, a light yet meaty white fish that came with anchovy, confit tomatoes, slices of fennel bulb and black olive. The fish was so fresh, and the dish brought out the light, earthy flavours of Mediterranean cuisine. The confit tomatoes, though just an accent, were an absolute delight; they tasted as though they had been just picked from the vine, and were infused with the richness of fine olive oil.

The presentation of all of these dishes was a work of art. The meats and the fish were all arranged playfully between brushes of sauce and sprinklings of garnish. The arrangements allowed us to taste, re-taste and choose any combination of complementary flavours with each forkful. Clifford's attention to affinities between ingredients was most evident, as each combination was harmonious, exciting, delightful.

Following our mains, we took a moment of respite to sip our wine and let the savoury tastes of our meal linger before dessert. We were then presented with an unusual palate cleanser of pear foam within which was a marble-sized scoop of what appeared to be clotted cream. The surprise was the candied kalamata olives, which were as sweet as they were salty, and a very interesting accent to the sweet and fruity foam.

The arrival of dessert was yet another showcase of art. Ann ordered a cheese tasting, and was presented with an elaborate wooden cart from which she could choose a sampling of over a dozen artisinal farm cheeses from France and England. Our waiter was as enthused and educated about his cheeses as we were about tasting them. We ultimately chose five different varieties, from a very pungent and spicy bleu cheese to a soft and creamy goat's milk cheese. Naomi and I both ordered a fanciful Raspberry Dessert of white chocolate tubes, one of which was filled with raspberry jelly, the other filled with a white-chocolate ice cream. The dessert also came with a scoop of raspberry sorbet dressed in raspberry sauce, and was seasoned most interestingly with canidied tarragon. To my delight, the herb was an extraordinary compliment to the sweetness of the dish. Although I could appreciate the artistry of the dessert, I wished I had had more room in my stomach to have ordered the Apple Tart Tatin, spiced with vanilla, garlic, and bay leaf -- an intriguing and unusual combination. John's dessert, a Mango and Passion Fruit Delice, arrived on an enormous round, white plate, decorated in golden yellow drizzles of Christmas Tree Honey, with a touch of Lychee Sorbet.

With mint teas and an espresso all around, we finished our dinner with homemade chocolates and French beignet patisseries. We dipped these fluffy, fried pastries in a caramel sauce and a pineapple sauce -- the caramel was so rich and creamy, and the pineapple sauce tasted of fresh pineapples without being too sweet.

We left out meal feeling satiated and delighted -- but not exceedingly full. Mr. Clifford's team at Midsummer House has done well in portioning their courses so that the diner may be able to taste everything without feeling gluttonous. The meal was a gift, and a joy to partake in. Every bite was like a celebration of ingredients and culinary experimentation that sought, above all, to suggest simplicity despite the layers of intricate artistry.

What made Midsummer House such a delightful experience, apart from the food, was the humbly elegant mood that the Victorian Cottage set for its diners. Even with the two Michelin Stars, the two Egon Ronay stars and 4 AA rosettes, Midsummer House still maintained a certain degree of humility and grace that make it stand alone from other fine restaurants. Daniel Clifford is passionate about food, and he is sincere about honing his craft. In my research about him, I gathered that Mr. Clifford is an unusually unpretentious chef, and his prerogative is to continually learn and make his restaurant better. Midsummer House is place where food is honored and delicately enjoyed. Mr. Clifford's cuisine, therefore, becomes a gift; it is served with joy and savoured with joy.