Avra

Let’s try Greek tonight, honey

“What the hell kind of name is Constantini?”  This question, which has baffled humankind for millennia, indignantly burst from the lips of an Alabama Highway Patrolman in the mold of Buford T. Justice upon reviewing the driver’s license of my medical school friend of Greek extraction (whose given name is Constantine).  We were passing through the Heart of Dixie while driving from Nashville to Destin Beach on the Florida Panhandle for spring break when we inauspiciously meandered into a small town speed trap.   Buford apparently needed a refresher course in Homer, Sophocles and Plato as his pronunciation of the language of the Peloponnesian peninsula was not as precise as it was during his playing days for the Crimson Tide.  He escorted us to the police station/courthouse/jail where we promptly paid the cash fine since Vinny Gambini had hightailed it out of Ala-F—In’-Bama years ago.

I was reminded of this youthful escapade when the enchanting wife and I were invited to eat at Avra, the chic and sophisticated Greek restaurant.  The rendezvous was arranged by our power-couple friends who were briefly in town.  They had just returned from a photographic safari of Komodo dragons in Bali and were now preparing to scale Kilimanjaro on e-bikes.  She is a high-powered businesswoman who presciently cashed out at the top of the market, with the assistance of one of the world’s leading investment bankers, of course Harvard-educated as she would not have hired anyone from a lesser institution.  He is a renowned actor, whose character in an iconic ice hockey movie has made him immediately recognizable in arenas spanning the globe where he attends the constant variety of sports. 

Avra is located on Beverly Dr. just north of Wilshire, in the heart of the Beverly Hills shopping district.  It occupies a massive 11,000 square foot indoor-outdoor space.  The atmosphere is similar to that of an open-air villa in Greece, with fresh lemon trees, imported limestone and stone washed walls.  The interior has a breezy, relaxing elegance.

The emphasis at Avra is on seafood, fresh seafood.  The centerpiece of the restaurant is the fish graveyard, where one can choose one’s meal from a large array of options.

Given its location, Avra is a place to see and be seen.  Celebrities such as LeBron James and Tom Cruise are known to be frequent diners (please let me know if either has any knowledge of the culinary arts).   Unlike many establishments of this ilk, however, the service at Avra is outstanding from the valet to the host to the waiter to the busboy, even with the dishonor of serving a commoner such as myself. 

Avra boasts an extensive menu of craft cocktails.  The Santorini Martini is not for the faint of heart, sporting three types of alcohol–Botanist gin, Effen (no relationship to Ala-F—In’ Bama) cucumber vodka and Pamplemousse Rose liqueur with a touch of lemon and agave to try to fool the Breathalyzer.  Lightweight that I am, I had the Mykonos Margarita with agave, lime and grapefruit (which also punched above its weight class).

The drinks were accompanied by a complementary appetizer of freshly made fried pita chips with a crudité of hummus, olives and pickled radishes.

Now came the challenge of ordering dinner.  Despite its focus on seafood, Avra has a vast menu of appetizers, salads, meat and poultry options and sides.  It is best to order family style to sample the options.  We started with the Avra Chips and, of course, the Greek Salad.   I would not describe the Avra Chips as chips but more accurately as thinly sliced pieces of lightly fried zucchini and eggplant served with tzatziki sauce.  The Greek Salad consisted of vine-ripened tomatoes, cucumber, peppers, onions, Kalamata olives and chunks of feta cheese with a touch of vinaigrette.

As a shout-out to Kevin Youkilis, the only Greek-Jewish World Series champion ballplayer in the history of MLB, we also ordered the Israeli salad of chopped tomatoes, cucumber, cabbage and parsley.

For our main course, the waiter offered the deadly venomous scorpionfish; not knowing if Medicare covers accidental poisoning by Aegean marine life we instead chose the more sedate lavraki (otherwise known as loup de mer in French or branzino in Italian).   This lean, mild, sweet and flaky white fish was oven baked then filleted and served with lemon wedges and a garnish of capers and parsley.

We also ordered a variety of steamed shellfish:  king prawns, langoustine and crevette.  All three were fresh and flavorful and did not require any sauces or condiments that would disturb the natural essence.  The crevette is in the shrimp family but the crustacean purist would point out that it is not large enough to be designated as a prawn.  The flavor was slightly sweeter and more piquant than the average shrimp.

As we were ordering we saw a delicious looking serving of french fries pass by, probably on the way to LeBron or Tom.  Our waiter, however, informed us that the cognoscenti order the roasted Greek potatoes rather than the more pedestrian choice of your average celeb.  The potatoes were prepared with a light coating of crispy parmigiano and drizzled with a subtle hint of lemon juice.  We rounded out the sides with the classic Greek dish fasolakia (braised green beans with tomato and extra virgin olive oil) and broccoli rabe, otherwise known as rapini, with sprinkles of feta cheese.  The broccoli rabe was leafy, nutty and slightly bitter which added a savory note to the sweeter seafood.

As if that Mt. Olympus of food was insufficient, we supplemented the meal with a selection from the dessert menu, the mini crepes with Greek sour cherry preserve and vanilla ice cream.

If Hemingway had written this review, it probably would have read:  “We ordered.  The waiter brought us dinner.  We ate our fill.  It was good.”  I, however, having minored in run-on sentences, subordinate clauses and mixed metaphors, after such a wonderful and satiating evening, felt obligated, truly obligated, was driven by an irresistible impulse, to fill in the details, even though I sometimes color outside the lines.