December 28,
2005 The clay's the thing. It's what more than 1,000 unglazed pots attached to the restaurant's ceiling are made of. They hang upside down, dramatic and seemingly perilous, drawing your eye and maybe even making you feel a little chicken. This sky really does look as if it could fall. This restaurant would never let that happen. Pylos has been put together with considerable care and operates with unusual grace, a conscientious ambassador of Greek cooking and a standout in the East Village, where the dining scene has improved over the last few years. Pylos (pronounced pee-LOHS), which roughly means "things of clay," opened in 2003, replacing a more casual restaurant called It's Greek to Me. The seriousness of its intent is clear in its pedigree. The owner, Christos Valtzoglou, hired Diane Kochilas, a widely recognized authority on Greek cuisine, as the consulting chef. Her cookbooks are on display. Her full name is on the menu. Her first name is attached to one of nearly 20 mezethes, or appetizers. "Diane's light-as-air meatballs" were not quite as light as air when I tried them, but they were considerably better than average meatballs - more pliant, juicier. A mix of beef and pork, they had been pan-seared in olive oil, and not a second too long. They represented one of several surprising mezethes. There was, for example, a vegetarian moussaka, made with artichoke hearts, caramelized onions and, in place of béchamel, a mix of melted cheeses. There was also a roasted red pepper filled with a frappé of feta cheese, olive oil and a mix of peppers, some sweet and some hot. Both dishes were terrific, and both signaled Pylos's determination to stand out from other Greek restaurants by moving beyond lamb, whole grilled fish and stuffed grape leaves, all of which it served, none of which were its strong points. Pylos also musters a hipper ambience than Greek restaurants usually attempt, the clay canopy playing a major role in that. I was drawn here after a friend who designs theatrical sets said he considers it the prettiest restaurant he knows. Oversize, handsomely framed mirrors make it seem bigger than it is. The contrast between exposed brick walls in the front and whitewashed walls in the back make what is essentially one long dining room feel like two entirely separate areas. There's a large marble table in the back, with seats on one side, a service corridor on the other and wine bottles in the middle. It functions as the bar, and lets solo diners feel fully integrated into the restaurant, not consigned to some antechamber to watch luckier peers penetrate a sanctum off-limits to them. The thoughtfulness goes beyond the design. Diners are greeted with a bounty of warm pita triangles, with a dip that changes nightly, so repeat customers don't get bored. It might be a purée of fava beans; it might be a paste of sun-dried tomatoes. It will probably be addictive. Pylos is a restaurant that comes fast and strong out of the gate. And because it falters later on, not only with desserts (often a rough patch for Greek restaurants) but also with entrees, you might consider ordering three mezethes per person and then calling it quits. It would be enough, and odds are, judging from my visits, that most of it would be terrific. Whatever your strategy, you should not miss a starter of sautéed slices of haloumi cheese with sautéed grapes. Or another of fried zucchini and fried eggplant. The vegetables had the lightness of expert tempura, and they were composed more delicately than you'd expect, in ultrathin circles, layered like a cake. A Greek restaurant must ace grilled octopus, and Pylos did, braising it before charring it, teasing from it a tenderness that octopus frequently resists. It came with balsamic vinegar and capers. Pylos is mad for capers. Applied liberally to an otherwise typical Greek salad, they seemed like eccentric, salty little cousins to the olives. They dusted grilled dourade and grilled branzino, perking up fish that badly and sadly needed it. Among the entrees, which also included braised short ribs and braised lamb shank, roasted Cornish hen and pan-seared duck, my favorites were two Greek stalwarts, moussaka and pastitsio. Both benefited from béchamel sauces less heavy than such sauces can be, and both were pleasantly dizzy with cumin, cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice. So the best strategy, upon further thought, might be two mezethes and one of these. And Greek yogurt with honey and walnuts, the best of the dessert selections. These include ouzo-spiked chocolate mousse and a walnut cake as soggy as, and little more appealing than, a wet sponge. Pylos rewards adventurous wine drinkers with a long, all-Greek wine list. (The restaurant does not serve liquor.) After a few glasses, the clay pots, more than three pounds each, become even more transfixing. Mr. Valtzoglou said he initially thought he would import pots from Greece, but learned that a nonprofit group on his block taught teenagers to make pottery. He contracted to get his reddish-brown pots from them. They produced batches of only about 50, no more often than once a week. So the canopy grew slowly. It grows still. Each pot is secured with heavy wire: no danger of a claystorm or clayslide here. Just a flourish at once rustic and contemporary, an apt metaphor for Pylos itself.
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