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Served in a peaceful backyard oasis, it’s just footsteps from where our pretty foursome was resigned to paltry pizza. The menu is a trifle too Il Bulli-esque, so sometimes the dishes are beautiful, sometimes too composed, but despite their penchant for mousses, foams, and deconstruction, the kitchen has a refreshingly light touch with pork and lamb, knows exactly how much cheese will spark rather than overwhelm a salad, and successfully dares to do more innovative with fish than simply grill it in lemon.
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Irresistible as those babies are, I’d rather chow down at M-eating. The restaurant’s website is currently hijacked by a soft core ‘dating’ site where you can “Meet our College Cuties.” So much for branding with clever plays on words. This is why you can’t always trust technology. The management is opening a spot in Coconut Grove this fall, appropriately called Boho. Greek desserts rarely inspire cravings but the orange cake and strawberry sundae had me playing fork hockey. Order family style, so you can sample both the spicy and white pizzas, the silken mussels, spunky eggplant carpaccio with miso and pine nuts, pastas where you can taste the semolina as well as the fresh herbs and vegetables, and grilled turkey on greens won’t remind you of Thanksgiving.
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I have only one complaint about the fare - the portions are too big and hearty (the superior veal tagliata boasts 19 slices. The staff not only matches their guests in all three traits, they’re thoroughly disarming. Every woman sports a sheer long skirt or cut-off shorts. So, it’s no surprise that the open air taverna echoing the name has it’s-all-good Woodstockian aura with alcoves of comfy pillows, painted mismatched furniture, amber candles and lighting, attracting a young, local, and distractingly sultry clientele (Every man in Greece under 30 has a beard, and on them it works.
#Interni mykonos restaurant full#
Folks show up with a blanket, cooler and a tote full of towels, hang out all day, then head up the hill, still sandy, oily and kinda sexy, to eat. I’ll even give you the phone numbers.įtelia is as far north a beach as you’ll find, and one of the few where things are how they used to be. It sure beats wrinkling your pretty face and missing out on a great meal. Make the effort and call the following places. Few of the seaside tavernas subscribe to Open Table, others have out-of-date or no websites, and thanks to a 7 to 10-hour time difference, phoning from the States is complicated. If you're traveling now, during summer’s peak, to any fabled and fabulous destination, don’t treat restaurant reservations as a we’ll-wing-it-afterthought, because you can’t, certainly not in Mykonos. 'Twas heartbreaking – and so easily avoidable. Later than evening we pass them on Kalogera, the town’s overcrowded main street, hunched over a snack table eating the Mykonian equivalent of turnpike rest stop pizza. They head off together, a rudderless foursome. “We just figured we’d wander around, hit one of the cool cafes we read about,” says the bronzed lad, “But all the good ones are full,” replies his pal. Soon after, they emerge from an intersecting road looking so stressed each nearly betrays evidence of a wrinkle, and encounter another couple that mirrors their looks and distress. Ten minutes later they reappear headed in the opposite direction. You expect perpetual bliss from such pairings, but tonight they’re obviously agitated. He is lithe, bronzed, permanently tousled, decked out in perfectly cropped Euro-preppy. She is Nordic blonde porcelain, the kind of beauty who always appears to be walking into a breeze. I’m dining outside at Katrin, a favorite restaurant on an obscure, narrow street in Mykonos Town most people often find by accident (perhaps because it looks exactly like all of the other town’s obscure, narrow streets), blissfully gnawing on the house’s signature bone-sucking-good, fire-roasted goat, when I spot a chew-stoppingly handsome couple.