It’s no wonder that Kanella can so easily be overshadowed. All the hotties tend to congregate across the street at Azul, where the music floats out into the night and the warm-weather drinks flow like the short skirts fluttering by the bar.
But to ignore Kanella’s quieter allure would be to miss out on a charmingly welcome addition to the neighborhood. Indeed, what sets this tiny Greek Cypriot BYOB apart from so many of its neighbors is its apparent happiness to focus more on the proverbial steak than it does on the sizzle.
Which is not to say that the ‘hood is devoid of such places; just that, taken as a whole, this subtle, willfully modest restaurant is not necessarily indicative of the overarching M.O. in this part of the city.
But what Kanella lacks in flash it more than makes up for in the kind of elemental honesty that the best cuisines of the Mediterranean deliver in such abundance.
Dinner starts out with a ceramic bowl of garlicky, sesame-rich tahini set to the side of a small wooden board and next to a few slices of crusty, homemade multi-grain baguette. That bread is exactly the sort of unexpected twist that sets Kanella apart. The tendency, of course, is to pair pita with a dip like that; multi-grain is the last thing I personally would have thought of—and homemade bread this tasty was revelatory. But its own soft sweetness, coupled with the caraway and sunflower seeds of its crust, made it an unexpectedly perfect match for the dip, and a smile-inducing surprise to boot.
Pita was, however, the bread of choice with the plate of dips. These included a savory taramasalata (pureed carp roe with onion, lemon juice, oil, and pepper) that displayed its gentle kissed-by-the-sea brininess without crossing over into the realm of the salty; a braised yellow split-pea puree whose surprising heft was balanced out by a judicious hit of lemon juice; and a skordalia whose raw-garlic kick was just as spicy as it was aromatic.
Octopus kathisto was less successful, though not because of any inherent flaws in its conception. Rather, it suffered from underseasoned (and too-small) pieces of octopus and an overwhelming presence of red onion. The baby-spinach on the side didn’t do much to excite either; something with more of a citric pop was needed to really set it all off.
Whole fish, however—in this case grilled dorado—was a rousing success exactly because of its refusal to peddle in unnecessarily baroque touches. It was, as it should have been, a whole fish stuffed with fistfuls of thyme and rosemary and a generous number of big lemon wedges, all of it wrapped in grape leaves before being cooked through by the heat of the grill and then the oven. The meat itself was intoxicatingly perfumed by the herbs and lemon yet still retained its own sweet flavor, as well as an almost dizzying moistness.
More complex was the ortiki, a pan-fried quail that was best eaten with the hands—those bones were far too delicate to risk the blunt focus of a knife; best to just gnaw away and dig in. The meat, succulent on its own, was given even greater weight by a slather of bacon-rich demi-glace, a shimmering, autumn-brown sauce, dotted with leeks and onions, that was just as addictive on bread as it was alongside the bird.
Desserts went well beyond the stereotypical wedge of baklava, and though they weren’t the highlights of the meal, it’s certainly worth sampling one or two alongside your demitasse of sweet, thick Greek coffee (which is very similar to Turkish coffee, just more lightly roasted). Galatopoureko was a highlight, its phyllo snap hiding a semolina custard, all of it soaked through with orange syrup.
Regardless, I hope that Kanella isn’t overlooked because of its more glamorous neighbors. This is the kind of charming, authentic spot that can really draw people to a neighborhood. Owner Konstantinos Pitsillides told me that his goal is to “bring back authentic dishes.” To that end, his focus, as is plainly evident by a quick glance at the menu, is simplicity, which fans of true Mediterranean food know can be either its Achilles’ heel or its saving grace. Here, it is most assuredly the latter.
This time of year, I can’t think of many more pleasant ways to spend an evening than in the white-stucco-and-brick dining room on this corner of 10th and Spruce. I just wish more of those seats start filling up: All the cool kids, it seems, are gravitating toward the other side of the street. But that doesn’t mean they’re not missing out.
AroundPhilly Staff
