A couple of weeks ago, I was planning to take a few Weekly Planet staffers out to bid farewell to Max, resident pretty boy and icon of youth, before his cross-country drive to San Francisco. I listed a few possible destinations to Editor Eric, places I had been scoping out recently for review, but he wasn't impressed. "Can't we go someplace sexier? Let's go to Acropolis."
(As an aside, it's a shame there aren't a lot of tasty food options when it comes to the Bay area's numerous gentlemen's clubs. C'mon, we're the adult entertainment capital of the South! Let's get some free happy hour buffets set up next to the runways and brass poles! "Table dance, sir?" "Yes please, just let me finish these wings.")
Acropolis is a family place that has been dishing out good Greek fare in Ybor for a few years now. But sexy? Actually, maybe more than you'd think, even beyond the sparkling gyrations of be-tassled belly dancers who shake through the restaurant on the weekends.
Acropolis expanded its space when neighbor Studio 1515 Coffeehouse closed last year, choosing a darker décor scheme to contrast with the stark white Greek classical that still exists on the original side. The new space is more Casablanca café, with natural browns and deep reds, rich fabrics (including pillows), and an exclusive loft space. Acropolis used to look like any of a dozen other family Greek restaurants. Now, at least in the addition, it looks like a much better fit for nocturnal Yborites.
So it's prettier than it used to be and our waitress Megan was nominated for the Planet's Lust List issue, which certainly excuses the occasional missed beer or forgotten drink. But really, is Acropolis sexy?
Well, the way Editor Eric talks about the Athenian grouper ($11), I do fear he has more on his mind than mere consumption. The fish is good: so lightly breaded, you might think its golden-brown glow comes merely from a day in the sun. Barely kissed with the heat of a quick pan fry, the flesh is succulent and dotted with subtle herbs. Still, tasty as it is, the grouper doesn't quite get me in the mood.
A plate loaded with dips and dolmades ($12) does the trick, though. The hummus is fine but all-too familiar, and salty fish-egg taramosalata has always been a bit too kinky for my taste (I don't like to whip my caviar). But melitzanosalata is all I desire from a Greek dinner — familiar eggplant is suddenly mysterious and smoky. I pause to take bites of tart grape leaves tautly wrapped around refreshingly minty rice that I've dipped in bright tzatziki, but I keep returning to the eggplant.
With soggy breading that falls off tentacles and rings, the fried calamari ($7) leaves me a bit limp. Luckily, a towering wedge of spanakopita ($8) immediately revives my faded ardor; it's spinach and feta sandwiched between layers of crisp phyllo dough, blasted with enough garlic to wake me from my squid stupor.
Salads are just short breaks in this orgy of conspicuous consumption. Acropolis' adequate Greek ($7) is greatly helped by the addition of a small pile of perfect potato salad laced with lemon and herbs. The roasted veggie salad ($7) has too much salad and not enough roasted veggies, but the few that sit atop the plate are good, coated in fruity olive oil and bits of fiery char.
Pastitsio ($10) is the kind of dish you can take home to your mom, if she didn't already introduce you to it herself. Long tubes of pasta are tossed with ground beef and rich, cheesy béchamel spiced with an unsubtle amount of nutmeg, then topped with a savory meringue. Call it Greek lasagna, if you want to offend a Greek and an Italian. It may look plain, but it satisfies for the long haul.
I steal a few bites of chicken Rhodes ($14) from dining companion Ham Gravy — such colorful nicknames here at the Planet — but it doesn't hold my, or his, interest. There's nothing wrong with it, but simply sautéed chicken with feta, sun-dried tomatoes and pasta is something I can find at home.
I'm more excited by the massive plate piled with glistening meat sitting in front of me. Acropolis' mixed grill ($24) is a thing to behold, multiple kebabs overloaded with fire-touched flesh — chicken here, lamb there, souvlaki everywhere. The pork is lean and spare, with a bare hint of oregano; the chicken comes in plump, juicy hunks dusted with herbs; and the lamb is exceptionally tender and mild. Two small patties of cumin-scented kefta sausage sit hidden on the side, culinary wallflowers that need to be coaxed into my mouth. Even the typical prefab frozen fries stacked in the center get into the game, the bottom layer sodden with delicious drippings.
We consider taking advantage of the hookah pipes and shisha tobacco available in this darker side of Acropolis, but decide to satisfy our ongoing oral fixation with cigarettes on the sidewalk. The hookah would have been considerably more exciting, toking flavored tobacco from a multilimbed water pipe like a table full of low-rent Lawrences of Ybor-abia.
Some desserts are made in-house, but only the baklava ($3) is worth the effort, the honeyed layers of nut and phyllo perfect with a cup of coffee to revive flagging energy. I notice that Acropolis is filling up with the low-waisted, pretty youth who haunt Ybor after dark. All of them sit on the "café" side, leaving the bright white original Acropolis feeling a bit lonely.
That's when I get it: Acropolis isn't sexy. The food isn't even sexy. But it's good and inexpensive and with a new space decked out in North African chic, it seems to attract sexy people. Hell — Editor Eric, Ham Gravy, Max and I are here, so it must be.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. He can be reached at brian.ries@weeklyplanet.com. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Feb 22-28, 2006.