ILLUSTRATION BY MATT LEHMAN
In a half-basement across the alley from the former Majestic Restaurant, Grecian Gardens was the gateway for many St. Louisans into a new kind of Mediterranean cuisine. Hardly anyone knew avgolemono soup or baklava, much less drank Roditys. With a white-tablecloth dining room on one side and a bar/nightclub on the other, it suited any mood.
Saganaki at Grecian Gardens wasn’t fried cheese; it was grilled in a metal pan to arrive bubbling, even before the Metaxa brandy was poured over it and set alight. Often the waiter was Aris, gentle with strangers—at least the polite ones—funny with regulars, teaching everyone about his native foods.
Bouzouki music played in the bar on weekends, and Greek families came out to dance and celebrate special occasions. Still, there was the occasional eruption of something like “Proud Mary” for those reluctant to try Greek dances such as the kalamantiano. There were belly dancers, too, not quite Greek but fun—nearly as much fun as watching the audience while they danced.
Eventually, one of the city’s first gyro spits was installed in view of the street, and the owner unsuccessfully tried to teach others to pronounce the word correctly. That G is silent—and so, too, was the restaurant eventually, as the city’s tastes became less formal. But Greek food has stayed with us ever since.
