Can there be, in Britain, such a thing as a destination Greek taverna? There are some cases where proximity is the most important thing: gyms, cafés, defibrillators. A Greek taverna falls into this category. All you need is harmless food and ambient fake vines for a catch-up with your relatives.
But I’m in need of a new one. Lemonia in north London was a good option until halfway through my final meal there. A bit of lamb kleftiko decided it wanted to remain in the entrance to my father’s trachea. Choking, mouth frothing, screaming for help, oh thank God there’s a nurse over there, Heimlich, hospital, then, seven hours later, home.
In Covent Garden, a taverna will always be rootless, which is a contradiction in terms
‘I watched my father die in front of my eyes at a Greek taverna in Primrose Hill’ would have made for quite a heavy-metal introduction to this column. But I mention it because of Lemonia’s inhospitality. As colour was returning to my father’s face in the ambulance, I thanked them and offered to pay. They said: ‘Is half OK?’
I’ve decided that was the worst answer. If they’d said, ‘Yes, please pay,’ I’d chalk it down to stress or a really struggling restaurant. If they’d said, ‘Don’t worry about the bill,’ that would have been nice. But ‘half’ sort of implies: ‘Well, you have been through a rough time but we would really like the 50 quid.’
So Lemonia won’t do, which is sad but there are plenty of new options. Greece is often ‘in debt’ or ‘in negotiations’ or ‘in a dispute over territorial waters’ but in 2026 London, Greece is just in. We had the post-Covid wave of restaurants with French girls’ names (Camille and Josephine) and we had the rise of Italian regional specificity (Dalla, Tiella, Lupa and Ornella). Now, among others, we have Zylia, a taverna in a new food hall in Covent Garden run by Arcade.
Arcade has two other food halls: by Tottenham Court Road and in Battersea Power Station. If there’s a particularly sinister, matte-black redevelopment in central London, Arcade will be doing the catering. Arcade has a thrilling conceit (‘what if the food in food halls was edible?’) but the content will not always transcend the form. The options at these places – fried chicken burger or poké bowl – always assume there isn’t a consumer somewhere between Mr Creosote and Kate Moss. On the night we went, Zylia had run out of beer, which it conceded was ‘unforgivable’, and wine was on the house. First came oregano–pelted, grill-acquainted bread (£6) and dips (£7). We went for tzatziki (good) and taramasalata, which was excellent and not from the same massive pink tub in Enfield that most restaurants seem to get theirs from. ‘Sweetbreads saganaki’ (£15) was a slight shame. The sweetbread is the finest offal, but these had been fried beyond flavour. The halloumi (£12) was brilliant, but this is about buying, not cooking.
Greek salad (£14.50) came next. The tomatoes were hench but the feta was a little miserly. The two most accomplished things were the mains: the fish of the day was a whole sea bass charred over flame (£28). Best, though, were the sheftalia (£14), zeppelin–shaped pork meatballs wrapped in caul fat. With their offal-y depth, they came the closest to proper taverna cooking.
I wouldn’t mind if this were near me: the food is tasty, and it would be nice decompression after a matinée. But in Covent Garden, a taverna will always be rootless, which is a contradiction in terms. Zylia’s website says its cooking is ‘honest, instinctive’, but it is merely effective and I don’t feel the love.
Zylia, 6 Bedford Street, London WC2E 9HZ; www.zyliataverna.com
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