Halloumi

161 Hope Street, Glasgow

0141 204 1616

Lunch/Dinner: £7.50-£25

Food rating: 9/10

A FRIEND sends me holiday pictures from Crete, images of warm Mediterranean water and sunny skies. Looking at them I’m struck by those characteristically Greek shades of blue that range from deepest cobalt through hyacinth and cornflower to ice and mist. There’s optimism in them. If any national flag was to trigger positive thoughts in me – unlikely because I share George Orwell’s suspicion of flag-waving in general – it would that of Greece: "I Kianolefki" (the azure and white). It’s just so cheery.

And despite arriving at Halloumi in a grey, Glaswegian downpour fit to test galoshes, the upbeat blues still do the trick for me. Cerulean softened by a stencilled, almost wood block print effect allows me to leave our fortitude-testing climate at the door and pretend for an hour or two that I’m in a cool taverna on some reliably sunny Hellenic coast. The relentlessly upbeat play list (Bee Gees, Abba, Boney M) adds to the illusion. After a few ouzos I might even be up on the bar dancing. But this is no formulaic Greek theme park; irony is at play here. A large collage of broken plates is framed under illuminated glass. The Kianolefki that hangs above the bar has been given the same creative smashed crockery treatment.

Halloumi’s menu is also clean-cut, although most Greek menus in the UK are. It’s not about surprises, so it all comes down to the cooking. Greek establishments offer a predictable list of dishes, so it’s not what they do but how they do it that matters. And we’re off to a flyer with the taramasalata. At a glance, it’s apparent we aren’t dealing with the dyed pink stuff that tastes of nothing much but salt. This one is the colour of mayonnaise, slightly greyer perhaps, and shares its whipped, emulsified texture. This taramasalata has an enveloping background smokiness to it through which mellow, fishy cod roe background notes gradually emerge. We stick our assertively charred pitta bread into it, and then keep going back for more. It’s hard to stop. But then there’s the tahini, also a stiff emulsion. For the first few seconds it tastes like a placid mousse of lemon and garlic, then the full-bodied strength of tahini gradually makes its presence felt, delivering that full-throttle sesame paste hit. Halloumi boasts that its food is cooked from scratch (so far I’m inclined to believe that) and it promises: “Small plates. Big flavours.” These mezze fit both criteria.

If the lamb chops are anything to go by, the skills of the Greek Cypriots manning the grill have not become rusty through prolonged absence from that sun-soaked island. There are three of them (chops, not chefs), tender, pink, charred not burnt, and their fat is a delight in itself. An octopus tentacle that’s Siena red with smoked paprika works every bit as well on the grill.

Up comes as good a Stifado as I have eaten in Greece. The beef and shallots are cooked to a fork-tender slump and although this is really a stew, its lively acidity (from red wine and tomato) and herbiness (from allspice berries) makes it lightly fragrant, not winter stew dull. Halloumi’s lamb dolmades earn an Olympic medal from this judge. The vine leaves taste quite fresh, unlike the shrink-wrapped, long-life sort. Obligingly pliant with a slightly mentholated, almost minty taste, they encase round grain rice that’s cooked perfectly and mixed with meat that seems to have been slow-cooked in cinnamon and tomato until it surrenders all resistance. These dolmades come with a generous blog of stiff, thick, strained yoghurt, real Greek stuff, not a wobbly “Greek-style” copycat. They’re a bargain to boot: £4.95 for three big ones.

Galaktoboureko, a warm custard, thickened with semolina, encased in layers of buttery filo pastry, with pools of honeyed orange syrup around it is a dessert to abandon yourself in. The raisin and date perfume of the sweet Cretan red wine, Mavrodaphne of Patras, gives Spain’s Perdro Ximenez a run for its money. Can we just stay here in sunny Cyprus please, and never go out again?