Restaurant Review: Niohori, Rhodes

Have you ever stolen food from a restaurant? I very nearly did once, but it was a long time ago when I was a struggling student in Paris. One hungry evening I'd gone to the very top of the Centre Pompidou where there happened to be a very classy restaurant. As the leftovers piled up I thought they wouldn't miss half a baguette would they? But I never quite had the nerve to go through with my fiendish plan. Fast Forward a lifetime and I was having a short break in Rhodes. I'm not starving any more but I absolutely hate to see food being wasted. Back in London I occasionally use the Too Good to Go App, where end-of-the-day leftovers are offloaded at rock bottom prices. I like the randomness of getting unexpected grub, but I also like the idea of perfectly edible food being saved from the bins. My partner, on the other hand, just calls me tight. Anyway, meanwhile back in Rhodes. I'm a sucker for a beautiful Taverna with cracked plaster walls and old wooden chairs and one called Niohori was recommended to me (it's not even in the Tripadvisor top thirty, but I can't imagine there are 30 restaurants better than this on the island, so make of that what you will). It was the last day of my break and after a quick dip in the sea a look at some feral cats and a mooch around the mahoosive casino (for the air conditioning and the free electricity, honest) I made my way to Kazouli Street, a quiet back alley just off one of the main tourist trap roads – there's an English pub on the nearby corner, and let's just say the St George's Flag really is a red flag. It was 1.59pm and I know the Greeks like to eat lunch late but it was completely empty. I looked online what time it opened. It said 2pm, but I was told by the friendly waiter who was more preoccupied with a shouty phone call to come back in thirty minutes. Fair enough. I'd not been to the old town yet so had a wander there and returned at 3pm .Somehow within 60 minutes it had gone from empty to completely packed. Mostly with locals who clearly knew the system. Luckily there was one table outside and I grabbed it. It was a great spot close enough to the street to take in Rhodes life - people visiting the butcher's shop run by the same family or simply passing by – but still in the mix of the restaurant action. I knew what I wanted to order as I'd had a look at the menu when I first popped in. Mixed grill. Simples. The meat was from over the road and people raved about the quality. I ordered and refreshed myself with a bottle of water while I waited. And while I waited the table in front of me caught my eye. Two large middle aged men and a petite, slightly younger woman. They were talking on phones, chatting to each other, but mainly really getting stuck into their lunch. I couldn't believe how much they were ordering. While I waited their food came. And kept coming. I spotted liver, I spotted dolmades – stuffed vines leaves downed in one – and grilled meats similar to the type I was waiting for. There was also a salad, big bottles of water, beer and wine. An absolute feast. My first thought was, those men are not going to see sixty if that's their lifestyle, which was ironic because my cardiologist says I should eat a Mediterranean diet. Presumably he doesn't mean one like this. My second thought, however, was that there was no way they were going to eat all of that food. I mean, even though each meal came with chips an extra metal bowl of chips turned up .It was no surprise I had a wait for my single plate of food, but people-watching kept me busy. Young people came in, a few tourists popped in, other regulars swung by and still the food kept arriving on the table in front of me. Heaps of red tomatoes and feta cheese. Meat on skewers. Eventually my mixed grill came and I could see why this restaurant gets rave reviews. A strip of juicy pork belly, mainly meat with a little fat. A lamb chop lurking under a piece of chicken. some minced meat kofte. And a sausage that was just that bit too fatty for me, though I was tempted to put it in my rucksack and take it home, having forgotten to pick up any souvenirs. Oh, and chips. not greasy, not chip shop, not deep fried, none of your triple cooked nonsense, just gently warmed up. I could have easily eaten twice as many. A bowl of ketchup sat on the side of the plate, which, with food bursting with flavour like this, was definitely surplus to requirements. Oh, and tomato and raw red onions resting on top, the icing on the cake if the cake was a pile of succulent meat. I tried to balance savouring each bite with devouring my entire plate in 60 seconds. Admittedly I'd been living like a monk for a few weeks, but I hadn't tasted food like this in recent memory. I don't eat a lot of meat but the meat I do eat if rarely this good (editor's note - this meal was a few days before the lasagne in Peckham). As I finished I looked up and the three diners in front of me had disappeared. I'd been so preoccupied by eating I hadn't seen them go. And, sure enough, there was still a lot of food left. Meat, chips, beer, wine. It was as if they'd simply done a runner, though I could tell by the chilled out staff it was nothing of the sort. I sat and looked at their food. Sorry, stared. Was the waiter going to remove it and stick it in the bin? I couldn't bear the thought. But I also didn't dare walk over and help myself. I had an internal conflab and decided on a compromise. When the waiter cleared the dishes and walked past I'd ask them if I could have the leftover bowl of chips. Just so that there would be less to carry, you understand. Yet for some reason the waiter didn't clear the table. Other customers came and went. The sun continued to shine. Less people were arriving but there were still a few customers sitting around. did I dare just walk over and help myself? What's the worst that could happen? I soon found out. The food was still sitting there when the waiter gave me my bill and I paid it, complimenting them on their food (i should have also complimented them on their perfect English, way better than my broken Greek). 'Could I have those chips?' I asked. The waiter looked at me as if I was mad. Had I had too much sun? He paused for a moment and explained: 'they are out the front having a cigarette/' I shrunk like a salted snail. I'd asked and had been rebuffed for a perfectly good reason. Thanks goodness I hadn't helped myself or I'd have walked out and been confronted by the two biggest blokes in Rhodes. Instead I walked with my cheeks flushed and my head down. i loved Niohori. It's a shame I can never show my face there again. Niohori, Kazouli Street, Rhodes Eats Dulwich And Other Tasty Bites is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.