Nothing quells a mid-week slump like a diner breakfast. So on a Thursday in February, I rally my husband with the promise of pancakes, and we drive west to Cheviot.
Santorini Family Restaurant has been serving Greek diner classics on Harrison Avenue for decades. The hungry folks of the West Side can stop in for gyros, omelets, pizzas, waffles, 3 Ways and other fitting culinary comforts. It’s easy to find a table at 10:30 a.m. on a Thursday, but we opt for the counter anyway. From there we can see the gyro meat spinning seductively through the kitchen window.
A woman with freshly manicured lilac nails drops us off waters and menus. I scan the bountiful selection. There are Greek starters, coneys and chili, salads and pizzas, sandwiches and double deckers, eggs, dinner plates and a corner called “The Fluffy Stuff” where all the pancakes, french toast and waffles live. After some mild panic (confession: menus give me decision paralysis!) and a brief consultation with our server, we place an order.
While we wait, the soft buzz of the diner carries on around us. The servers lean against the counter in their downtime, hands in their apron pockets, and banter with a regular who is eating a plate of goetta and eggs at the counter next to us. Whenever a customer leaves, they throw out an amicable “bye, guys!” without missing a beat.
It takes me three visits to feel like I know the menu. Over these meals, I sample a gyro, a gyro omelet, most of the Greek appetizers, a stack of blueberry pancakes, baklava, a Greek salad, creamy and peppery biscuits and gravy and a mug of coffee with cream. Nothing disappoints, but the standouts for me were the gyro meat and the spanakopita. Ordering classic Greek dishes in the comfort of a neighborhood diner is a pleasure not to be taken for granted. My omelet comes with a side of creamy tzatziki, which I fear I will now require any time I eat scrambled eggs. I hear the gyro pizza is remarkable, too, but that will have to wait until visit number four.
I order the biscuits and gravy with a coffee on a Sunday morning when things are hopping. From my seat at the counter, I watch the servers work together, calmly coordinating who will take which booth as patrons pour in and out for the late morning rush. There’s a third server on the floor, a short brunette woman with a sweet smile and sharp eyes. She is the one who takes my order (“Biscuits and gravy? Easy!”) and offers me more coffee at regular intervals.
After I finish eating, I decide to get nosey and approach an older man who has been bussing tables and chatting with the clientele. His friendly, comfortable demeanor makes me think he might be an owner, but he says Dorie is who I need to speak with. Dorie Hill, my server acquaintance.
Hill tells me she’s been working at Santorini since 2005, just a year after the restaurant adopted its current name. The diner has been owned and operated by her extended family since the ‘70s, she says, and her parents George and Gina Denas took over 20 years ago. She grew up in Cheviot and is happy here.
“I like that it’s a little, small town,” she says. “I like that better than a big city. I’ve been in New York and did not enjoy that. Not one bit, not for me.”
Santorini has been like a second home.
“I basically live here,” she tells me.
Diners become third places to a lot of people — that place that feels like home but isn’t. It gets you out of the house and into the world, but the predictable eats and familiar faces can make it comforting too.
Take Jennie and Teresa, for example, two friends who let me crash the end of their breakfast for a quick conversation. The pair met at the library’s Westwood branch where Teresa used to work.
“I was a patron and I liked her sense of humor,” Jennie says. “And we just became friends.”
Now Santorini is their weekly meet-up place, the home base of their friendship. Jennie has been coming here for 10 years, Teresa for 15, and they have long since established their fun, sarcastic banter relationship with the employees. (Hill jokingly waves a nagging finger as she passes by, telling them to be good.)
“This is like our Cheers,” Jennie says.
“It just feels like you’re a member of the family,” Teresa adds. “You’re greeted with a smile.”
At another table, a couple is waiting for their french toast and bacon to arrive and chatting with an employee. I introduce myself to the couple, Tim and Cathy, who are friends of the owners’ family. Tim says this relationship is what keeps them coming back.
“And the food!” Cathy laughs.
A diner such as this is the sort of place that transcends trends and generations. There are older men in suit jackets, perhaps dining after church, and tattooed millennials wearing band shirts and trousers. A pair of younger guys watch sports together on their phones while eating strawberry waffles at the counter, and a family bursts with laughter at a full table.
“Some of [the regulars] were kids coming in with their grandparents, and now they come in with their kids,” Hill says.
From the counter, I observe the range of clientele as patrons step up to the register one by one, handing over their checks while a server cashes them out. Half of the time, they’re sent off with a “see you next week” from the crew behind the counter, or with a goodbye wave from someone in the kitchen.
I empty my cup and graciously deny another refill offer from Hill. It was good coffee, fresh and unfussy. Soon someone will clear the ivory cup and saucer from my seat, whisking it away to be washed and dried, after which it will join the army of clean dishes ready and waiting for the next morning.
Santorini Family Restaurant, 3414 Harrison Ave., Cheviot. More info: facebook.com.
This story is featured in CityBeat's June 26 print edition.
