The Real Greek, Gloucester Quays.

 

Good Friday at The Real Greek felt like the most British of contradictions: a bank holiday outing under a sky so stubbornly grey it could dampen even the most optimistic appetite. Still, armed with a lunchtime deal—three “courses” for £18.50—we took our seats with cautious enthusiasm and a willingness to be charmed.

Now, a small note on semantics: the menu’s use of the word “courses” is, shall we say, optimistic. What arrives is not the traditional procession of starter, main, and dessert, but rather a curated selection of small plates—more meze than meal structure. Not necessarily a problem, of course, but worth knowing before you arrive expecting something more sequential.

We began with a spread that, in fairness, set a promising tone. Hummus, taramasalata, spicy feta dip, pitta bread, popcorn halloumi, and tzatziki arrived piled high on a tiered stand—a presentation best described as “Afternoon Tea meets Aegean seaside taverna.” It was visually charming, if slightly confusing.

Flavour-wise, however, things were on much firmer ground. The hummus was smooth, creamy, and reassuringly fresh. The spicy feta dip delivered a welcome kick without veering into nasal-assault territory—a rare and commendable balance. The popcorn halloumi was crisp, salty, and dangerously moreish, while the tzatziki offered a cooling counterpoint. At this stage, one could almost forgive the semantic liberties of the menu.

Then came the mains—and with them, a noticeable dip in fortunes. The lamb skewer, which should have been the star of the show, was frankly underwhelming. Overcooked to the point of toughness, it bore an unfortunate resemblance to something one might hastily throw onto a disposable barbecue from a budget freezer aisle. The flavour itself wasn’t offensive, but whatever potential it had was lost in the execution.

The Greek sausage fared slightly better, though it raised a quiet question: what exactly made it “Greek”? Its taste and texture leaned heavily toward a classic bratwurst—pleasant enough, but hardly transporting. Chips, meanwhile, were… chips. Perfectly serviceable, though the menu’s insistence on their “special” seasoning of salt and oregano felt a touch overzealous. One hesitates to break it to them, but this is hardly revolutionary.

A bright spot among the mains was the halloumi fries—golden, crisp, and drizzled with honey for a pleasing interplay of salty and sweet. Simple, well-executed, and arguably the highlight of the savoury offerings.

Dessert, thankfully, restored some of the meal’s earlier promise. The Greek custard pie—a revelation for anyone whose previous association with custard pies involves slapstick comedy—was a delicate, filo-wrapped delight filled with smooth, vanilla-rich cream. The baklava, too, was a triumph: sticky, nutty, and indulgently satisfying.

Service deserves a special mention. The staff were warm, attentive, and genuinely invested in ensuring a pleasant experience. Our waiter, in particular, was a standout—friendly, efficient, and tirelessly accommodating. A real asset to the restaurant.

So, would I return? In all honesty, probably not. While there are clear strengths—particularly in the starters, desserts, and service—the inconsistency in the mains leaves something to be desired. An enjoyable enough outing, but not one that lingers in the memory for the right reasons.