Uncle Tony's Taverna

Authentic Greek Delights and Inviting Welcome

On a breezy Saturday evening, I found myself in Finchley, meandering through the lanes when I stumbled upon an inviting enclave that goes by the evocative name of Uncle Tony’s Taverna. Reminding one ever so slightly of a cherished family secret whispered across generations, this establishment does things the old-fashioned way – and what a triumph that turns out to be. The moment you enter, you're whisked away to a rustic Greek island, sans the airfare and sunburn, with blue and white décor mimicking Santorini vibes and the occasional lively strum of bouzouki as a nostalgic soundtrack. The enthusiastic Uncle Tony himself dotted around patrons’ tables, imparting stories and hearty local wisdom over lamb Kleftiko cooked with alarming tenderness—it’s almost artisan in its perfection—and in-between dropping allusions to the provenance of his seasonally sourced ingredients harkening from coastlines yonder.

Dining here is like orchestrating an epicurean symphony where multitasking waiters deftly deliver course after course of bountiful proportions—the souvlaki alone could tide over a Spartathlon runner. For those fond of their grilled seafood, brace yourself for wild-caught options expertly finished with minimal fuss to let nature taste itself. It might sound pedestrian to laud fish with adjectives typically reserved for gymnastic feats of flexibility, but believe me, this sea bass pirouetted around my palate. Perhaps service speed dances with its heels occasionally dragging backwards like it's lost in the missteps of a Greek circle dance—but who’s counting minutes when debonair gossip enrobes each communal table? Yes, parking could require a treasure map and prices would make Zeus himself blink twice; however, this hasn't stopped the locals or wanderers like myself from fording these minor hurdles. For atmosphere bursting forth like Dionysian revels and food that's ambitiously traditional, I dare say Uncle Tony’s easily outdoes some relatives I’d reluctantly sup with; I left, happily sated, casting backward glances, plotting future returns. — Penelope Savory