CityLife

Dimitris Tapas Bar

Dimitris and its attractive arcade

GRILIOPOLIS – obviously a man born to kebab, if there is such a verb for that skewered object of desire. But born to rock? Aha.

As Dimitris on Deansgate enters its third decade of existence, it’s worth recalling the Big D has not always been a grey-moustached eminence grise, purveyor of all bites Greek and home-Med.

The veteran restaurateur contributes a fore-foreword to CP Lee’s wryly titled memoir, When We Were Thin, which dusts off the strange vanished world of Manc rock iconoclasts Alberto Y Lost Trios Paranoias.

The band survivors are not unfamiliar dudes about town, the polymath, Dylanologist and great Salford Sheikh CP, Bruce Marshall still drumming with Durutti Column and roadie and Elliot Rashman, who later managed, alongside other luminaries, some jolly band named after the first day of the week.

Pig eating its own tail

But Dimitri Griliopolis, who had been in a school band with Mike Rutherford of Genesis, was the original roadie. 

In the foreword that follows his fore-forward to the tome (absolute bargain remaindered at £2 in Fopp!) his raucous laugh is described as ‘‘like a cross between a pig eating its own tail and a drain being scoured for a set of lost keys’’.

I’d like to think even in those days between ferrying his troupe of demented punk under-achievers around the country in his converted ambulance, he was rustling up healthy helpings of hummus and grilled sardines, but I somehow doubt it.

He’s made up for it since in one of the city’s casual dining institutions, in Campfield, shortly to expand next door into the corner premises once occupied by African eaterie Jowata (no, I never managed to eat there either). 

Balmy summer evenings

Dimitris already benefits from its low-key bar, accessible from Deansgate, and the arcade at the back, draughty in the inclement months and charmingly inviting on balmy summer evenings.

The slightly faded funky Greek-influenced wall murals could do with a touch of paint; I’m never comfortable with basements and Dimitris’ dingy downstairs with its nautical leanings is no exception.

But the whole operation is still attractive compared with the plastic chains devoted (with an absolute lack of devotion) to Mediterranean dining scattered along Deansgate and the windy canyons of Spinningfields.

Nearest equivalent would be El Rincon, equally stalwart tapas joint further up Deansgate. OK, that’s in a basement, too, but that airy, tiled space almost convinces that you have stepped down out of an azure Cordoban afternoon.

Violet-scented

There are differences. At Dimitris, the waiting staff speak better English and are less formal. And, of course, there is the key question of Greek nosh against Spanish.

The wine list is not so constricted. Cabin Girl, my companion adrift on the wine-dark seas with me, urged upon us a bottle of the violet-scented Mallorcan red, Macia Batle Tinto (£20.45), a dense mix of fig and prune flavours that opened out nicely in the glass.

A rule of thumb with this cuisine is to go for big shared plates rather then standard mains (moussaka is sheperd’s pie with pus according to AA Gill and swordfish never ever tastes like it did on Mykonos) and not to over-order. We over-ordered.

A huge menu, with all kinds of snacky deals, always puts me off my stroke, so we ordered a meat Kalamata platter, for two to share at £14.95 each.There are fish and veggie alternatives, too. 

Ship's biscuits

Then for good measure Cabin Girl, fresh from a monotonous diet of ship’s biscuits, added a portion of Melinzana Tiganites, lightly battered aubergine with an accompanying walnut and garlic dip (£6.45).

Meanwhile, I can’t resist the tentacled embrace of any octopus dish on offer. For £6.35, the Dimitris version, slow braised with red wine and onions was quite delectable, while the crisp aubergines were also better than most of the components of the platters.

AA Gill again, among some awfully scurrilous attacks on the cuisine, said that Greek food was best eaten when drunk. Let’s diplomatically say that there is always a Dionysian feel to what are essentially nibbles accompanying strong red wine.

In this case, strong meaty nibble. The keftedes, hefty, herby meatballs and stifado, beef in the same sauce as the octopus, were both good, the Aphrodite, chicken in white wine sauce, odd and soapy, the chorizo coarse.

Pitta, hummus, tzatzki and the usual dully dressed Greek green salad completed the line-up.

Ironic resonance

We left some, but put that down to our own greed, not the quality, which was consistent if not thrilling. For parties there is a mega meze, a four-course Mediterranean banquet at £21.50 a head for parties of six and over. 

No wonder that book’s title, When We Were Thin, has such an ironic resonance!

Dimitris, 1 Campfield Arcade, Manchester (0161 839 3319). Wheelchair access. No disabled toilet.