Craig LaBan | Onasis

There is still a big pastry case filled with myriad cheesecakes, chocolate-berry mousses and baklavas that preserves some physical reminder of the space's diner past. But it's the service more than anything that holds Onasis back. The servers are so earnestly friendly they are awkward, and they equate the quest for raw speed with fine service. Our first waiter was so manically rushed, his forehead glistened with sweat by midmeal as he huffed plate after plate to the table whether we were ready for it or not. Our second waitress was calmer, but just as clueless when it came to pacing the meal.

What came to the table, however, was mostly a delight. I might quibble with some of the classic taverna fare that fills out much of the menu. The spinach pies are made with fresh spinach, but have a slippery, mushy texture that begs for more cheese. The pastitsio macaroni pie was dull.

But many other standards were just right. The moussaka was a light but tasty casserole layering sauteed eggplant, cinnamon- and clove-scented ground meat, and creamy bechamel. The avgolemono soup was rich with pure beams of chicken and lemon. The classic dips of zippy tzatziki yogurt, the salty pink potato-and-fish-roe whip of tarama salata, and the garlicky potato puree of skordalia were all ideal with Onasis' crusty house-baked bread.

The lamb specialties were also excellent, including an amazingly tender domestic rack that my 8-year-old daughter gnawed to the bone, and a hefty, butter-soft shank braised in a tomatoey gravy perfumed with Greek spice.

The main event, though, remains the seafood, not only the big grilled whole fish, but also the smaller ones - the fresh Portuguese sardines and coveted red mullets (barbouni) that get dusted in flour and sauteed crisp in olive oil.

Onasis also makes some of the area's best octopus, tenderizing those bigger beasts (up to 14 pounds!) in a special manual washing machine for an hour, before roasting to a sublimely perfect chew. Sliced into thick coins, and layered with shaved fennel and chickpeas in a simple red wine vinaigrette, those chargrilled rings are meaty, but yieldingly tender. Almost addictively so.

With octopus like that, Konidaris may not have to break out his bottle dance after all. But if the ghosts of the old Cherry Tree prove too persistent to die, you never know.

"I think," the old folk dancer says proudly, "that I can still do it."