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Estiatorio Milos Toronto
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“I want to be honest with you. I’m very nervous.” confesses Costas Spiliadis, a week before the official opening of the Toronto location of his acclaimed Greek restaurant, Milos.
Nervousness is a reaction you’d expect from your average restaurateur in the frenzied, 1,000-final-decisions-to-be-made-a-minute lead-up to an opening (if in doubt, watch Season 3, Episode 1 of The Bear). But the stakes are even higher when the restaurant in question comprises three palatial dining rooms and a From-Here-to-Eternity-length bar, occupies an ambitiously renovated heritage building (and adjacent atrium), and sits in the heart of Toronto’s buzzy, expensive and fiercely competitive Financial District.
That said, nervousness is not the reaction you would expect from Costas Spiliadis given that the 78-year-old owner of what Forbes calls “one of the most powerful family-owned firms in luxury hospitality” is hardly your average restaurateur.
Raised in the Greek port city of Patras, in 1966, at 19, fleeing Greece’s military dictatorship, and with barely a drachma to his name, Spiliadis washed up on the shores of America to study criminology at NYU. However, it was only after later dropping out and migrating to Montreal in 1971 that his New World existence began in earnest.
After earning a sociology degree at Concordia, he co-founded a local radio station, Radio Centre-Ville, where he directed Greek programming and hosted his own show. Then, in 1979, having concluded that it’s hard to earn a living doing community radio, he decided on a more practical plan – to open a Greek restaurant.
The first Milos – the name of a Greek island known for its ancient windmills (mýlos) – was a hole-in-the-wall where the only employees were a dishwasher and Spiliadis himself. In addition to lacking business experience, Spiliadis had no culinary background beyond having been an assiduous devourer of his mother’s home cooking. Indeed, early on, he relied on long-distance guidance from his mother as well as members of Montreal’s sizable Greek community.
Yet, Spiliadis never aspired to be a chef. Rather, his driving mission was much more ambitious: to show Montreal – and later, the world – that Greek food was about far more than souvlaki and gyros and could hold its own among the world’s great cuisines.
That mission has remained at the forefront of the Milos empire for 45 years, during which Spiliadis has opened 11 restaurants (Toronto is no. 12) as well as a Milos boutique hotel in Athens and two yachts where guests can stuff themselves on Milos fare while cruising the Greek islands. That he has achieved so much in such a meticulously, some say obsessively, hands-on manner is all the more radical in an era of high-end global restaurant brands owned by multi-national conglomerates and financed by venture capitalists. In contrast, Milos is that incredibly rare thing: a (very) successful – to the tune of US$100 million – one-man shop run as a family business, albeit a very luxurious one.
As much as Spiliadis continues to look forward – he will be opening restaurants next year in Palm Beach and L.A. and has plans for an academy of Greek gastronomy on the island of Kythira – Toronto’s Milos, only his second in Canada, represents somewhat of a milestone, which is why, as originally stated, he is “very nervous.”
“I have set a very high bar in Toronto – for my self and for my restaurant,” he confesses. “This restaurant comes at a stage in my career where I have reached a certain maturity.”
“Here in Toronto, I’m summarizing my life and, for the first time, I want to translate that summary into a restaurant. That this restaurant is in Toronto has a lot of meaning for me.”
Nerves aside, with maturity comes confidence. Taking on the challenge of creating Toronto’s Milos within the landmark Northern Ontario building, designed in Classical Revival style by prominent architects Alfred Chapman and J. Morrow Oxley in 1924, Spiliadis resolved to go all out. “I was very lucky that it happened at this stage of my life that I was confronted with a space that required some boldness.”
Whether you’re in New York or Dubai, London or Los Cabos, Milos restaurants are epically grand in size as well as materials. Polished oak and gleaming white Pentelikon marble – the same used to build the Acropolis – are decorative touchstones. Airy, spacious, painstakingly illuminated and awash in calming neutral tones, the high-exposure, low-key ambiances are meant to soothe excitable diners – Toronto’s Milos has room for 225 of them – as much as showcase the food.
Fastidiously unfashionable and fabulously un-fusiony, Milos traffics in “authentic” Greek food, flawlessly executed and beautifully presented. Instead of Tik-Tok-able tricks and fancy techniques, there is an overriding emphasis on the absolute best and freshest ingredients possible – which is where things get exciting.
The centerpiece at all Milos restaurants is a “marketplace” modeled, in spirit and sheer, physical vibrancy, on that of Varvakios central market in Athens. In Toronto, one “stall” is devoted to a riotous cornucopia of every kind of Mediterranean fruit, vegetable, legume and herb imaginable. Less colorful but more resplendent is a second stall showcasing fresh seafood and fish, shimmering on ice, a banquet worthy of Poseidon himself.
While most high-end restaurants pride themselves on sourcing local produce, Spiliadis is prepared to go to the ends of the Earth to get the absolute best produce at any given moment that money can buy.
As such, the wild black bass, glistening sardines and barbounia (red mullet) as well as jiggling oysters, ginormous lobsters and dainty squid, are all flown in daily from Nova Scotia and Florida, Greek Islands and the Iberian Peninsula. The pyramids of tomatoes, so feverishly red they could self-combust at a moment’s notice, arrive from wherever tomatoes happen to be in peak season at any given moment.
The fleur de sel is hand-harvested from the tiny island of Kythira as is the honey, which comes in many guises. Infused with thyme and sprinkled (along with walnuts) over made-in-house Greek yogurt, it plays an essential role in a dessert so unassumingly decadent that you’ll moan out loud.
Incidentally, if you’ve never seen how Greek yogurt is artisanally made, Milos’ marketplace includes an aquarium-like case that offers a hypnotic view of the 24-hour process of whey passing, drip by drip, through cheesecloth. Of course, better than watching the yogurt is eating it, although doing so will cause you to swear off gourmet supermarket Greek yogurt forever.
To help navigate the market’s abundance, “captains” guide diners through the possibilities on display. Together, you select your fish or seafood, decide how it will be cooked, then head to the vegetable stall to choose your sides. Unlike traditional chef-driven meals where diners are passive recipients of the kitchen’s creations, dining at Milos is a participative process. Says Spiliadis, “I want people to have the opportunity to interact with the products and to decide upon their experience.”
One such experience, exclusive to Toronto, is a station devoted to Greece’s unsung array of artisanal cheeses. Presided over by a cheese monger, rounds and wedges are flanked by giant bowls piled high with an edible mosaic of olives, dried fruits, and nuts. Also available for sampling are Greek wines, from aromatic and spicy moschofileros to tropical yet tart malagousias, which are a major focus of the bar menu.
At Milos, the bar – all 65-feet of it – occupies a prominent place. Anchoring one of the dining rooms, it’s an inviting perch from which to sip a rare vintage or indulge in a Greek-themed cocktail, heavy on herbs and aromatics, spiked with ingredients such as lemons and honey.
It’s also where you can watch chefs crack open fresh oysters and slice the likes of Faroe Island salmon, lavraki (sea bass), magiatiko (amberjack) and tsipoura (sea bream) into shimmering sashimi.
The lavraki sashimi comes festooned on one side with fresh thyme, lemon zest, lemon juice, sea salt and olive oil, while the flip side gets a shower of hot chili, lime zest, lime juice and cilantro.
Four thick slices of bigeye tuna receive a similar dual-sided adornment – with yuzu kosho paste on one side and fresh dill, dill pollen, sea salt and olive oil on the other.
Mediterranean-style ceviche also features lavraki, cured a la minute with lime juice and sea salt. Enhancing the sweet tang of the fish is an aromatic jungle of coriander, basil, arugula, and shallots. Yuzu adds acidity, while cucumber and chilis add crunch and warmth. Garnishing the ensemble is a dollop of feta and sprig of amaranth.
These and other starters are listed on the à la carte menu, which includes a number of shareable plates. With some of these beloved dishes dating back to Milos’ early years in Montreal, their designation as “classics” is well-deserved.
Served with warm pita and lightly pickled crudites, the traditional Greek triumvirate of taramassalata, tzatziki and htipipi seem unworthy of the designation, “speads”. The taramassalata’s fish roe is infused with a lovely Aegean saltiness. The tippiti expertly juggles the heat and sweet of roasted peppers with the brine of pureed feta and manouri. As for the the tzatziki, it’s almost voluptuous.
Also highly shareable is octopus, sliced and grilled to a smoky tenderness, then served sashimi style, in a shallow pool of red wine vinegar, olive oil, sea salt, oregano and capers. An accompanying fava bean puree, made with yellow split peas from Santorini, offers an intriguing contrast, the rich, sweet earthiness of the beans playing surprisingly well off the briny tang of the seafood.
It’s no wonder that Milos’ famously ripe and red tomatoes receive star-billing in the tomato salad, which on other menus would be known as a Greek salad. Amid a strong supporting cast of cucumbers, peppers, kalamata olives, pungent onions from the island of Zakynthos, and creamy wedges of goat’s milk feta, the firm, sun-soaked, fresh-off-the-vine fruit are indeed stellar.
Tomatoes aside, at Milos many noteworthy objects will catch your eye. Look up and you’ll see an entire glowing firmament of pendant lights, modeled after Greek fishermen’s lanterns. Scan the walls and take in close-up images of golden olive oil, blue Aegean waves, stretching olive branches, created by Costa’s artist daughter, Evridiki Spiliadis. Dispersed throughout the dining rooms are ancient ceramic amphorae, wide, deep and high enough to stash a Cretan Bull. Then, there’s the main Adelaide Street entrance, composed of a reconstructed Milos windmill that is the restaurant’s namesake.
All these elements are worthy of admiration. But when you lay eyes upon the conical towers that grace most, if not all, the tables occupied by (inevitably joyous) diners, admiration gives way to pure, unadulterated envy. Fortunately, the object of such envy can be ordered off the menu. In fact, it’s such as Milos classic that it’s called the Milos Special.
It’s only up close that the Milos Special reveals itself. Tissue paper slices of zucchini and eggplant, coated in the same thin flour-water mixture used to glue kites in Greece, is fried to the most exacting crisp. The resulting chips are piled high, layer after crunchy layer, into a tower, bordered by golden curls of seared Graviera cheese. If it sounds like a bit of a culinary fairy tale, know that the tale takes an even more dramatic turn when you realize the interior is filled with luscious tzatziki for dipping.
In addition to classics, the menu offers an exclusive-to-Toronto quintet of original meat-based “family style” options. Inspired by Spiliadis’ memories of his mother’s robust Sunday family lunches, such offerings cater to famished groups of four to six and include hearty, herb-doused dishes such as slow-cooked Ontario goat, oven-roasted bone-in Ontario leg lamb, and an organic rabbit stifado.
That Spiliadis is constantly stretching the boundaries of Greek food by circling back to such glorious basics is part of fulfilling the same mission he began close to half a century ago when Greek cuisine wasn’t on anybody’s radar.
"I’m always looking for something new,” says Spiliadis. “And that has become very challenging because now I have an audience that is equally knowledgeable about what I’m doing.”
Although being required to continuously up his game may add to his nervousness, it also underscores how much of his mission he’s accomplished.
As he notes, with evident satisfaction, “People know their stuff.”
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