Almyra delivers Instagram-ready Greek island party vibes, but not much else

A sizzle platter of saganaki cheese bursts into flames at our table. In every corner, sparklers spray like Roman candles from birthday cakes, the effervescent glow illuminating diners, and giant white urns shoot pink and white bougainvillea vines into the rafters. As house music thumps through the 200-seat dining room — with a bouzouki solo lending it a distinctly Greek strut — I can see I’m not the only one shimmying in my seat, one ouzo shot away from getting up to dance a sirtaki.

Is there a more festive new restaurant space in Philly right now than Almyra, the latest creation by the team behind Estia? I doubt it, as iPhone flashes pop off around the room and nattily dressed couples and large groups of women in half-moon booths clutch rainbow-colored cocktails in selfie poses between whipped feta spreads, kebab platters, and heaping bowls of creamy lobster pasta.

If the limestone floors, wooden beams, and classic taverna menu at the original Estia just a few blocks away were intended to capture the understated beauty of a Greek village — and the older Academy of Music pretheater crowd — Almyra, located on the ground floor of the new Hyatt Centric hotel, feels more like an island party from Mykonos transported to Rittenhouse Square, with a glam 40-and-under crowd constantly hovering near the large front bar below a handblown chandelier that hangs from a sunburst ceiling fixture of Australian cypress beams. The colorful flowers that twine throughout the entire space are fake, of course — not that it matters once the reels from dinner ascend to Insta-ternity.

The name Almyra is a reference to a Greek goddess, but co-owner Gus Pashalis says it’s also meant to evoke a coastal breeze. The aromas I get instead near the bar are an unsettling mix of heavy cologne and table sanitizer competing with the occasional — and far more appetizing — scent of lamb chops and oregano roasting in the kitchen. Either way, the upscale new setting is ironic considering this space sits where the unpretentious haunt of Little Pete’s, the last of Center City’s 24 / 7 Greek diners, used to be before it was razed in 2017 for the new hotel.

I wish I could say Almyra’s kitchen makes up in quality or style for the loss of the late-night comforts of Little Pete’s humble patty melts, mushroom barley soup, and stuffed cabbage. Almyra’s menu promises “modern Greek,” which means some Asian fusion, from fried wontons stuffed with spinach pie to a salmon maki roll wrapped with grape leaves instead of nori. It is occasionally solid enough not to distract too much from the party ambience that is clearly the point, especially the most straightforward items like a filet mignon kebab, or those lamb chops, served beside golden bars of layered potatoes crisped in a fryer that’s gluten-free (yay!).

As a fan of the original Estia and its consistent low-key excellence with the Greek classics, I’d hoped for more interesting food from this ambitious new addition to the dining scene. The kitchen at Almyra has struggled on many levels during my visits: That includes a failure to replicate even some of the standards that Estia does so well, such as the signature zucchini and eggplant chips — fried too thick and stiff as boards (vs. the paper thin snap of the Estia originals). A grilled whole lavraki was overcooked to sea bass mush once it was butterflied and reassembled on a plate, although a lemony olive oil gloss of ladolemono sauce saved the dish.

I’m disappointed by the lack of a compelling vision for what “modern Greek” food might be beyond recasting familiar flavors with touches like turning bifteki beef patties into dumplings, or the Greek riff on sushi, which is actually pretty clever; the grape leaves add a briny twang that differs from the oceanic note of the usual seaweed. But the rice was so cold and stiff, the salmon so generic, it merely rose to the level of supermarket sushi.

There can be compatibility between the ways Greek and Japanese chefs showcase their seafood bounties; the fusion works well enough with the crudos, the most rewarding corner of the menu. Tuna is lightly poached in garlic oil, and still rare when topped with olive tapenade. A tartare duo of minced salmon seasoned with a Mediterranean profile of mustard and capers makes a cross-cultural pairing with tuna tartare seasoned sesame and chili oils, striped with green tobiko and served with lotus chips.

No doubt there’s wide appeal for a Nobu copycat starter like the crispy rice topped with spicy tuna, which segues from its Japanese base to a Greek topping of olive tapenade. Another starter, of spanakopita wrapped in fried wonton squares like spinach pie Rangoon, has hors d’oeuvres appeal, even if it lacks the delicacy of a layered phyllo crunch.

But turning solely to fusion to contemporize a cuisine is a dated approach that misses out on opportunities to dig deeper into forgotten traditions and reinterpret them with local ingredients and modern techniques. Bobby Saritsoglu does this well with his largely Greek (and pan-Mediterranean) flavors at Stina, with the city’s most gorgeous octopus, various manti dumplings, baharat-spiced pastitsio, merguez pide, and chocolate-tahini layer cake. (Konstantinos Pitsillides had a similar approach with Cypriot flavors I miss — grape leaf-wrapped whole fish; roasted rabbit with yellow peas; guinea fowl bastilla — at various incarnations of his now-closed Kanella.)

My frustration was only amplified by the service, which was pleasant enough in the greeting and menu presentation (well-informed on gluten-free options), but was ultimately so amateurish afterward they walked past the empty water glasses on our table for nearly the entire meal, not even bothering to ask if we wanted to order a second drink. It’s no surprise then that the rest of our table was pretty much done with their entrées by the time I was able to flag down a server to point out that the kitchen had forgotten the sauce for our $30 short rib, left high and dry atop feta mashed potatoes. We eventually got a cruet of thick au jus gravy, but it didn’t occur to the staff that even a small gesture of apology for the long delay might be warranted.

That was hardly the kitchen’s only stumble. The big shrimp for the kadaifi appetizer were wrapped inside a wig-sized clump of fried shredded phyllo so dense and unruly, the big crustaceans inside were not fully cooked. The same shrimp were properly grilled on the entrée kebab, but were no longer hot by the time they arrived at our table. A big hunk of Chilean sea bass marinated in truffled sherry soy was also just shy of fully cooked, still a little sinewy at its center. The ground chicken kofta kebab was cooked through, but too many bread crumbs and apricots blended into the pureed meat left it mushy. Better to stick with the herb-brined half chicken that gets roasted on the grill with basmati and ladolemono.

The signature Almyra zucchini chips were as stale on my second visit as they were on the first. This kitchen even had a hard time properly cooking a side of grilled vegetables, marking thick rounds of eggplant, carrots, and zucchini so lightly, they were essentially still raw. The saganaki went up with plenty of tableside flames, but the ouzo sauce over the kefalograviera cheese was boosted with so much honey the savory appetizer tasted too much like dessert.

When it came time for the actual dessert, Almyra returned to the classics, but without much finesse. At my last meal, a square of baklava came clumsily topped with a thick clump of dry phyllo; a similarly dry phyllo lid topped an undersweetened semolina custard dessert called galaktoboureko. Those desserts have evolved since, I’m told, the baklava now a bowl of cut-up pastry cigars with ice cream; there’s also a kataifi cheesecake now, too. Your best bet might be to stick with the frozen yogurt and cinnamon-roasted quince in syrup — or just cut your losses and head just a half block south to the fantastic new gelato bar called Vita.

The Pashalis family that owns the Estia group, which also includes the Estia Tavernas and Pietro’s pizzerias, does not employ a culinary director or traditional executive chef to oversee its kitchens. They’ve proven to be skilled at creating beautiful and transporting spaces with popular appeal. But the lack of a more dynamic culinary vision at Almyra shows. Perhaps I’m expecting too much from a place that is really all about the vibes. But with a room as evocative as this, it is a lost opportunity to give diners a taste of something that might help define what, in fact, “modern Greek” dining can be.

1636 Chancellor St., Philadelphia, Pa. 19103, 267-876-7070; almyrarestaurant.com

Dinner Sunday through Thursday, 4 to 10 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, until 12 a.m.

Entrées, $22-$39.

Menu highlights: smoked eggplant and fava spreads; spanakopita manti; Greco roll; duo tartare; Cretan salad; bifteki dumplings; lamb chops; lavraki; shrimp kebab.

About 40% of the menu is naturally gluten-free, from the spreads served with rice crackers to the charred octopus, fish, and lamb chops.