There’s something about St Christopher’s Place that I always find really exciting – a pocket of central London where the food is reliably, predictably good. It’s here, tucked just off the churn of Oxford Street, that Taverna Ermou has quietly opened its doors, bringing with it a distinctly different kind of energy to the capital’s ever-evolving dining scene.
A Different Kind of Greek Revival at Taverna Ermou
Because while London is no stranger to Greek food right now – in fact, it’s arguably in the midst of a full-blown love affair with tzatziki and souvlaki – much of the recent wave has leaned towards the stylised. Restaurants like sisters Oma and Agora have reimagined Greek dining through a design-led, contemporary lens: all clean lines, curated plates, and a certain Instagram-ready, ‘cool girl’ polish. Meanwhile, Lagana and Bottarga lean into excess.
Taverna Ermou, by contrast, takes a quieter approach. One that feels less like a reinterpretation, and more like a direct translation. Having spent a great deal of my summers whiling away the sun-soaked hours in Greek tavernas thanks to my own Greek heritage, this addition to Marylebone is more than welcome.
Originally from Athens, where it sits on Ermou Street in the shadow of the Acropolis, the restaurant arrives in Marylebone with a clear sense of identity. Created by ERGON, it’s rooted in the idea of the neighbourhood taverna – somewhere to gather, to linger, and, crucially, to eat well without ceremony. That sense of ease is immediate. There’s no grand reveal, no theatricality. Instead, the space settles around you: warm textures, an open kitchen quietly at work, tables that invite you to stay longer than planned.
Simple Food, Done Well at Taverna Ermou
We began, as you should, with bread. Pita arrived soft and warm, ready to be torn, dipped, and used to soak up everything left on your plate, set the tone for what followed. The taramosalata, a traditional Greek dip made from tarama, the salted and cured cod’s roe mixed with olive oil and lemon juice was silky, smoky, rich, and saline, the kind that leans into its briny depth without overwhelming. Topped with extra virgin olive oil and a couple of Kalamata olives, the taramasalata is a real highlight for me.
Alongside it, the warm spanakopita dip offered something richer – spinach and feta folded into a creamy base, topped with shards of crisp phyllo that gave just enough crunch to keep things interesting. It’s simple food, on paper, but done with a kind of confidence that doesn’t need embellishment.
The saganaki followed, wrapped in golden pastry and topped with a drizzle of honey, with that familiar, comforting balance of salty and sweet that makes it so endlessly moreish. It’s the sort of dish that disappears quickly, almost absentmindedly, between conversation and sips of a well-chosen bottle of orange wine – a pairing that felt entirely in keeping with the restaurant’s relaxed rhythm.
Seafood is where Taverna Ermou really begins to assert itself. The charred octopus arrived tender, its edges crisped just enough to bring out a deep smokiness, offset by the brightness of lemon and good olive oil and atop a bed of fava, another of my favourite Greek dishes. There’s a restraint to the cooking here that’s worth noting; nothing is overworked, nothing overcomplicated. In keeping with traditional Mediterranean cooking, each element is allowed to speak clearly, which, in the case of the octopus, is exactly what you want.
The Dish to Order: Crab Giouvetsi
Then came the crab giouvetsi – the dish the restaurant is quietly building its reputation around. A generous plate of orzo, baked until just set, folded through with sweet crab meat and a tomato base that felt both comforting and unexpectedly light. It’s rich without being heavy, the kind of dish that encourages you to slow down, to take another bite even when you’re close to full. There’s something deeply nostalgic about it, even if you’ve never had it before – a sense of being cooked for at your yiayia’s house, rather than served at a restaurant in Marylebone.
By the time dessert arrived, the pace of the evening had softened entirely. Galaktoboureko – layers of crisp phyllo filled with warm, sweet milk cream – struck that delicate balance between indulgence and restraint. Not overly sugary, not cloying, but gently satisfying, especially with the lingering notes of wine still in the background.
A Taste of Athenian Hospitality at Taverna Ermou
And perhaps that’s the point Taverna Ermou makes most clearly. In a city that often chases the new, the novel, the next iteration of a trend, there’s something quietly radical about a restaurant that simply chooses to be itself. Where others reinterpret, it preserves. Where others refine, it relaxes.
That’s not to say it feels out of step with London – quite the opposite. If anything, its arrival signals a subtle shift in what diners are beginning to look for. The current fascination with Greek cuisine isn’t just about aesthetics or novelty anymore; it’s about a deeper connection to the culture behind it. To the rituals of sharing food, of long meals that stretch into the evening, of spaces that feel lived in rather than newly launched.
At Taverna Ermou, that ethos comes through in ways both obvious and understated. It’s in the generosity of the dishes, the pacing of the meal, the sense that no one is in a hurry for you to leave. It’s in the way the room buzzes, in the small details that make the experience feel cohesive.
You could, if you wanted, draw a line between Athens and Marylebone – between the original taverna and its London counterpart. But sitting here, somewhere between another piece of pita and the last spoonful of galaktoboureko, that distance feels surprisingly small.
