As classic Thursday nights in London go, this one began with (arguably) one glass too many. Lauren – one of our fabulous arts and culture editors – and I marched from a string of press events in central into Holland Park – spirits high and appetites higher. We were headed for Vori, a Greek restaurant tucked discreetly a few doors down from Lidgate’s – a butcher whose window I’ve admired for years without ever venturing in. (Turns out, Vori sources its meat from there, so I can finally claim I’ve ‘tried’ Lidgate’s by proxy).
Vori isn’t adorned in neon lights or attention-seeking décor, but that understated appeal is part of its charm – especially in a part of London known less for hidden gems and more for £9 flat whites. West London has always had a soft spot for Greek food; beyond the rustic classics like Tsiakkos and Charcoal, it’s also the area where, anecdotally, most of my cool Greek friends seem to live. So Vori’s arrival feels not only timely, but sort of inevitable.
The interior tows that fine line between contemporary–as required in such a polished postcode–-and nostalgic: terracotta tones, electric blue accents, and the occasional golden glow that feels like a late afternoon on an island terrace. The mosaic floor nods to the 1950s and 60s Greek homes the founders grew up visiting. All the while, the dining space connects seamlessly with the kitchen, in the way it would in a traditional Greek household (my Greek friends agree here). There’s comfort in its familiarity. It’s modern, but unmistakably Mediterranean. The name itself means spring, a nod to renewal, but it also takes its name after Vori beach on the island of Andros, a tribute to the restaurateurs’ roots.
We ordered, as instructed, to share. But don’t confuse this place with a Hackney-style “small plates” ordeal involving seven underwhelming bites and a triple-digit bill, destined for a @socks_house_meeting meme. Vori’s portions are proper––generous, even. By the end, we were stuffed to the point of regret, so much so that dessert was but a dream… the mark of amateur critics perhaps, but honest ones at least.
We began with kroketes – moussaka-filled croquettes smothered in a gloriously rich cheese sauce. Unorthodox? Yes. But delicious? Also yes. The tirokafteri, feta whipped with roasted pepper, chilli and Metaxa-confit figs, struck a perfect balance of sweet and heat. We scraped the bowl clean with soft, warm pita. The Greek Salad arrived unapologetically classic: a slab of barrel-aged feta lounging across a bed of crisp tomato and cucumber. Nothing revolutionary here, but perfectly fresh and reassuringly good (Side note: how hard is it to find a good tomato in London? These guys know the deal.)
The mastello, filo-wrapped cheese with honey and chilli, looked promising but felt a little moisture-shy. Mastello, for the uninitiated, is like halloumi’s cool underground sister – the one who only listens to vinyl and smokes outside the party. Even so, the chilli honey glaze carried it; sweet, sharp and sticky in all the right ways. The melitzana more than redeemed this minor slip. Charred aubergine tossed with yoghurt and chilli – humble and smoky, described by our waiter as a “poor man’s dish”, and easily my favourite of the night. I’d eat it daily, with a devotion bordering on the spiritual. The arni, free-range lamb with piaz bean salad, followed and completed our meal – tender and flavourful, balanced by the earthy pulse of beans beneath it.
To drink: an unfiltered orange wine from the Peloponnese, Hoof & Lur Moschofilero (2023) – fruity and floral, with notes of orange and apricot. It paired easily with everything and encouraged conversation to flow as freely as the refills. We ended, naturally, with shots of mastiha, Greece’s sweet-pine scented liqueur – and, just as naturally, a slightly wobbly walk home through the streets of W1. A night well spent.
Vori’s service deserves mention. Our waiter was hilarious, and the hospitality, like the food, felt sincere and unfussy – the kind that only really happens when people running a place genuinely want you to have a good time. The restaurant’s founders – the Tsimikalis brothers, veterans of the much-missed Hungry Donkey – have clearly distilled a sense of Greek conviviality that’s equal parts food, humour (or was that us?) and familial warmth. The menu, overseen by head chef Mustafa Cetinkaya, celebrates both Greek and local produce (yes, that’s Lidgate’s lamb) with zero pretension. Bread comes from St John’s Bakery, and the all-Greek wine list, curated in partnership with Maltby & Greek, champions indigenous producers, many of them small-scale and working in limited quantities.
We left feeling full, yes, but not weighed down. Maybe that’s the Greek olive oil talking, or the brothers’ belief that food’s meant to be shared, not shown off. Either way, Vori seems to nail that rare balance of substance and soul – a modern taverna done right, and frankly, one Holland Park needed.