Manorhaven, Port Washington – October 18, 2014. 6:30 PM. My father drives my sister, Mia, my mom, and me in our navy blue Subaru Outback to a Middle-Eastern restaurant called Bosphorus in Port Washington. My dad said he has eaten at this restaurant before with my mom. He claims the food is really good. Let’s hope he’s right.

We’re here. The first thing I notice is the size. It’s tiny; not dingy café tiny, but much tinier than I expected it to be. How tiny? About fifty square feet, but I’m just eyeballing. The second thing I notice is the lighting. The relative lack of it is slightly jarring. I can see clearly, but it’s a little hard to do so. The electric lighting is very dim and provides minimal light; most of the light that actually helps me see clearly comes from the candles on the tables.

Speaking of tables, there are about seven or eight. One of them, the largest one, seats six people, is right by the window, and has clearly been reserved for a dinner party. I say clearly because the easily visible RESERVED sign sits right next to some bottles of champagne. The other tables seem to be packed. I think I’m in for a long wait…

…Sorry, no I’m not. Barely five minutes after we step into the restaurant, the three of us are seated at a four-person table just behind the fancy diners’ table. I’m sitting with my right side propped against the floor-to-ceiling window. Dad’s seated across from me and, due to some unfortunate circumstances completely outside my control, Mia’s sitting next to me. Right away, we’re given menus and water. The menu is white with a laminated cover. Towards the top it says “Bosphorus” in pale orange letters on a small black box-like background that emulates the look of a city bridge. Towards the center, the words “Dinner Menu” are printed in tiny letters in the same pale orange color. The inside of the menu is completely generic and not worth mentioning.

We order drinks. Mia satisfies her sweet tooth with a Coke. I satisfy my desire for something sweet and my complete inability to have sugar in my drink due to my health consciousness with a Diet Coke. Dad satisfies his high tolerance level, desire to experiment, and complete self-satisfaction with both of these with a specialty beer called Efes.

We’re given a bread basket. The bread is warm; it clearly just came out of the oven. The taste suggests a few tablespoons of salt; I would say about two. We then order appetizers, namely: falafel, because for some catastrophic, undefinable reason, Mia’s never had it; pita bread, because we’re unoriginal like that; baba ginoush, because Dad and I like spicy stuff; and hummus, because Mia doesn’t like spicy foods. The falafel has clearly just been heated. A pinch of fine salt has been spread over it. It’s so good that for once, I don’t bother trying to deduce what spices and seasonings have been used in it (which is a shocker for me, as I usually focus on that rather than enjoyment when I’m reviewing). Instead, I can safely say my mouth has been subjected to a total explosion in a flavor factory.

We order the main course. Mia’s getting lamb, her de facto Middle East dish. Dad’s getting steak and couscous, and I’m getting a dish labelled “Salmon Grill.” I don’t even read the description; I see the word salmon and my built-in MUST-EAT-FISH sensors scream “YOU HAVE NO EXCUSES! GET IT!” When I finally get the salmon, I subject it to my Sherlock Holmes-esque flavor deduction test. The salmon is charred on the bottom. It is actually burnt, but I don’t really care. It doesn’t derail my enjoyment of it. The salmon has been baked in lemon oil with a hint of cilantro. The salmon came with rice. The rice has been buttered and the pine nuts in it have been roasted thouroughly. The last time I remember having pine nuts was in Greece several years ago. For vegetables, I have lettuce. Someone got over eager: there’s too much dressing, but I eat it anyway.

For dessert, we order baclava. I have heard of it, but I have never had it. Mia declines, but Dad and I happily lap it up. The baclava is a health watcher’s worst nightmare. It’s filled to the brim with sugar; it’s practically made of it. On any other night I would have found it utterly repulsive, but not tonight. The baclava manages to be sweet, salty, and tangy at the same time.

Within an hour, we left. I can safely say that Bosphorus is much better than I expected. It isn’t the best thing ever, as it doesn’t serve Indian food. However, it is wonderful for what it is.

One Thing I’d Do Differently: I’d increase the lighting. At least for me, lighting contributes quite a bit to my overall opinion of a restaurant. Low lighting can be very good for a restaurant’s ambience, but increasing it just a little bit would make it easier to see and would still keep that mysterious atmosphere.

One Thing I Wouldn’t Touch: The falafel. It’s probably the best falafel I’ve ever tasted, as it renders a relatively serious critic like me completely unable to say anything bad about it. I couldn’t even scan it for flavors like I normally can when I’m eating.

Would I Like To Come Here Again? Yes.