The real Mediterranean Freeport's relief from the falsities of artichoke hearts BY ANDY KING
	Make it Eggplants, or paltican, are in season right here, right now. Grab a few ripe ones, grill ‘em, and make some Babaghannush. How? Tune in next week for some killer paltican recipes. That’s eggplant — remember?

I’ve really started to expect a horrible, horrible thing out of dishes named "Mediterranean This" and "Mediterranean That." Well, two horrible things, actually: cheap Kalamata olives and canned artichoke hearts. If I’m lucky, I’ll get sun-dried tomatoes, maybe even some sliced red onions in there, but too many restaurants display their complete lack of respect and knowledge of 12 countries simultaneously — Kalamata olives and canned artichoke hearts to represent Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco, Spain, France, Italy, and Greece? Not cool.

After years of Mediterranean salads, Mediterranean pasta, and Mediterranean fill-in-the-meat, going to Freeport’s Mediterranean Grill without knowing much about it seemed like a night of surrendering to four ingredients. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This place kicks ass — they serve fresh, vibrant cuisine with a Turkish lean, presented by Turkish brothers. And I couldn’t even pronounce a whole bunch of things on the menu. That’s usually a good sign.

This restaurant is filling the space formerly occupied by the School Street Café, an American-style grill with French accents. The dining area is still cavernous, but the addition of a few tables fills out the space. Other than this, the décor — right down to the retro-posters and torch-lined patio — has remained essentially the same. No matter, it’s not the décor I’ll go back for — it’s the mixed appetizer platter. And most everything else off the substantial — and very reasonably priced — menu.

And you know what? Not one mention of Kalamata olives or artichoke hearts on the menu.

The mixed appetizer platter (back to that) is one of those sampler things, but is perfect for indecisive folks like me. Dolma (grape leaves stuffed with rice, pine nuts, currants, and herbs), hummus, Patlican Salatasi (grilled eggplant salad), feta cheese, falafel, and Sigara Borek (minced beef, onions, and herbs in filo, fried) are enough for a light lunch, or an appetizer for two to split. The feta was a revelation, not the salty, crumbly block usually available with dishes of this sort, but a creamy, tangy wedge sprinkled with paprika. Rather than covered with the flavor of garlic and tahini, the chic peas in the hummus were the featured flavor. The Patlican Salatasi was smoky and sweet and bound with extra virgin olive oil, and a nice topper for the focaccia in the bread basket.

Wife Jackie chose something a little smaller but equally crisp, the Piyaz (white bean salad with tomatoes, red onions, red and green bell peppers, and parsley). She also went for one of the house-special entrees, the Tiropita: ground beef and lamb sautéed with onions, garlic, parsley, cheese, and herbs in filo, baked, and served with mushroom sauce. It was a bit like a ground beef Wellington, with more spice, but the filo was crisp and the filling was piping hot.

I went for nostalgia and got something carved off the big spinning stick — late night kebabs from Turkish food merchants on London’s Edgeware Road made up much of my junior year abroad. Iskender is beef and lamb sliced paper-thin off a vertical spit, served over croutons and topped with tomato sauce. The lovely pile towered over a pool of yogurt sauce, and was tender enough to slice off with the side of your fork.

The desserts range from American-style rice pudding (decent, the rice was just a tad chewy) to a fantastically green Baklava — it must have been the crushed pistachios, but I’ll let you make your own call on the naturalness of the neon hue. Otherwise, it tasted great. Unfortunately, they didn’t have Tiramisu. I used to know a pastry chef who swore that pouring Sambuca over that dessert was "better than sex." You can imagine my disappointment.

Near the beginning of the year, I was chatting with Peter, the owner of the Brit-Indi phenomenon Haggarty’s. A relatively recent arrival from Scotland, he expressed his appreciation of all the authentic food Portland had to offer — except he wished a good Greek place would open up, with real authentic Mediterranean food. Peter, your wish has been granted, save for two things: your fairy godmother was about 20 minutes up the road off, and it’s not quite Greek.

But it’s quite great, and close enough for me.

Andy King can be reached at dinnerwithandy@yahoo.com