Dining Review: Lebanese Taverna

My first taste of Lebanese food came when I was a mere toddler, long before Mediterranean cuisine became synonymous with a healthy diet and hummus began showing up so regularly at trendy parties that it ceased to be trendy. The initiation came courtesy of Mrs. Tadrous, our elderly Lebanese neighbor, whose oven churned out endless fragrant stacks of homemade pita (she called it "Syrian bread"), which she bestowed on us weekly, hot from the oven.
Mrs. T honed my childhood palate with a host of exotic delights. Thanks to her spinach pie, I learned that Popeye's favorite vegetable didn't come from a can and that it could be, in fact, ambrosial. More importantly, I learned that weird ethnic stuff could taste good—really good. Back then, it was inconceivable that those strange flavors would become an integral part of the American food revolution of the past 25 years. But back then it was also inconceivable that a long and bloody civil war would force so many Lebanese to seek refuge in the United States, where many of them opened restaurants like Lebanese Taverna.
The Abi-Najm family opened the first Taverna in 1979, shortly after they fled their home country, and since then they've grown that tiny original restaurant into one of the most successful chains in the D.C. area. (After Mrs. T, I had my next taste of Lebanese at their Connecticut Avenue outpost in the early 90's.) Their spectacular success can be measured by the fact that they chose Harbor East for their expansion into Baltimore, a pricey patch of real estate indeed.
It's possibly the most glamorous of their five full-service restaurants (there are three cafes and a market, too), a large, light-filled space with soaring ceilings, a view of the marina, and sleek, almost severely modern furnishings. Towering displays of Middle Eastern lanterns make a stunning architectural statement, kind of like an art gallery with food. The place is bustling and buzzing with hungry urbanites. It's not exactly the spot for a romantic tête-a-tête with your honey, but it is the perfect venue for this kind of food—food that's meant to be shared with groups (the larger, the better) of people.
Mezza (appetizers) are at the heart of the menu, and I'm hard-pressed to think of a place that can match Lebanese Taverna's staggering array of these traditional small plates. You can pick and choose among them, or you can order one of the five pre-selected and prix fixe table mezza—vegetarian, seafood, grilled, rotisserie, or a variety of appetizers from all over the menu. Or you can simply order from a considerable roster of salads and entrées, or any combination of all these. Let's say the menu is a tough read for the terminally indecisive.
On our first night, Señor M and I dove into that vast trove of small plates and were rarely disappointed with our choices. The bright, vivid tastes I fell in love with as a child were all in evidence—the pungent cheeses, briny capers and olives, suave pinenuts, smoky grilled vegetables and meats—like bursts of sunshine in the mouth.
Scooped up with a never-ending supply of excellent warm pita, the Taverna's hummus is a revelation. After years of mindlessly snacking on store-bought brands whenever I was too lazy to make my own, I'd almost forgotten how creamy and unctuous and delicious this staple can be. Likewise, other standards of the Lebanese table—baba ghanoush, kibbeh (fried balls of lamb and beef with almonds and pine nuts), grape leaves—were prime examples of their kind. Among our favorites we counted the shankleesh, deeply flavorful aged sheep feta coated with fiery hot paprika, sumac, and thyme; and the makdous, baby eggplant stuffed with walnuts, garlic, lemon, and pomegranate seeds. Not so stellar? The kalamar, a fine stew of tomatoes and cilantro marred by the rubbery, past-its-prime calamari. Not a bad batting average, considering the multitude of items we tried.
Another night, we made a go at the entrées. Conclusion: Mezza are the way to go. Somehow, everything our party of four ordered beyond the starters tasted wan and ordinary, as if they were the Taverna's concession to American tastes. The grilled salmon on a bed of Mediterranean vegetables was overdone. The mouzat, lamb shank braised in tomatoes, tasted leftover and muttony. Shawarmas—Señor M's was composed of grilled meat, mine of chicken—were dry and nondescript instead of the juicy pile of thin, lightly charred animal that characterizes the dish at its best.
The sides—roasted potatoes, rice, the inevitable summer medley of zucchini (how I loathe zucchini) and onions—were basically empty calories sitting on the plate. Desserts? Depends on how you feel about cardamom and rosewater, which, as with many Middle Eastern sweets, are liberal additions to nearly everything from ice cream to bread pudding. If you're uncertain, get the baklava.
Lesson learned. Next time, we'll come back with more reinforcements and order every last mezza on the menu. That's what this particular branch of Lebanese Taverna seems to have been built for, and at that it does better than fine. What fun to order bottles of bracing white wine (the wine list is moderately priced, extensive, and features lots of selections from Lebanon) and work through a passel of small plates with a bunch of friends.
Service, as befits a long-standing chain—albeit a small one—is professional and cleanly efficient, despite the rush of customers and a profusion of large groups, including lots of Lebanese families (perhaps the highest recommendation a restaurant like this can get). The Taverna always seems to be busy, but it's huge, so a walk-in isn't inconceivable unless you come with a big party in tow. But a big party is the way to go here. In fact, we plan on corralling those rare friends who may not have tasted the delights of Lebanese cooking so that they can share the intense flavors from my childhood. Mrs. Tadrous would be proud—as long as we stick to the mezza.