Maybe cooking is little more than controlled pyromania—you know, kind of like how football is the controlled flaunting of butt cleavage (linemen, heal thyselves). At issue is the dish “Saganaki Opa!,” (fried cheese) at Kostas Café on Greenville Avenue. Saganaki is a square of cheese in a pan that’s doused with vodka and set ablaze while everyone at the table yells “Opa!” The heat is so intense that it will melt the fuzz right off your mother-in-law’s upper lip. The flavor is so addictive (extinguish, repeat) that you might well all be hairless before the check arrives.

Though it looks a bit like a hole in the wall from the outside (the buttoned-up vacant structure next door was once The Fare, a cleavage arts exhibitor of another sort), this place is a shiny gem in the mulch. Its cozy, homey dining room is dimly lit and decorated with ageing travel posters of the Greek Isles. Service can be impeccable when it doesn’t suffer from occasional fits of dysfunction—not unlike most extended family dinners. You’ll find superb hummus; soft, supple pita bread; outstanding dolmas (stuffed grape leaves); and super gyro plates.

There’s indescribable warmth here that is nothing short of magnetic. Plus, Kostas has a swell, tightly focused selection of Greek wines including retsina (the ancient sharp-edged white infused with pine resin). But we wonder: is it illegal to yell “Opa!” in a crowded theater?