The Greeks are a cheery lot (when they’re not bearing gifts or arguing about philosophy). And at the Olive Tree, there’s a lot to cheer about. The place is unmissable roadside, Greek blue and white set off nicely by the pink of the bougainvillea that climbs up the exterior (not real, but nicer than that sounds). It’s a little like the set of Mama Mia but with better food and less (although, like all Greek places, not zero) chance of spontaneous song. The pink planting continues inside where everything relaxes into a pleasingly Hellenic sway: exposed cyclopean stonework and photos of very Greek Greekness, windmills, fishing boats, (real) bougainvillea-filled streets. Staff are young, chipper and very happy to help with your attempts at pronouncing “melitzanosalata” (not a word designed for Anglo Saxon soft palates). There's a nice buzz about the place: it just feels like somewhere you're going to be fed well. And you are.

The menu is a roll call of meze delights. Again, the “dips ‘n pitta” are not to be overlooked (here they are homier, if no less tasty) and the filo feta wrap, crisply fried and anointed with sweet syrup, is so much better than the slightly prosaic name suggests. Meats come char-grilled and juicy (the likes of souvlakia and loukaniko sausages) or roasted slow into bifteki yemisto and delightful lamb croquettes that match unctuous lamb shoulder with light goat’s cheese mousse. The spanakopita is very nice indeed, shattery and squidgy in equal measure as it should be. The moussaka is really very good too – they call it their signature dish, with some justification. 

Good things from the sea too, octopus with fava bean puree and crispy capers, and calamari with saffron aioli reminding you just how good decent quality squid, freshly fried, can be. The gigandes – huge butter beans enrobed in lovely tomato sauce spiked with dill – make an excellent vegetable counterpoint. Puds, never really the eastern Med’s strong point, come in the shape of kataifi (baklava’s hirsute cousin) and portokalopita (a trad orange-syrup-infused sponge affair).

Greek wine is undergoing something of a renaissance: good for the Greeks and good for us. I’m rather fond of the Retsina of yore but admit it’s an acquired taste. There’s a more à la mode Assyrtiko here from Athanasiou (in Nemea) and a Vidiano (a much lesser-known white grape that hails from Crete). Athanasiou provides a red as well, in the shape of their fruit-laden “Thronos” made from 100% Agiorgitiko.