As the belly dancer approached the table, I employed the avoid-eye-contact-at-all-costs move. Still, there she was, shimmying toward us, cymbals raised, ready to gyrate on my dinner companion. It felt like when they put a sombrero on your head at a Mexican restaurant and sing “Feliz Cumpleaños,” or when they toss shrimp in the general vicinity of your mouth at a hibachi steakhouse. But, alas, Greeks are often viewed by non-Greeks as walking spectacles—screaming “opa,” setting cheese on fire, throwing napkins, shooting ouzo. But belly dancing? Oxi. That means no. Wrong country entirely. Yet at Club Stratos, as it’s affectionately known, spectacle is boss. There’s also the extensive Greek menu, which features staples such as moussaka, tzatziki, and dolmathes, alongside grilled octopus and several souvlaki options. Pastitsio, a Greek lasagna of sorts, hits the mark with a thick layer of crema on top, whereas the lamb oreganatto was neither tender nor well-seasoned, a shame for a dish boasting a classic Greek spice in its title. The avgolemono, an egg-lemon soup, broke, and the spanakopita, though flaky, was light on feta cheese and flavor. Nothing necessarily stands out, but hey, when you’re three ouzo shots deep, what’s the difference? Opa!