SIMPLE BUT EFFECTIVE: Acropolis.

We make the same mistake with dinner. These days chefs and eaters alike take themselves awfully seriously. They trumpet the most organic and local ingredients and the most authentic preparations. The self-righteousness grows tiresome and unappetizing. Two Greek restaurants in Portland offer a chance to reconsider the role of the superficial and the profound in dining out.

Emilitsa, a great looking new restaurant on Congress Street, manages to transform these modern food trends with its particular regional emphasis and light touch. The menu does mention that the lamb is free-range and all-natural, and that your fish was flown in fresh from the coast of Greece. But your mind and palate ignore that to linger on the wonderful names of the dishes (latholemono, yemmisti, htenia, garithes). The space — long and narrow between walls of mustard and old brick, broken up by tall wine racks — is elegant but effortlessly so. Tables and chairs are of simple wood. There are pleasant little touches, like the lovely oval of greenish stones inlaid just inside the door. John, the owner, runs the front of the house while his brother cooks in back. He sets a humble and friendly tone that the efficient servers have adopted as well.

The cuisine offers a similarly light and elegant touch. It is hard to imagine serving lamb three ways without the dish taking on a certain heaviness — but Emilitsa managed it the other night. The dish, lovely to look at with its reddish-browns, greens, and beige, announced itself forcefully with an aroma of grilled meats and sugars that was more pleasant than any food I have sniffed in a long time. The meatballs had an earthy, grassy flavor. They were tough-looking but actually tender, and drizzled with a refreshing cucumber-and-yogurt sauce and a puree of parsley, olive oil, and garlic. The tender lamb-chop was an evenly pink medium-rare. It had a mild, beef-like flavor, perhaps thanks to its marinade. Best of all were the flat, tender lamb ribs. The meat had an almost caramel quality, leaving behind a bone that resembled a reed of seasoned wood. As nice were the color and aroma of the crisp red-browned surface of the moist roast pork souvlaki. Its fresh sauce of lemon and olive oil gave the dish a viscous zing. I was sad that my feta-stuffed tomato went missing. Both dishes went terrifically with the earthy, quirky Greek wines available by the glass.

The smaller dishes were equally well conceived. Rather than bread, each table receives oil-kissed crispy toast points with a creamy fava spread spotted with crisp bits of mild onion. Three or four crispy, salty, oily sardines were wonderful with the lemon-herb sauce that pooled beneath them. In the roasted red pepper dip the flavors of both sweet and especially hot blended within the lightness of the whipped feta.

Whipped feta with red pepper is more of a confection out on Forest Avenue at Acropolis — a touch cream-cheesier and a good deal sweeter. In this it is typical of Acropolis’s very different sort of appeal. It is a bold restaurant that invites its customers to gaze upon their food stewing on a steam table before sitting them down for a formal meal at which entrées cost $15 to $17. I was skeptical as we were led past all that steam into the cavernous and dimly lit interior. By the end of our meal however, I was a convert. The food at Acropolis does not approach the heights of Emilitsa’s. But dinner at Acropolis offered some of the most unexpected pleasures I have encountered at a meal in quite a while — it was flawed, strange, touching, and life-affirming.

Our somewhat intense waiter had no problem making himself heard over the live music. He prefers reciting the wine list to letting you read it and he didn’t write things down — which may explain why our Greek chicken salad lacked chicken, but no matter. The small band was galvanizing, but did not preclude conversation — even when they briefly rose to follow a slightly shy belly-dancer through Acropolis’s several dining rooms. Even nicer was when Mano and his younger brother, owner Nikos's sons, played a few slow, sad Greek songs for a table of regulars.