ATLANTA HAS a great divide. For years, the slim pickings of Greek restaurants have been between the choice of plopping down a 10-spot at Athens Pizza or extending your line of credit to eat at glorious Kyma.

Well, pass the pikilia spreads, there's a new Greek in town. At Avra Greek Tavern in Midtown, there's enough sophistication to make an evening here stand out, and you'll leave with your pockets as full as your belly.

Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
A fine moment occurs when whole snapper arrives at the table in all its succulent glory. Most of Avra's dishes are solid, standard Greek.
Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
Saganaki is a cheese dish that's ignited just before arriving at the table at Avra, which took over the old Salt location.
Elissa Eubanks/Staff (ENLARGE)
Listen as the waiter appears with the meze platter and explains the various spreads. Then, with fork or bread, dig in.
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Open since September, the restaurant occupies the quaint house that was once Salt — its panoramic Victorian porch a huge draw, even as the weather cools. Little was changed to the brooding interior — except now the deep, velvety reds are enhanced by Aegean blue. Upstairs, the honeylike strains of a balalaika are as hypnotizing as the all-Greek wine list.

Get up and dance to "Zorba the Greek" — I did. Don't know the grapevine step? Someone there will teach it to you.

Enjoy the whole array of meze; if you order more than one, the waiter will have everything brought out together on a big white platter. He'll patiently explain and point out, going clockwise, the taramosalata (carp roe spread), melitzanosalata (eggplant spread), revithosalata (think hummus) and htipiti (salty feta and peppers that taste like a revved-up pimento cheese). The best is skordalia, a garlicky potato spread that livens up a slice of paximadia, a twice-baked bread with herbs.

The platter's corner will boast juicy lemon-laced dolmades, grape leaves stuffed with lamb and rice. In another there will be a pink-center lamb chop.

And before you have time to dip in, a waiter will drizzle ouzo over gooey, fried kefalograviera cheese and shout "Opa!" which basically means "you go, girl" in Greek.

Delve into an enormous Greek salad — a big bowl of horiatiki with fat chunks of tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions, kalamata olives, feta cheese and a boiled egg to soften the otherwise crunch-fest of vegetables tossed in herbs and olive oil. Slurp back some grilled octopus with a tiny fava bean cake that's part bean, part bliss, and just enough of a nibble to make things interesting but not overwrought.

Is there anything particularly dazzling about this restaurant? No. The fare is solid, standard Greek, high on the moussaka-and-marinated-meat meter.

But dishes like the vakalaos (cured cod) have such sincerity, pan-fried and crisped-edged with a hefty dose of "mama made this" all over it.

The one Achilles' heel to the menu is dessert, most of which lack the earnestness of the rest of the dishes. My favorite Greek delicacy, galaktoboureko, is here a messy custard layered between cold, tough layers of phyllo. But the Greek yogurt with honey is as passionate an offering as you'll get — creamy white mountains of the stuff, drizzled in golden sweetness.

Many feel Greek wines are difficult to warm up to, finding the piny timbre of retsina wines off-putting. But implore yourself to order a glass of Assyrtiko — a light-bodied, sometimes fruity white that pairs well with the meze.

Finally we have a Greek restaurant within the city limits that embraces the wholesomeness of the Greek table, and I can wear blue jeans or Betsey Johnson. You go, girl.