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My first visit to Myra’s Kitchen was meant to be speedy and unremarkable: I was walking by and thought I’d quickly check the shop’s opening hours.

But Chris Rummey’s Greek-Cypriot eatery operates at a generous exchange rate. As I asked about the business hours, I noticed the cake on the counter and wondered what kind it was. In seconds he’d handed me a complimentary slice and offered a two-in-one explainer: a culinary class and language lesson combined.

The cake was a Cypriot lemon and olive oil specialty known as kalo prama: it justifiably translates to “good thing” in Greek. Then I also scored a crash course in the geography of Cyprus, some family history, an accounting of Myra’s Kitchen’s existence (it had been open 103 days at this point) and a compliment on my T-shirt. All in a matter of minutes.

My in-and-out mission was a preview of Rummey’s rat-a-tat, friendly energy – and the many ways Myra’s Kitchen is generous. Prices for his pita sandwiches and Greek-Cypriot bowls are all under 20 bucks and he doesn’t skimp on ingredients or preparation, either.

He arrives at 4am to ensure his Cypriot-style pita – which is crusty and thick, like Italian ciabatta – is timed so the bread’s warm release from the oven coincides with the arrival of his first customers.

His early hours also involve prepping tzatziki and other condiments he layers into his sliced pita or salad-topped bowls. Some fillings are more time-intensive: his lountza (Cypriot cured pork) takes two weeks to ready, so it’s not always on offer. But typically he’ll slather skordalia (“garlic and dill potato sauce”) with sheftalia (Cypriot pork sausage with a sweet hint of cinnamon), or pair keftedes (Greek meatballs) with tzatziki.

Always ask for his chilli sauce, which you might spot bubbling in a tray as he retrieves it from the kitchen: it’s thick and caramelly, like a savoury Mediterranean jam.

His halloumi pita is a breakfast-friendly bundle: grill-bronzed cheese bricked in with shredded cabbage, tomato relish, fried egg and tzatziki. Every bite is a sizeable joy.

His bowls are similarly banked with flavour – just served on brown rice instead of crusty bread. The bowl with falafel has many fans: bite into the golden-fried crust and you’ll notice how remarkably green it is inside, partly from the parsley-loads Rummey packs into his mix. The lush colour also comes from the addition of mashed broad beans – a riff on the Egyptian style. (His grandfather, who spent World War II in Alexandria, introduced the family to this approach.)

Don’t miss his yia yia’s potatoes: they’re baked in olive oil, speckled with oregano and parsley, and dusted with a zingy coating of lemon zest.

Then there’s the jackpot of citrus in his kalo prama. If you’ve ever felt defrauded by a cake that’s had its display-counter moment, only for it to disintegrate into the saddest floury husk after you’ve bought it, this Cypriot sweet is a faith renewal. Rummey doesn’t hold back on citrus: zesting a whole lemon into the cake mix, repeating this for the syrup, adding a whole juiced fruit, and garnishing with more lemon shreds on top. There’s no danger of suffering a vitamin C deficiency after consuming this.

Cracked eggs, hand-ground polenta, yoghurt, sugar and olive oil also go into the baking tin. Everything tastes like the simplest yet most amplified version of itself. Eating it might be like basking in the glaring warmth of Greek sun.

Then there’s the frappe. Rummey adds a double shot of St Ali’s Wide Awake dark espresso blend instead of the Greek tradition of using instant coffee. But he froths it in a cocktail shaker with milk and sugar as is custom – agitating it so enthusiastically that it keeps bubbling long after it arrives at your table. It’s a fun caffeinated drink, optimised for summer days.

Rummey’s Greek Cypriot heritage isn’t just reflected on the menu – you’ll notice it in the decor, from the Zena oil tin he uses as a vase at the entrance to the portrait of an ancient Cypriot sculpture on his wall.

And although Rummey’s demeanour seems naturally preset to “friendly” mode, he hasn’t won over everyone. “I’ve alienated a lot of the regular locals who just want a bacon and egg roll,” he says.

But the owner has rightly chosen not to waver from his Greek-Cypriot approach. Myra’s Kitchen is named after his great-grandmother after all.

“This is the food of my family,” he says. “It feels so correct.”