In the Greek fishing village of Nea Kios, where I traveled recently, there is a Psarotaverna, a fish tavern, that reminded me of home on the Vineyard.

Psaropoula tou Valsami, The Fishing Pole of the Valsami family, has been in business for more than a century. In a region where ruins stretch back millennia, and thousand-year-old churches are still in use, the age is not as impressive as in our own immature republic.

Family pride is strong at Psaropoula. The wall is plastered with photos of the Valsami clan with landmark catches and of the original tavern building, little more than a seaside shack.

Their model is simple. Though you will be presented with a “price list” on entry, the freedom to order is rather more limited. After perusing prices, a Valsami will ask: “You want to see the fish?”

He will then take you to the ice cooler and the catches of the day. Just a few options, a much easier choice. Quality over quantity, I think. We Americans are too often paralyzed by an excess of choice.

“We have a lot of fish here,” said our server that evening, referring to the bounty of the Argolic Gulf. “A lot of places don’t have much fish any more, but we have a lot of fish. Too much fish.”

At Mr. Valsami’s suggestion, we picked two species, a pile of little red mullet to be fried and a healthy dorado destined for the grill. Once we ordered, he mounded up herring on the old-fashioned scale against a dull brass counterweight.

The appetizer was horta vrasa, a hearty peasant dish, seasonal wild boiled greens with lemon. Simple, and delicious.

Simplicity, indeed, is what they do best. Herring, lightly breaded, fried, unseasoned and served whole. Succulent and hot. The dorado, also whole, steaming, fell off the bone. It was served with an emulsion of lemon, olive oil and oregano. On the side, fried zucchini slices, dipped in a rich tzatziki.

It was hearty fare, and honest.

The fish market at Nea Kios is not quite bustling in March, but neither is it quiet. Much like Menemsha, the fishing village is transformed when summer comes around and droves of Athenian tourists descend.

And, as Mr. Valsami noted, its character has changed over the years. Just as swordfish harpooning has ended in Menemsha, he lamented the government’s ban on traditional dolphin hunting.

But most of all, Nea Kios shares Menemsha’s beautiful, bright austerity. Little rusted white boats line the dock every Sunday, each pulling up to a tin awning storefront.

No frills are needed. There, as in the tavern, the catch speaks for itself.