Add The New York Post on Google The Myka Greek frozen yogurt chain that gridlocked a quiet sidewalk in the West Village planted its flag next to Radio City Music Hall last week.
It’s the second location in NYC for the TikTok-famous fro yo (not including a clandestine window in Union Square), and the Midtown line is already as long as for some of the shows next door.
As ridiculous as the viral frenzy is, at least the product mostly tastes good — some times even great — when you finally get your hands on it, unlike the sickly sweet, chemical-menace Dot Cakes.
Myka is the breakout star of a Greek frozen yogurt boom that’s swept Greenwich Village, the Upper East Side, Park Slope and even Bloomingdale’s seventh floor.
The brand was launched not in Greece but in Madrid by entrepreneurs Natalia Morales and Javier Ezquerro. It has 240 franchise locations, including Miami Beach, Barcelona, Paris, Mexico City and Panama City — and soon in London. TikTok and Instagram posts by and about Myka attract tens of thousands — and even hundreds of thousands — of views.
Myka calls it self “an elevated take on frozen yogurt rooted in authenticity, quality and craft.” The basic, plain variety is made from premium Greek yogurt, pasteurized milk and goat kefir to produce a treat that’s “dense, creamy and delightfully tangy,” according to the brand.
It’s all those things — and also a little mysterious, because the sweet-and-tart yogurt had a distinctly lemony under-taste every time I had it. The Myka people say there are no “artificial additives,” but won’t say everything that’s in their “proprietary recipe.”
The yogurt makes a suitable platform for nearly 30 toppings, which ranged from meh to marvelous.
Dark chocolate sauce poured over fine-ground pistachios and crunchy granola solidified into toothsome candy. (You can order up to three toppings.) Baklava delivered a satisfying, honey-tinged deliciousness all on its own.
On the other hand, dulce de leche sauce was cloyingly sweet and messy.
The house pride is the “Myka special.” Extra virgin olive oil, orange blossom honey and pistachios make a sparkling Mediterranean medley on top of the yogurt. But it’s also supposed to come with orange compote, which they were out of at both locations when I dropped in. “Strait of Hormuz problem,” the counter guy joked. Red berry compote filled in but the combo wanted the missing bitter orange note.
There are “seasonal” yogurt flavors as well. The only one I got to try, passionfruit, was as sickly-sweet as a popsicle and out of synch with the toppings.
Servings in 2-, 4- and 6-ounce cups, are bigger than the numbers suggest, thanks to generously tall swirls on top. They range from $12 to $14.15 depending on how many toppings you order.
But the greater cost is your time. After a near-half hour on line, you’ll waste more minutes when you finally reach the counters. Customers scrunched into tiny storefronts are slow to choose among “signature” toppings, such as baklava and maikatifi (pistachio with pastry bits), crumbles, candied nuts, sauces, compotes, goji berries and fresh fruit. The staff pronounces any of them you order “amazing.”
But, is any trendy frozen yogurt really worth the hassle?
Maybe for Gen Z types with neither jobs nor school obligations. For me, Myka’s lines are too long, and life’s too short, no matter how many TikTok and Instagram clicks it gets.
If I want a junk-food treat, I’m happy with soft serve from a truck — there’s never a wait.
