Atmosphere: A neighborhood, family place.

Prices: Most dinners in the $5 to $6 range; children's orders are specially prepared and cost half-price.

Reservations: A good idea at lunch.

Credit Cards: Mastercharge and Visa.

Hours: Lunch Monday through Friday 11 a.m. to 3 p.m.; dinner Monday through Thursday, 5 to 10 p.m.; dinner Friday, 5 to 11 p.m.; Saturday 10:30 a.m. to 11 p.m.; closed Sunday.

Special Facilities: Accessible to patrons in wheelchairs, parking in a nearby lot, boosters and high chairs.

The "Turkish" in Atilla's Turkish and Continental Restaurant has given owner Atilla Kan no end of trouble.

"I had a Turkish salad on the menu and nobody ordered it - I changed the name to Greek and we sold lots of them," he said.

Other Turkish dishes have suffered similar difficulties. Although customers are only familiar with the Greek names, the cuisine, Kan said, was borrowed from the Turks when their empire included Greece. And, he insists, the Turks do it better.

Currently, Kan is trying to straighten out the lexical problems of the new menu, but by any name Atilla's food is good.

Atilla's is essentially a neighborhood place, comfortable with few frills. Plastic cloths cover the tables, and the linen is paper.

On the evening our family visited, the large dining room was quiet with just a few patrons relaxing over dinner. We were seated immediately at a horseshoe booth near the window, a bay nook filled with plants. A booster was brought, and refused by our 3-year-old, who prefers to dine kneeling.

Even before we could address ourselves to the menu, out waitress, a grey-haired woman in pig tails, arrived. With the charm of the most polished maitre d', she helped us order.

Among the specials of the day was donnerkebob - in a week restaurant the meat is called gyros - a beef and lamb dish described so lovingly by our waitress, that I agreed to try it.

My husband selected the tas kebab, saute lamb with onions over rice, ($5.95). Dinners included rolls and soup or salad.

The bean soup, which my husband ordered, was a delicious version that was hearty but not too thick. My salad was the usual greens with Greek olives and an interesting curried house dressing.

To satisfy our over-anxious youngster, and our own sense of curiosity, we also ordered two appetizers - the kofte sauteed in red sauce ($2.50) and borek (also called blintzes) with ground sirloin ($2.65).

The kofte were four tender meatballs topped with fresh minced tomato and spices, which were immediately devoured. The borek - finger-sized rolls of meat wrapped in pastry - were less interesting, but good.

We had barely finished, when our waitress announced, "And now, for the piece de resistance" in a flowing French accent. The donnerkebob, mounds of sliced meat - a mixture of lean lamb and beef - covered fresh pita dripping in garlic butter. It was outstanding. The tas kebab, tender chunks of lamb in a gravy sauce, though very good, couldn't compare with it.

Atilla's also offers a range of entrees other than Turkish: New England boiled delight, London broil, cheese blintzes topped with strawberries and sour cream and the most expensive item on the menu, Attilla's 10-ounce New York strip steak for $7.95. There is also moussaka, not recommended by a friend of ours who described it as a "broken-up cheeseburger."

For dessert, at the urging of our waitress we tried the baklava (95 cents), while our son insisted on the chocolate mousse (95 cents). Even with my family's sweet tooth, the two large slices of baklava, a good version of the pastry, were too much. We wrapped one up and took it home.

On our way to the pay the bill - $21.48 excluding tip - the cashier happened to tell us about the time she was working at an expensive French restaurant, which had been tipped off that a famous restaurant critic was coming.

In panic, the owners imported a reowned waiter for the occasion and prepared for days. On the night of the critic's visit, the waiter dropped a tray of dishes a few feet from the critic's table, and the woman seated next to him found a worm in her quiche, "something that had never, ever happened before," she said.

"It's always best," she added, "not to let them know you're coming."