CHADA: Where the West Village meets Bangkok in a jewel box of joy

There are lunches, and then there are lunches—the kind that turn an ordinary Friday into a fever dream of flavor, friendship, and soft laughter over clinking glasses. This past hazy Friday, as the city shimmered in its late-afternoon languor, I found myself slipping into CHADA, the newest culinary secret of the West Village—still whispering its presence beneath the radar, like a well-kept promise.

The first impression was instant seduction. Jewel-toned interiors in emerald and amber, custom-made in Thailand, bathed the room in the sort of glow you’d expect from a film scene, not a lunch reservation. Velvet banquettes curved like sculpture, while chandeliers cascaded light over a wallpaper that looked hand-painted in candlelight. The room hummed—not loud, just alive.

My dining companion, an equally aesthetic soul, and I surrendered to the menu with the sort of trust one rarely feels on a first encounter. Chefs Jade Thipruetree and Siripat “Tom” Khaengkarn—names already beloved in the Michelin-glossed corners of New York—have created something rare: Thai cuisine that honors its roots without bowing to cliché. Each dish feels studied, storied, and precise—like culinary calligraphy.

We began with the steamed branzino, its butterflied fillet resting in a bath of chili-lime broth so fragrant it could have been bottled as perfume. The fish itself was silken—each bite dissolving with citrusy clarity, sharpened by garlic and softened by the faint sweetness of cabbage. It was the kind of dish that quiets a conversation because words feel redundant.

Then came the short rib Panang, and the table fell into reverent silence. The slow-braised short rib, lacquered in a coconut-rich curry, was as close to poetry as protein can get. The sauce clung lovingly to every shred, with roasted Brussels sprouts offering a witty textural foil—sweet, smoky, just bitter enough to remind you of balance. I wanted to live in that bowl.

For a moment, we considered stopping there—ending on a culinary crescendo—but CHADA’s cocktail menu had other plans. Created by Jan Sitthayangkun (of Jua, Kissaki, and Sage fame), the drinks here feel like extensions of the meal itself—refined, sensual, mischievous. My choice, “Lost in Chada,” was a Thai tea-kissed elixir laced with Suntory Toki, pandan, grapefruit, and clarified milk. Imagine if serenity had a flavor. My friend, never one to shy away from a little heat, opted for “I’ll Wait for Yuzu”—a radiant blend of Patron, yuzu sake, orange blossom, honey, and the flicker of bird’s eye chili. It was sunshine in a glass with a sly little grin.

By dessert, we were entirely undone—content, laughing, slightly tipsy, and already planning our next visit. CHADA is one of those rare spaces where you feel both transported and entirely at home. Every detail—down to the carved wood, the glint of the glassware, the quiet confidence of the staff—reminds you that hospitality, at its best, is an art form.

In a city overflowing with culinary posturing, CHADA feels refreshingly sincere. It doesn’t try to shout its brilliance—it lets you discover it, slowly, like a secret shared over curry and conversation.

CHADA Restaurant & Bar
518 Hudson Street, West Village
Follow the scent of lime, the glow of amber, and the whisper of something extraordinary.