We did not go to be photographed; we went to be moved — and CASASALVO delivered.
Two elegant ladies in Soho, seated at a bar tuned to perfect pitch—martinis drawn cold and clean, handsome waiters with unforced poise, char and citrus drifting from the open kitchen. At the pass, Chef Salvo Lo Castro kept vigil like a craftsman-priest: no waste, no wobble, only devotion. The room may flirt, yet rigor steals your breath.
The food speaks with confidence instead of volume. Charred octopus lands first—tender with a proud sear, brightened by lemon and excellent olive oil, herbs lifting the edges.
Beef carpaccio follows, cut whisper-thin, seasoned with restraint, the acidity calibrated to wake the palate without crowding it. Fresh vegetables arrive with purpose: blistered peppers carrying a smoky murmur, tomatoes singing peak-season clarity, greens that taste like they were picked with intent, not convenience.
Then the classic flex: Dover sole, bronzed and fragrant, brought whole and deboned tableside with surgeon-level calm. Steam rises, lemon glows, and the flesh yields like a quiet yes. It is confidence on a cart—precision made visible.
This house has a passport. Lo Castro’s cooking pulls from North Africa, Greece, Malta, Spain, and beyond, folding those Mediterranean influences into an ingredient-driven language that is bold and unpretentious. Nothing is tricked up. Everything is edited. Pleasure comes from precision.
That precision was honed over a lifetime. Lo Castro’s love of food began in Catania, on his grandfather’s hazelnut farm and in his grandmother’s bustling rotisserie—two classrooms, one pastoral and one kinetic. He formalized the obsession at the Giovanni Falcone Institute in Giarre, specializing in enogastronomy, hotel catering, and jospitality, then sharpened it in Taormina’s grand hotels—the San Domenico Palace and Mazzarò Sea Palace—serving an elite clientele from Dolce & Gabbana to Tom Cruise.
Rome followed. A decade as a private chef for the Vatican cooking for Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI, then an appointment as official chef to Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, orchestrating state dinners that showcased regional Italian brilliance, including one for President Giorgio Napolitano. Television fell for his Sicilian charisma, as audiences inevitably do.
Since arriving in New York at the end of 2022, he has opened four CASASALVO cafés, warm with hospitality and stocked with proper Italian goods and pastry. The Soho restaurant distills that arc into something crystalline: a room built for beautiful nights and decisive appetites. Service moves with old-world grace and modern intuition; glasses never sit empty long enough to become a thought. The bar is beautiful, the martinis are honest, and the staff keeps the entire dining room at a low simmer of joy.
The evening asked to be stretched, so we obliged, sealing it with karaoke at the infamous 161 Lafayette — a perfect Manhattan coda. Neon confessions, power ballads, strangers-turned-backup-singers. Highly recommended.
Make this your ritual. Begin with the clean martini. Say yes to the charred octopus. Claim the beef carpaccio. Let the vegetables impress you. Order the Dover sole and enjoy the quiet theater of tableside deboning. CASASALVO is not just another hotspot; it is a standard—passionate, precise, and built to last.
CASASALVO’s Soho restaurant is at 195 Spring St. Check out @casasalvorestaurant for reservations.
