There are meals that you simply eat—and then there are meals that unfold like a story you want to keep retelling. House of Domes is the latter. I slipped in for a quiet weekday lunch with a dear friend, the kind of friend you can exhale with, laugh with, speak in soft conspiratorial tones with. The city outside felt brisk and urgent, but the moment we stepped through the glass-domed terrace, the pace of everything shifted—slowed—became silkier somehow.
The first dome feels like a greenhouse for feelings: gently sunlit, airy, warm. A perfect cocoon for a “let’s just get one drink” that inevitably becomes a lingering afternoon. The main dining room, framed by its second glass dome, glows in amber softness—forest green seating, dark wood finishes, white linens, the kind of setting that encourages both elegance and mischief. General Manager Orald Lito greeted us like old friends—warm, intuitive hospitality in a city that so often forgets to look you in the eye.
Chef Vilfrid Hodoj’s menu doesn’t posture. It whispers—in the very confident way of someone who knows exactly what they are doing. Tuscan cuisine, yes, but with that irresistible touch of city polish.
We began with the burrata: impossibly creamy, draped against slow-roasted peppers that tasted like late summer afternoons and a hint of smoke. A Caesar salad followed—classic, crisp, uncomplicated, the kind of dish that becomes better simply because the company is good and the conversation is flowing.
Then came the mussels in white wine—steaming, fragrant, touched with garlic and just enough heat to feel alive. We tore into the buttered toast with the enthusiasm of people reclaiming joy between meetings and deadlines.
The branzino was the quiet masterpiece. Deboned tableside with a sort of effortless elegance—no spectacle, just grace. The fish was delicate, clean, bright, proof that simplicity can be seduction.
And then—the moment of revelation.
The espresso martini.
Everyone in New York claims to know where the best one is. They are all incorrect.
This one is perfection. Balanced, aromatic, deeply flavored, not sweet, not bitter—the exact midpoint where confidence meets restraint. We ordered a second without discussion. Of course we did.
Conversation stretched. Time softened. The afternoon became golden and honeyed and just slightly cinematic.
House of Domes is open for breakfast, lunch, and brunch Friday through Sunday. Yet it was this weekday lunch—the lingering, luxurious, softly laughter-filled middle of the day—that revealed what the restaurant truly offers:
The permission to slow down.
To savor.
To let moments stretch into memory.
It is not just a meal.
It is a small and beautiful rebellion against hurry.
66 Charlton St., New York, NY 10014
houseofdomesnyc.com
