A Tantalizing Tangle of Spices: Cleo’s Lebanese Charm

On a brisk Thursday evening in September, the West Village buzzes with the familiar hum of weekday chatter. Yet, despite the vibrant urban background, stepping into Cleo feels like entering a different realm. Here, the air is thick with the scent of spices, promising an evening of culinary exploration.

The Lebanese-style roast chicken is the first to arrive, served with a flourish by a runner who seems to understand the silent communication between the kitchen and the table. The chicken’s exterior is a deep golden brown, its aroma carrying the familiar notes of sumac and cumin, whispers of cardamom weaving through the air. As I slice into the perfectly roasted flesh, it releases a juice that speaks of careful brining, a technique that has clearly mastered the retention of moisture and flavor.

But Cleo isn’t just about chicken. When the crinkle-cut fries make their entrance, their presentation is unassuming. Yet, these are no ordinary fries. They are seasoned with a house-made blend, more complex than I’d anticipated, and each bite offers a crunch that echoes with the sounds of the busy kitchen. The seasoning is more than just salt and pepper; it’s an unexpected citrus zing that lifts the dish from mere sidekick status to an equal partner on the plate.

The mastermind behind these bold flavors is Chef Yasmine Azar, whose dedication to authentically infused Lebanese tastes is evident. She has created a menu that, while not extensive, is refined and confident in its offerings. Her use of traditional Lebanese spices, combined with local and seasonal produce, gives Cleo its distinct identity in a city where new openings are as common as the changing traffic lights.

The atmosphere inside Cleo is intimate, its lighting warm but not overpowering, casting a glow that makes even the simplest meal feel like a special occasion. The seating, while compact, is comfortable, allowing diners to lean in and savor the flavors without distraction. The music softly lilts through the room, a blend of Middle Eastern tunes that further sets the scene.

Three more dishes make their way to my table, each building on the last. The hummus, smooth and creamy, is topped with pine nuts and a drizzle of olive oil that is undeniably fresh. It’s a testament to the chef’s commitment to quality ingredients. The fattoush salad is a riot of colors, a visual feast of tomatoes, cucumbers, and radishes—all tossed in a pomegranate molasses dressing that offers a sweet and tangy punch.

Yet, despite the success of these dishes, there is a misstep with the baklava dessert. It arrives at room temperature, its layers of phyllo dough more chewy than crisp. The richness of the nut-and-honey filling, though flavorful, cannot entirely compensate for the overall sogginess. It’s a rare deviation from the evening’s otherwise stellar performance, suggesting that the kitchen might reconsider the timing of their pastry preparation.

Service at Cleo is attentive without being overbearing. Plates arrive promptly, with staff that seem genuinely excited to discuss the menu and its inspirations. There’s a sense of pride here that translates into a welcoming atmosphere, the kind that makes even the smallest establishments feel significant.

Given the quality of the food and experience, Cleo offers reasonable value. Pricing is reflective of the West Village location but remains accessible, with most dishes comfortably under $30. For the caliber of flavors and the opportunity to transport your taste buds, it feels justified.

In the landscape of New York dining, where trends come and go at breakneck speed, Cleo offers a refreshing pause. It’s a restaurant that respects its culinary roots while catering to the eclectic tastes of its contemporary audience. In the coming weeks, as the city’s streets turn gold and crimson with the season’s change, Cleo’s Lebanese-style offerings promise to keep the warmth alive. It’s a savory reminder of how food can serve as an exploration, a journey across borders without ever leaving your seat.

— Hayden Mercer · Columnist