Jeremy Edmunds
Google
Walking into Pistachio Cafe feels like tumbling down a rabbit hole into a Victorian fever dream conceived by someone homesick for Damascus. Crystal chandeliers dangle precariously above vintage radio collections, while classical busts survey diners from ornate shelving that groans under the weight of Middle Eastern curiosities. This is what happens when a Syrian architect-turned-artist channels exile into hospitality.
Mohamad Hafez, whose haunting "UNPACKED" installations recreate war-torn Syrian streetscapes in vintage suitcases, opened this Westville sanctuary in 2020 as pandemic therapy. The space he created in a former Masonic Hall defies every principle of restraint. Tin ceilings gleam with elaborate molding, mismatched antique furniture creates intimate conversation nooks, and tropical plants somehow thrive amid the visual chaos. A sign proclaims "we baklava you!" — the kind of wordplay that could sink lesser establishments but here feels like found poetry.
The menu bridges Hafez's two worlds with thoughtful precision. His "Mohamad Style" cardamom latte arrives fragrant with whole milk foam and ground spice, while even a simple iced decaf americano gets artisanal treatment with proper layering. The rose tartine — cranberry walnut bread topped with ricotta, rose petal jam, and pistachios — tastes like edible nostalgia, each bite balancing floral sweetness with nutty earth.
Service occasionally stumbles under the weight of ambition. During a recent Sunday visit, "hot" lattes arrived disappointingly lukewarm after an hour's wait, and communication barriers sometimes complicate ordering. But the servers' genuine warmth compensates for linguistic fumbles, embodying Hafez's vision of radical hospitality.
The baklava selection — supposedly Connecticut's largest — justifies the boast. Dense, honey-soaked phyllo layers reveal pistachios that taste like they were harvested yesterday, not shipped across continents. Turkish coffee arrives in delicate cups that demand patience, the grounds settling like sediment in a memory.
What elevates Pistachio beyond quirky cafe status is its deeper purpose. This isn't Instagram bait masquerading as culture; it's an artist processing trauma through the universal language of hospitality. Hafez describes his miniature war-torn dioramas as "letting the models do the yelling for me." Here, he lets the space do the welcoming.
The maximalist design could easily feel overwhelming, but instead creates pockets of intimacy within controlled chaos. University students huddle over laptops beside retirees lingering over Syrian breakfast platters, all seemingly unbothered by the visual cacophony surrounding them. The effect is surprisingly calming — like being wrapped in someone's most treasured memories.
At its second Chapel Street location, Hafez promises fine dining that honors "age-old recipes." But the original Whalley Avenue space remains the heart of his vision: a living installation where every ornament tells a story, every dish carries cultural weight, and every cup of coffee becomes an act of defiance against forgetting.
In an era of sterile minimalism, Pistachio's unabashed maximalism feels revolutionary. This is what home looks like when you can never go back — overwhelming, raw, garish, and absolutely necessary.