Love’s labor lost and found at Domino
Oftentimes, reviewing restaurants is a lot like being in a new relationship, where a single magnificent dish has the power to transport you to the boldest heights of desire, and irrational thoughts of commitment—even (God forbid) marriage—flood your overstimulated mind. These moments tend to transfix the spirit, tricking us into believing that life could always be rapt with this magic of fulfillment if only we pledged our undying fidelity and devotion.
Luckily, however—as also in love—other courses usually return us to the realm of the reasonable, where cooler and less romantic senses are most likely to prevail (to drag the analogy further still, if the food is especially lacking, you might even begin wondering what they’re serving across the street). My emotions were similarly toyed with at Domino, an incredibly well-appointed lounge located just behind Passazh on Zankovetskoyi street, where, if you order correctly, you might never think about leaving them for another eatery, but, if your choices prove less wise, a separation of sorts is sure to be imminent.
But before we get into the love affair, it’s important to point out that Domino has one of the most relaxing interiors I’ve ever been to in the center, easily worth a break from shopping on the main drag just for a cup of caffeine from their impressively comprehensive tea and coffee menu, and perhaps a few rejuvenating puffs off the hookah. With both walls and ceiling composed entirely of earth tones and darkly stained wood, it’s as if you’ve found a quiet patch of ground inside a copse of trees. But make sure not to let this first halcyon impression eclipse the notably overstuffed chairs—welcoming backsides of all sizes—that exhale with a satisfying hiss as they graciously offer to take the responsibility of gravity from your feet. The clientele, while certainly not riffraff, are neither the all-too-frequent young moguls with their numerous younger women who hold court at the more fashionable and less democratic locations; and the prices, while perhaps not as cheap as a cafe in Obolon, will certainly not make the average ex-pat balk for even a moment, especially considering the location. The menu would best be described as “European,” and by that, I mean, your typical selection of Ukrainian dishes with the addition of your odd French and Italian flourish thrown haphazardly within.
I should make it clear, first of all, that nothing I had was bad enough to warrant divorce. It’s just that, as also often happens at a restaurant, my guest had all the luck. Each time I tried her food, I stared on with jealousy as I despondently returned to my own: My borsht with pampushky (Hr 26), while certainly serviceable—with cleaner cuts of beef than many I’ve had—was a thin specter of flavor compared to the decadent velvet of her cream of mushroom soup (Hr 32). And my pork patty with mashed potatoes (Hr 39) weren’t especially enhanced by the cold Tkemali sauce that jiggled limpidly on the side. Again, while nothing was unpleasant—indeed, I’ve had far worse in far pricier locations—every aspect of my dish blanched with embarrassment when faced with my guest’s fettuccini with chicken and blue cheese (Hr 42). For some reason, many cooks in Ukraine believe that pasta is only ready when all the water has evaporated from the pot, leading to a glut of sticky and overcooked wheat with now-indistinguishable strands. Not so in Domino. I’m a pretty unforgiving snob when offered any noodle dish cooked more than al dente, and I’m happy to report that the consistency was near perfect. The same goes for the use of sauce: While blue cheese can be overpowering or underwhelming in the wrong hands, Domino’s application was a perfectly balanced pairing of the sinus-clearing tang of mold with the recuperative finish of cream and black pepper.
The plate of deruny with mushrooms and sour cream (Hr 26) that we shared was a perfect middle ground: the golden discs neither achieving the soaring heights of my guest’s meal, but still somewhat contemptuous of my own. Finally, so frustrated by the potential Domino was clearly capable of (that had as of yet eluded me), I ordered a baby chicken stuffed with shrimp and spinach (Hr 46) off their special summer menu (make sure you ask for it. Our server had forgotten to include it when we sat down). And it was only here, finally, that I was to also share in the glory that can be Domino. Too often have I ordered a slightly complicated dish in Kyiv only to find that its nuances have bested the skills of the chef. But the small chicken retained all of its youthful moisture, and the filling was a charming blend of greens and shellfish kindly enhanced by thin orange streaks of sauce that swept across the plate like trapped flashes of lightning. I chewed greedily as my guest finished her pasta, both of us now firmly ensconced in the charms of the meal. So let this be a lesson: Domino, like many restaurants in the capital, can either be a love affair or a catastrophe, depending on your choices. Venture forth here with confidence, armed now by our advice.
Domino (3/1 Zankovetskoyi, 279-3280). Open daily 10 a.m. till the last customer
English menu: Yes
English-speaking staff: Some
Average meal: Hr 100
