Lets Talk About Lucca
Let’s talk about Lucca Taverna.
It’s high time, really. I’ve held off on writing about this one—not out of disinterest, but out of respect. Lucca has been on a journey, and this isn’t just a review—it’s a post-mortem turned love letter. Because, thank God, it has a happy ending.
Lucca is Castor’s Mediterranean sister. The chic cousin who lives abroad and comes back with stories of octopus, hummus, and housemade pasta. It’s got all the makings of a hit: moody lighting, salted butter, good wine, and ambition. But if you’ve been paying attention since it opened, you know the road wasn’t smooth. It’s had a few lifetimes already. New partnerships. Broken ones. Quiet changes behind the pass. And the food, for a while, felt like it didn’t know what it wanted to be—good intentions, but shaky execution. Like a band tuning up mid-set. Something was off.
Let me be clear—I’m not a spokesperson, not a PR rep for the Castor Group. I’m just someone who eats a lot, pays attention, and knows when something’s not working. And for a time, it wasn’t. But then something changed.
Danielle Lewis—executive chef of both Castor and Lucca—runs a tight ship, and I imagine she wasn’t thrilled with the growing pains either. There’s only so long you can let a place flounder before you step in and set the rudder straight.
Enter Caleb Corssett.
If you’ve eaten at Castor over the last few years, you’ve likely tasted his work, even if you didn’t know his name. Caleb was sous for years—quiet, precise, unflashy in the best way. Promoting him to CDC at Lucca wasn’t just a smart move—it was the right move. And it’s working.
The new menu has a calm confidence to it. Dishes that breathe easy—balanced, not overthought, and deeply satisfying. You get the sense the kitchen knows what it’s doing now. The pastas hit. The proteins sing. Even the plating feels more honest, less like it’s trying to impress and more like it already knows it’s good.
Quick sidebar: Caleb once made a salmon dish during a photo shoot—pea purée, poached egg, whipped salmon mousse on top of pan seared salmon. I remember the bite. I remember thinking, this is the best salmon I’ve ever had, and then, almost instantly, damn... I’ll never have that first bite again. I turned to him and said, “If I ever open a restaurant, you’ll be my first call.” That still stands.
So yeah, him stepping into Lucca felt like watching the missing puzzle piece snap into place. Like the vet getting traded to the young team to bring it all together. (Looking at you, Trail Blazers.)
And now? Lucca’s got legs. Real ones.
Their recent coursed dinner was a showcase—confident, composed, and well worth your time. And that’s the thing. In restaurants, people crave stability. Maybe it’s the burger that never changes, maybe it’s the monthly menu flip that keeps you guessing—but either way, you’re looking for consistency in the chaos. For a long time, Lucca didn’t have that. Now it does.
So this isn’t a takedown. This is me saying: I’ve watched Lucca stumble, evolve, and finally arrive. It’s found its rhythm. And if you haven’t been lately—go. Eat. Drink. And witness what happens when a kitchen finally gets to be what it was always meant to be.
All writing and photos by Avery Hadley
