Inside Lyla Lila, a restaurant guided by Chef Craig Richards
- Elizabeth Le Bourdonnec
- Dec 23, 2025
- 3 min read
On rhythm, comfort, and modern hospitality
There is a particular moment when Lyla Lila reveals itself.
Not at the door. Not even at the table.
Somewhere between the needle settling onto a record, Sade’s Smooth Operator drifting softly through the room, and the first plate arriving, designed not to be owned but shared. The space resists specificity. Intentionally so.
Steps from Atlanta’s Fox Theatre, Lyla Lila feels less like a restaurant tethered to geography and more like a pause between worlds. A place you arrive at already carrying the energy of art, music, and anticipation, and leave feeling quietly recalibrated.
This is not accidental.
Craig Richards, chef and owner, speaks about Lyla Lila not as a concept, but as a culmination of years, instincts, and attention. After two decades working in other kitchens and dining rooms, he recognized when the conditions were right. The space. The deal. The timing. The leap came not from restlessness, but readiness.
The vision was clear from the beginning. Mid-century modern design without nostalgia. Music that mattered personally. Food that reflected everything he had learned, not loudly, but completely.
“There’s a certain restraint,” he says of the space, a word that echoes through every detail. Curves soften the room. Circles ease the eye. The lighting is turned down. Music, always considered, is turned up just enough. These choices aren’t aesthetic alone. They’re physiological. They signal safety. They invite exhale.
Hospitality, for Richards, begins there.
“I hope guests feel taken care of,” he says simply. Not indulged to excess. Not overwhelmed. Better, physically and emotionally, than when they arrived. Relaxed and energized at once. With a song lingering somewhere in their body as they leave.
The menu follows the same philosophy.
Italian, yes. But not bound by borders. Richards describes it as “Italian with an expanded pantry,” rooted in classic regional training but open to influence where it feels honest. This openness is what allows the food to surprise without alienating, to feel both new and deeply familiar.
A broccoli, fennel, and celery salad arrives first. Bright and composed, deceptively simple. Olives, green and briny, punctuate the dish with confidence. Pistachio, provolone, oregano. Warmth meets clarity. Boldness without heaviness.
Then the dish Lyla Lila is known for, the one that arrived last to the opening menu and somehow became its anchor. Crispy duck lasagna.
Layered and yielding. Deeply satisfying. Cocoa béchamel lends depth without sweetness. Carrot-coriander purée lifts the richness just enough. The cheese-crusted top delivers its final, decisive note. Indulgent, but measured. A Grenache-Syrah blend from the Rhône grounds the experience, its warmth echoing the dish rather than competing with it.
“This dish connects with people,” Richards says. “It’s new, but comforting. Different, but familiar.”
In many ways, it is the restaurant distilled.
What’s striking is how often Richards returns to listening. To guests. To context. To the moment. Lyla Lila opened with a more esoteric menu, but shifted after Covid toward something gentler and more comforting. Not as compromise, but as care.
Restaurants, he notes, are living organisms. They do not belong solely to their owners.
That same attentiveness shapes his team culture.
Hospitality, to him, is not performance but disposition. A genuine desire to make people feel good.
He traces it back to his childhood, to a mother who entertained generously and paid attention to how people felt in her home. Today, that instinct lives on through a team he speaks of with pride. From his Director of Hospitality to the kitchen talent shaping each plate.
And finally, dessert. Because presence does not rush you out.
Lemon cheesecake arrives light and precise. Creamy filling. Just enough citrus. Candied orange offers a final brightness without excess sweetness.
A quiet, confident ending. Not a flourish, but a closing note that feels considered.
Leaving Lyla Lila, the only feeling Craig Richards hopes for most; That you felt that you were taken care of.
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