An apology of Saizeriya

Today I went to Saizeriya. I had heard people talk about it ever since before I came to Japan. Saizeriya is what Japanese people call a ‘family restaurant’. The first shop opened in 1973 in Chiba, in the deep suburbs of Tokyo. The restaurant serves Italian ‘chain’ food, although not many Italian recipes really made it into the menu. With the exception of some of the best known pastas (carbonara, Nero di seppia, aglio e olio, etc.) or pizzas, the dishes represent rather a Japanese take on Italian popular cuisine, with authentic masterpieces such as the ‘corn pizza with white sauce’.

To be easily recognisable, all Saizeriya branches look the same. The logo is a red script on a white and green background, with the red and green actually brighter and more flashy than those in the Italian flag. Inside, furniture is made of a sort of fake or very cheap wood resembling oak. Seats are padded in synthetic, dark green leather, with the chair’s back made of woven wooden strips, resembling those that you would have found inside a touristic bar or restaurant, in the historical center of a European town, maybe around 15 years ago.

To be honest, I didn’t expect to have Saizeriya for lunch. Being in Sumida, I knew there was a really good tonkatsu restaurant nearby, which I randomly stumbled upon months ago. I wanted to go there again but, having spent the whole day on an exhausting quest for souvenirs, the time was already past 3 pm, and there were not many options available. ‘Hasegawa’, the tonkatsu restaurant, was open at this time of the day only on reservation. So I was politely rejected and, after finding out that even ‘Tenya’, the tendon chain, was closed, I really felt that it was destiny for me to try out this fake Italian food today. So I quickly walked up the stairs that led to the entrance of this branch. And by the time I was up, two teenagers were about to open the door to exit. A guy and a girl, dressed in a high-school uniforms. They politely waited for me to enter, when I opened the door and made a sign that suggested that I was leaving the way for them to exit. The guy went out, and the girl was still waiting for me, the adult gaijin, to get in. I once again repeated the sign and she quickly went out the restaurant while making a subtly embarrassed bow.

Once inside, I took some time to explore the menu. I had already heard someone mention the fact that they served escargots, so I definitely wanted to try them. Other than that, the dishes on the menu were not that interesting. A lot of pasta and pizza, some salads, some random ‘spicy’ meat, and gratins. I saw the doria’s. Gratins made with rice. It was probably the only food that I had never tried before, so I ordered one, with cheese and meat sauce. While my order was prepared, I wondered about the environment around me. A group of high-school students was sitting at a table in front of me. Next to them, an old man, alone. In front of him, a guy, wearing his office clothes, completely abandoned to his fate, sleeping with his head lying face-down on the surface of the table.

My order came. To be honest, given the price, I expected Saizeriya’s food to taste much worse. Escargots cost 400¥, which is around 3 euros. This is incredibly cheap. I think no restaurant in Paris offers the same dish at the same price: but I would challenge many Parisian chefs to prove that their escargots are even marginally better than those served at Saizeriya. The Doria, well, it was nothing more than what I expected. The cheese on top was well melted, conveying a creamy component. But the rice itself was too dry, and with too little saffron, which I reckon to be an essential spice for this recipe. But I believe that the food itself is not the main reason why customers still go to Saizeriya. Or rather, it is, but it’s only a part of the experience, which I found much more interesting than I would have expected.

The place has a very specific vibe, which I could only describe as innocent. The tables and chairs, with their 90s look, the waiters with their white and green uniforms, the customers, and finally the food itself, and the way it is presented… everything in Saizeriya feels like a childhood memory. I wonder if this restaurant evokes the same feelings in people belonging to different generations, but it definitely does in me. It’s not a chance, I believe, that after sitting at the table and having started to look at the menu, I was immediately reminded of my parents. More precisely, I was brought back to a specific memory of my childhood: the meals we had at the highway restaurants, every summer, on the way from Milan to Tuscany, where my grandparents lived. The feeling of being on a holiday with my parents. The innocence of those moments, and of the food, which, although in that case actually Italian, was still catered specifically for families. In a way, these businesses, which are still an institution in Italy, just as Saizeriya is in Japan, are our version of a ‘family restaurant’. Of course, while I ate my mind also traveled to Korea. Because there is only one other place where I had the chance of trying truly asianized Italian food… and that place is Korea. Outback steakhouses are Seoul’s answer to family restaurants. Of course, there is a large premium on the quality of the food (and on the price), and the feeling, when visiting one of the branches, is of visiting an actual restaurant, rather than an Autogrill. But just like in the case of Saizeriya, the brand holds a special place in the heart of Koreans, and this, rather than the food, is the primary reason why customers keep coming there.

These were, more or less, my thoughts while tasting the escargots and the Doria. At some point, the memories felt so vivid that I had a feeling of a tight knot holding my throat, and I almost couldn’t eat anymore. I will not forget my first (and only) lunch at Saizeriya.