Nineteen thousand steps a day for good pizza in Osaka?

Hello again everyone and welcome to my experiment, more on that later.

It’s been a tough few days. When I say tough, what I mean is that it’s so fucking difficult to decide where to eat because the choices here are astronomical. With an average Google rating of 4.7 stars, you are spoiled for choice when you want to eat well. I’d argue it’s actually harder to make a bad choice, unless you wander into the izakaya whose chef is asleep with TikTok still playing in his hand. If it looks like he’s used to a 12-hour shift of doing fuck all, chances are the food selection tastes like out-of-date shaven fish scales. The reason I use shaven fish as a descriptive for something that is gut-wrenching is because it is exactly that.

As someone who despises fishy-fish, I need to stay on my toes living here. I explained this requirement in a recent post - ALWAYS be ready for something to taste like fish, even if it looks like chocolate or cheese. It can often surprise you, like a fisherman’s watch strap. It has come to my attention that it is common to have dried fish skin (that is shaven into flakes), sprinkled on top of food like a delicacy - which it is. It may very well be an addition that is loved far and wide, but even when you say the words of what it is, it’s like your breath already starts to stink of fish. Don’t lie to me -yes, you, a local who frequents the spots I’ve visited recently - tell me you’d rather those gleaming scales covering your food than some creamy, peppered mayonnaise.

As if an Osakan is going to be reading this. Konnichiwa.

Let’s forget about those dried shavings for a moment (preferably forever) and venture to pastures new, a stroll towards a more pleasant, heartwarming environment.

The past weekend was, of course, a weekend of discovering new places to eat, because, like I’ve said before - what else do you expect me to be doing here? However, another grand discovery that cast its warming arms upon us was the arrival of LUUP scooters into our culturally enriched lives. Not life-changing like the invention of the wheel or the iPod - to be fair, from a point of convenience, actually not far off the iPod.

Well, for starters, they exist everywhere in the world (public scooters to hire), including my hometown of Sunderland, where they tend to be discovered on top of bus stops or at the bottom of the river on a Sunday morning. Signing up for the app was quite the task. Before you were allowed to unlock one of these scooters that are limited to 20km/h and safe enough for a newborn child to ride, you had to do a test. A theory test of 20 questions - you had to get 100% to pass. Perfect scores only.

I suppose it eliminates the chances of idiots using them who intend to drive them into rivers. Not me, but a photo of one parked politely on top of a bus stop is fucking hilarious and should be celebrated, in my opinion.

Now then, other than providing me with the first exam I’ve sat since university, these scooters also provided the ability to widen our search criteria for a Sunday evening dinner. In the midst of a culinary storm of ramen, tuna tartare, and egg sarnies, we decided to opt for a less Asian eatery. Pizzeria Cinq was our ‘Western-style’ choice of food and, to say it did not disappoint, would be the understatement of the century. After a journey on two electric scooters that, at the time, felt like a journey just short of Frodo’s quest to Mordor, we arrived at the pizza café. Tucked away in a calm and quiet corner of Osaka named ‘Nishitenma’ — an area that felt covered in a cosy blanket to block out any hustle and bustle.

We were greeted with the warmth you’d expect from any restaurant that houses a pizza oven the size of a small car. It sat at the back of the room just behind what seemed to be a raised ‘preparation area’ - an area fit for a man that had mastered his craft in pizzeria artistry. The restaurant, as a whole, came with four tables and the capacity to host 15 covers at any one time. Luckily for us, there seemed to be a free table, although there were still plates and wine glasses present. We were promptly greeted by a gentleman who seemed to be walking around quite hastily. He presented his phone with Google Translate, advising us ‘to wait a few moments until we clear’. By ‘we’ what he actually meant was ‘me’, as once again we were to witness a ‘one-person operation’.

I can comprehend this method of operation in a sandwich café, but to operate this method of madness in a pizzeria was another level of mastery. Appetisers, mains, desserts, and a wine list meant that it was not quite as simple as asking your patrons if they wanted their egg sando toasted or not toasted.

If this occurred at the start of my trip, I would have had a sense of worry upon entering the pizzeria and probably turned around and walked back out. But that was then and this is now - I’m basically a local now. I had absolutely no worry that this man would operate this pizzeria like a well-oiled naval submarine staffed by 200 people.

After a few moments of waiting, our table was cleared and we sat down in comfort and calm, excited for what was to come. As the opening few moments passed, I witnessed the ‘one-man operation’ in full swing. Kneading dough and spinning it up in the air, throwing it into the pizza oven, topping up someone’s wine glass whilst clearing their table, then appearing at our tableside with a menu that was start-to-finish in Japanese. I love that, though - there’s no obligation to provide a menu that is in another language. Albeit the most widely spoken language on earth, but still, there’s no social rule to provide an English menu.

Of course, I’ve got Google Translate on speed dial, so within a few moments, the order was ready - a glass of white wine, a glass of red wine, a salami pizza, and a smoked mozzarella pizza.

The wine list was a selection of laminated cards that had a photograph of the bottle on the front and a description of the wine on the back. Joined together with a keyring-like ring, it was as pleasant to browse through the selection as it was to realise each wine was £4.00 per glass. Delightful.

Of course, the only gentleman in the room that was working placed the glasses of wine on our table. Even the snobbiest of wine snobs would have nodded in acceptance of these drops. ‘Quaffable’ was the word used to describe my wife’s glass of white. Lovely.

As I enjoyed the glass of deep red wine, notes of chocolate and tobacco caressed my tastebuds. I gladly observed the spectacle of operation I was in the midst of. As one pizza was slid into the oven on the end of the pizza peel, before the flames had even begun to char and bubble the dough, the chef already had one arm reaching towards the preparation area to knead the next piece of dough and dash it with delightful toppings.

If this scenario was shown in any fictional-animated movie, the chef would have been depicted as an octopus. For the sole reason that an octopus has eight arms, and that would be the only logical explanation behind what living being/creature was capable of running such an operation.

The kitchen front was walnut, parquet finished from floor to ceiling. The tabletops seemed to be all repurposed wood with immaculate restoration and finish. The seating area was lit with a large, modern light fitting that spanned the length of the room. The small yet comfy space was as immaculate a pizzeria as you had ever seen. The quality of the décor was matched only by the quality of the pizzas.

When I witnessed the chef pour olive oil onto the pizza using what looked like a genie lamp, I just knew the magic that was about to unfold would not have been out of place in Aladdin’s cave. The pizza arrived, and it was a sight to behold - a perfectly charred crust that was enough to add a crisp but not a taste of a bonfire. The base was soft, and the dough was light. The tomato sauce had a delightful tang to it that complemented the smoked cheese like a match made in pizza heaven.

I made my way through this pizza delight whilst humming sounds of enjoyment, each bite was to be savoured, and I wept at the thought of taking the final bite that would leave the plate as empty as my heart. With an empty plate and an empty heart, I washed the final bite down with the generously priced final sip of Valpolicella and took a moment to realise what I had just experienced. Experiencing this through my tastebuds whilst watching someone who has mastered both the art of pizza making and the challenge of running a small pizzeria alone, I found it difficult to decide which was the more impressive skill. I’m greedy as fuck, so I’m always going to sway towards the art of cooking good food as the most impressive.

I paid the bill and felt a sense of sadness that tipping is considered disrespectful in Japan. I felt this not from a place of pity but from a place of complete gratitude, as I come from a nation where tipping is sometimes considered compulsory, even for those who do not deserve it. This was a level of service that could have demanded 100 times the charged amount, in my opinion.

As if he didn’t have plenty of other things to be doing (quite literally), we were escorted to the door, and he thanked us as we departed his pizzeria. And, as always in Japan, there was immense gratefulness that we had visited his place of business.

I was the grateful one.

Now, to go full circle, the experiment I touched on at the beginning of these ramblings was, in fact, the desire to write longer pieces. As a young writer, I’m still finding my feet in this creative world. I am attempting new ways of expressing my words, in the hope of bringing you all as close to the experience as I was. I hope you enjoyed reading these words as much as I enjoyed that pizza.

I’d love to know what you think - a comment would go a long way. Big or small, it doesn’t really matter. It just stops me from feeling like I’m shouting these words into a big black hole and that someone on the other end is actually reading them.

See you on the next one.