TOKYO-STYLED PUBLICITY
“Why the hell would you hide two Michelin awards?” I asked Tsubasa Tamaki, Pizza Tamaki Studio’s owner and Chef. I know that the Japanese take things differently than other humans, but still, having devoured a few exquisite pies, I couldn’t make any sense of it. “We Japanese don’t like to boast,” he says with a shrug, “Please note that I also placed two chubby Michelin dolls on the window overlooking the dark back alley.”
All I could think of was, “I’m in Tokyo. What answer did I expect?”
The Gaijin
Peter von Gomm is a Gaijin – an American living in Japan. Someone who, no matter how good his Japanese is (and it is nothing short of spotless), no matter that he has been married to a Japanese for many years, no matter that he calls Tokyo his home since he settled there in the 90s, will always be regarded as an outsider. And that’s, mind you, not such a bad thing. You see, being a Gaijin is a reusable “get out of jail” card. It’s an exemption license from the local set of impossibly complicated social rituals and manners that guide “real Japanese” in everything they do.
Peter is not just a Gaijin. He is also a radio caster with a deep, velvety baritone voice, a devoted motorcyclist, and a member of a local riding gang called — how quaint — “Gaijin Riders.” But I know him well because he is also a successful YouTuber and one of Cardo’s influencers. His videos covering the annual Tokyo Motorcycle Show repeatedly receive more than a million views. His 2023 coverage has passed 2 million views, while his latest one covering the 2024 event already received (As of May 2024) close to 700k —respect!
It should not come as a major surprise then that his knowledge of the ins and outs of Tokyo is second to none. So, when I get invited to join him for a night out, I naturally say, “Aye!”
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The Offer
“There’s a great pizza place near Hamamatsucho station called DEVIL CRAFT. Chicago-style deep dish pizza, and more than a dozen of their own craft beers brewed here in Tokyo,” says he. Being a bit of a Pizza Chef myself and having traveled all the way to the land of the rising sun, I admit scoffing at the idea of wasting a night in the Culinary Capital of the world on a lowly deep-dish Pizza. Still, I trust Mr. Von Gomm and play along with his suggestions. Not a minute passes before the following email flashes on my iPhone screen. “Still got room for pizza, I hope, ‘cause we’re going to one of the greats here in Tokyo. Unfortunately, Devil Craft is closed today, but fortunately, I got a reservation at a great Michelin Guide multi-award winner called Pizza Studio Tamaki.
“Multi-award Michelin Guide Pizzeria, hmmm….“ Reinvigorated by the prospect, I confirm right there and then. Looking at my map application I’m further elated to see the place is within walking distance from my Minato-based hotel. To boost, the owner, Mr. Tamaki, is ranked #17 on the 2023 list of the world’s 100 best pizza chefs. What else could I hope for? I’m all in!
The night
When evening sets in, I grab a complimentary hotel umbrella and set out into the cold drizzle known as Tokyo in early Spring. The address takes me into one of Tokyo’s most posh neighborhoods. Not that you’ll know it by looking at the surrounding apartment buildings. They all look as drab and tiny as any other building in this giant metropolis. It’s only the scores of exotic car dealerships and hoards of Bentleys that really give this residential area away.
I arrive at the designated place, a street corner right next to the imposing Tokyo Tower, overlooking a small square, a few minutes ahead of time. Looking at the unassuming establishment, I’m not entirely sure I have arrived at the right spot. The place is tiny, even by local standards. A compact sign reads “PST”. I browse the front window, trying to locate any Michelin red signs, but find none. All I see are about six small high-top tables good for two to three diners max, and a few more chairs placed around a large circular pizza oven.
The Company
I’m about to email Peter when he shows up a few minutes later, all cheerful and smiling, accompanied by Greg, his good buddy from L.A. who had recently relocated to Tokyo. We greet, shake hands, and enter the warm (and dry) eatery. Not being a person to hold in a troubling question, I take no longer than the necessary five minutes of meets’n’greets to pop the question, “You said this was a Michelin-awarded restaurant, didn’t you?” “Yes”, says Peter, “but the Japanese don’t like to boast. You should look around the cashier area. I think you’ll find it somewhere there. I’ll ask the waitress.”
A minute later our young and smiling hostess drops by to take our orders. We choose a few pies (I don’t remember how many exactly and which types), a few beers (or at least I think they were beers; it’s all kind of foggy now), and Peter inquires about the awards. The waitress takes me to a small corner where, next to the cashier, two Michelin awards are proudly placed on the wall, semi-hidden behind the restaurant’s large espresso machine. I guess I should have looked more carefully.
Waiting for our pizzas to arrive, we opened up with a great Caprese salad, made exactly the way they have it in Sorento or the Amalfitanian Coast. The conversation flows about Japan, the visual arts, real estate, family life, and the other immediate suspects that make up conversations of middle-aged men worldwide. It feels as if we have known each other for years. Or was it the exquisite alcohol? Who knows? Does it matter?
The Pizzas
I peek at the chef working hard behind the counter. I notice the way he stretches out the dough and the quality of the toppings, including an unmistakenly visible fresh Buffalo Mozzarella. The PST team fires the large oven using wood, not gas – Calabrian-style. The owner works constantly inserting pies, rotating them, and pulling them out just at the correct minute; the fully-puffed edges just starting to burn, and the toppings at the center bubbling and full of life.
By the time our Pizzas arrive we are already fairly wobbly and cheerful. Greg has pulled out a statue of two French Bulldogs; one brass dog is shagging the white porcelain one – a present to Peter, who just had his one-year-old castrated. We laugh, drink, eat, and drink and laugh a bit more. The food and alcohol are all top-notch. The Pizza delivers precisely what one would expect, having looked at it being pulled out of the oven. The sourdough crust is crunchy and full of taste, and the center is thin and elastic, hosting a best-in-class topping made from the finest ingredients.
The verdict
It’s a great pie, one of the best you’ll get in a restaurant outside Naples. It’s amazing to receive such an authentic culinary experience in a land known for raw fish and Katanas. But here lies the conundrum. You can get this kind of great pies in almost every spot in Calabria and in any high-end, self-respecting pizzeria along the Italian peninsula. As an amateur Pizza Chef, I would be brave to say my pies are not more than a league below PST’s.
Is it enough for Michelin recognition? I’m not the one to judge; others did already. If enjoying your dinner and remembering it (or at least parts and pieces of it) to posterity is a criterion, then PST is worthy of every title it has. The only thing that didn’t match the occasion was the bill at the end. No, not what you think; on the contrary, it was close to nothing. By far, it was the most inexpensive Michelin establishment I’ve ever visited.
The drizzle stopped when we finally ventured out into the chilly night. I circle the restaurant and head into the dark back alley. Two Michelin puppets peer out of a small, dimly lit window. Smiling as if to say, “Give it up. You’ll never understand!”