We consider ourselves fabulously lucky every time we snatch up one of the ten counter stools or the three-seater table inside the triangular shaped and miniscule Savoy Pizza. Up a few steps as the street curves around behind itself, this smallest of small restaurants is easily missed; the space seems carved out of the corner of a building, almost like the bow of a ship. The best way to find it is to look for the clutch of hungry people hanging around outside, waiting for their slice of Neapolitan-style heaven. It is the kind of place that one is told about and then hesitates to tell more people lest the line outside never end.
The aroma that sweeps us off our feet when we enter emanates from what looks like a tiny sunken ship or humongous tin can of a wood fire pizza oven, which easily occupies a quarter of the restaurant’s space. Named after the famous Savoy Ballroom in Harlem, the place accurately swings and rocks with standard jazz. Today it’s Miles; tomorrow it could be Lady Day. As improvisational as jazz can be, the pizza at Savoy is impeccably perfect, assured in its presentation and flavor. It’s like watching a batter slug it out of the park every time. In this case, the batter is the “pizza master”: truly that is how the dedicated young men slinging dough think of themselves.
Masa tells us about his stint in Brooklyn learning how to make perfect pies. His passion for pizza is almost inspirational. He swears that he will keep returning to study in Brooklyn until he becomes the best in Japan. We sit transfixed watching him dip into a basket for a ball of dough and begin to make the pizza right before our eyes. He begins kneading the doughy mound, then slings it with circular motions into the air and then down on to a flour-dusted, cool marble counter with great precision. The resulting ethereal fluff of crust is then ready to support the main act of the toppings.
Savoy offers only two kinds of pizza: margherita and marinara. What could be just a predictable pie becomes the most perfectly turned out margherita, with creamy mozzarella floating atop fresh tomato sauce carefully dusted with oregano and sea salt, then topped with whole basil leaves. The marinara omits the cheese and replaces it with copious slices of the most thinly sliced garlic. Both pies come buzzed with fragrant Italian olive oil, applied after the pizza master uses a paddle to retrieve the pies from the oven and deal them on to plates. Soon he spins around and over to us, sliding our succulent pies in front of us. No extra charge for the extravagant floorshow.
The oven is constantly re-stoked from a huge pile of wood on the floor and warms the room. In cooler weather it’s a blessing. As the days warm up Savoy opens windows for ventilation. This is not the kind of space to linger. If a customer asks, they’ll fire up the espresso machine. There are no cappuccinos on offer, but there is affogato: espresso lavishly poured over ice cream that delivers dessert and coffee in one breathtaking dish that almost makes us feel we are in Rome. Imported Italian soft drinks and wine are available for a small charge with lunch that includes a crisp vinaigrette salad and all the peach tea one wants, as are small Italian appetizers like prosciutto, mozzarella and marinated octopus at night. The wine list is modest and affordable.
Japan is the land of tradition and respect. One can see it in all aspects of its food, from the apprentice sushi chef who cooks only rice for several years until he’s ready to touch the fish, to the dedicated ramen master who feeds people on the fly, turning out bowl after bowl of impeccable noodles. Many Tokyo establishments serving Western cuisines pay tribute to the Japanese respect for tradition when they turn to other cultures. Like Savoy’s pizza masters, the staff at Cheese Shop Shibuya brim with admiration for Italian food worthy of a Milanese or Neapolitan chef working with supreme dedication and execution, committed and passionate about following tradition.
Frustrated with some of the cheeses available in Japan, Shinji Fujikawa decided to open Cheese Stand Shibuya because he felt the mozzarella imported from Italy either lost its flavor en route to Tokyo or was filled with preservatives. He longed to eat and sell the real deal. Fujikawa spent time in southern Italy and then studied with artisan cheese makers before he was ready to branch out on his own. He carefully sources his milk (a combination of Holstein, Jersey and Brown Swiss) from Isonuma Milk Farm, located on the fringes of Tokyo. It arrives every morning and Fujikawa-san makes magic several times a day.
There are sumptuous packages of mozzarella, burrata and ricotta available at a small counter in the front of a café and all manner of small mozzarella-based sandwiches filled with organic ingredients and served on rye rolls. There are crispy pizzas with mountains of mozzarella. During lunch one can watch the cheese making process in the open-windowed kitchen while waiting for food or a table.
At night, there are charcuterie platters, heaping salads with burrata or mozzarella, rillettes and pâtés all served in either a tapas or “party” size. Wine and beer are available to wash it all down.
No matter what we eat we never leave Cheese Stand Shibuya without a pouch or two of cheese to enjoy at home.
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