My Theme Park That Opens at 21:30

...

Numbers have a mysterious power.

Sometimes they are as inorganic as pi,

and other times they evoke a profound story that touches the heart.

I think everyone has one or two numbers that stay in their memory.

I have them too.
They are the numbers I mentioned earlier.

.
.
.

.
.
.

If you just went "Ah...!", we are comrades. Let's be friends.

If you went "Huh?!", I'm sorry. Please bear with me for just a little longer.

That's right. I am a huge Saizeriya fan.

I love it so much that when my mother asks, "What do you want for dinner tonight?", I answer "Saizeriya!" so quickly that I get scolded. I love it. I adore it.

And so, "2310 1401 3404" isthe order number for Saizeriya.

It's that thing where you diligently type in the numbers on your smartphone screen to place an order.

That's why, to me, these numbers look like Saizeriya dishes. Just seeing the string of numbers makes me drool as a conditioned reflex. I'm Pavlov's dog.

Oh, by the way, I have one thing I want to ask you.

"Do you know about Saizeriya at night?"

...

Saizeriya has a different face in the morning, afternoon, and evening.

Morning Saizeriya is gentle. Elderly people read leisurely or chat away.

Afternoon Saizeriya is fun. It is full of life with ladies enjoying lunch and office workers on their lunch break.

Evening Saizeriya is endearing. Families enjoy their time together, and high school couples chat happily.

But you know, Saizeriya has one more face.

That is, Saizeriya at night.

Nighttime Saizeriya feels special.
If I had to compare it to something, it would be like Disney just before closing time late at night.

It is quiet and there are few people. You can even get on the rides without waiting.

A world for adults only, where staying up late is permitted.
A calm world, wrapped in silence.

...

Around 21:30, when the children have gone home.
Nighttime Saizeriya opens.

But you might be wondering, "What's different about it at night?"

Well then,

Shall I teach you how I enjoy Saizeriya at night?

1. Leaving the house

The important thing when leaving the house.
That is, leaving as stealthily as possible.

It doesn't matter if I live alone. I just sneak out of the house on tiptoe.

Heading out at 21:30, deep into the night. That sense of guilt amplifies the excitement of Saizeriya.

The Saizeriya in my neighborhood is close. It takes less than 5 minutes to get there.

But I head there at a light jog every time.
After all, Saizeriya closes at 23:00.

I won't waste a single minute of the time I have left.

...

When I arrive at the restaurant, the staff member shows me to my seat.

"Please place your order using the QR code."

Yeah, I know. I know it well.
I've heard it a hundred times already. Besides, this is the 30th time I've talked to this staff member.

But that's fine. That's how it should be.

Every time, we meet for the first time.
We don't get too close. That's what an adult relationship is, right?

2. Ordering

Once I'm in my seat, I take one deep breath first.

Don't open the menu right away. You'll probably panic.

A wide variety of menu items jump out at me. And they're all around 200 to 500 yen.

It's crazy, it's like it's bugged. Is this a charity project?? The cost-performance is overwhelming.

Everything looks delicious, and I can't decide. But when in doubt, go back to the basics.

These are always my go-to starters.

...

Once I've ordered, I relax until the food arrives.

I can fiddle with my phone, look over the menu again, or maybe gaze at the Italian paintings in the restaurant.

However, the spot-the-difference game on the kids' menu. That's a no-go. It's not something for an amateur to mess with.

It's a wolf in sheep's clothing, so to speak. It's not for kids at all; it's insanely difficult.

If you're not careful, you could lose the entire 90 minutes until closing just on that. So if you're going to try it, be prepared.

3. Eating

While doing all that, the food arrives.

From here on, no explanation is needed.

Follow your instincts and devour it however you like.

Vongole Spaghetti. The official name is "Salt-flavored Vongole with Soup." An incredible number of clams are tangled with the pasta, and man, it's the best. On a good day, I add focaccia and soak it in the soup. It's mind-blowing.

Spicy Chicken. The star of the Saizeriya world. The Shohei Ohtani of food.
If there is anyone who dislikes it, I want them to step forward. I will interview them thoroughly for two hours and report it to the Saizeriya company.

White wine decanter (small). The small size is equal to two glasses of wine. This amount is exquisite. You feel a little better, but you can still recover. Whether you get a refill or not, consult with your tomorrow-self.

When I eat, I just lose myself in it.

Gradually, the alcohol kicks in, and I forget all the annoying things about work. It really is, truly, the best time ever!

・
・
・

As you can see, I love Saizeriya.
I love it beyond words.

But you know.

One day, my hand, which had been shoveling pasta into my mouth with single-minded focus, stopped.

I suddenly became calm and felt scared.

"Why am I so obsessed with Saizeriya...?"

・
・
・

Perhaps my obsession with Saizeriya is related to my childhood experiences.

I once lived in Italy.

When I was nine, due to my parents' job transfer, just for a little while.

...

That day came suddenly.

Family time. We were all happily watching the Friday Road Show together. I think it was Totoro, wasn't it?

Then my father said.

"We're moving to Italy."

My brother was crying.
He had just gotten used to his new class and was just about to start his middle school club activities.

But I didn't cry.
To be honest, I didn't really understand.

I thought, 'Oh, I guess we're going somewhere far away,' but
I was just thinking airily about how I hoped my new house would have my own room.

・
・
・

And then, before I knew it, we moved to Italy.

Ancient ruins were everywhere in the city.
That was the first time I realized there was a world different from Japan.

After a while, I started going to school.

It was a school where people from many different countries attended. The common language was English.

That was when my ordeal began.

...

It was painful.
Everything was different from my school in Japan.

In class, we learned about the history of Ancient Rome.

"History is hard enough as it is, and in English, I don't understand anything..." "And what are those squiggly letters? There's something called cursive...?"

If I were to describe it as a game, it felt like playing on Very Hard mode on my first try. For a nine-year-old me, it was, well, brutal.

...

Everyone around me was nice.

But there was definitely a massive cultural barrier there.

It was just a common, innocent childhood conversation.
But it was painful for me. It was agonizing.

I felt like black ink had dropped into the bottom of my heart and was slowly spreading.

I went home and cried to my mother.

"Mom, I can't do this anymore... When I think about having to go to school tomorrow, I can't even sleep when I get into bed..."

I'm sure it was painful for my mother to hear that, too.
My mother said,

"Would you like to try going to a Japanese school?"

...

There are Japanese schools overseas, too.

It was a bit far from our house, but I went to a trial class with high hopes.

When I arrived, there were many Japanese students. The teachers, of course, taught in Japanese. It was the same feeling I had when I was in Japan.

"This. This is it. I can make it here...!"

I remember feeling so relieved when the first period ended.

But that sense of security crumbled away in an instant.

Ding-dong-ding-dong. The class ended, and the teacher left the room.
It was just as I was about to speak to my friend.

??!!

My friend had suddenly started speaking Italian.
Two friends with Japanese faces were chatting away in fluent Italian.

I was confused.

Thinking back on it now, I'm sure they were Japanese people born in Italy. Like, their parents had them attend this school to learn Japanese.

...

I despaired.
There was no place for me here either.

In the car on the way home. I was crying quietly in the back seat.

But at that moment, something snapped inside me.

The lead-colored shell covering my heart cracked with a creaking sound.

"I have no choice but to live in that school with people from all different countries."

Looking back now, I think I had made up my mind in my own way.

I think it was the resolve of a nine-year-old, who was thin and delicate, and a size smaller than his peers.

・
・
・

From that day on, I changed.

I spoke to my friends every day in broken English, and I took plenty of notes in those squiggly letters I couldn't even read myself.
I took a lot of notes in those squiggly letters I couldn't read myself.

At the cafeteria during lunch, I ate Italian food with my friends every day.

I even ate mysterious pasta that I still don't understand even now that I'm an adult.
It was slimy and didn't suit my taste, but I laughed with my friends and said, 'This is delicious.'

Because that's what everyone else was doing.

I did everything I could to avoid being left behind by that school, which was the only world I knew. I did it for dear life.

・・・

And then, a few months passed.

My world changed little by little, but surely.

I became able to raise my hand in class.

I became able to tell jokes to my friends in English.

When picking teams for soccer, everyone wanted to be on my team.

They even gave me the respectable nickname 'Little Nakata,' after the player Hidetoshi Nakata who was active at the time.

As if those days of despair were a lie, every day became fun. (Even looking back now, a child's adaptability is amazing.)

...

After spending my time happily like that,
the day of my return home arrived in the blink of an eye.

A farewell party my friends threw for me.
I shed more tears than I did when I first left Japan.

According to my mother, toward the end, I was whining about not wanting to go back to Japan, haha.

.
.
.

After going through that childhood, I have now become a proper middle-aged man.

However, I still eat Italian food just as I always have.

I realized it recently. The reason I keep going to Saizeriya.

It must be that I am trying to overwrite the painful memories of my childhood.

I want to justify the version of myself back then, who was forcing a smile while eating pasta in the cafeteria.

.
.
.

Actually, I've been going to Saizeriya at night less frequently lately.

At my peak, I was going twice a week, but now it's maybe once a week, if that.

Instead, the number of times I go for an "evening Saizeriya" with my wife and daughter has increased.

Since my child always manages to turn her white blouse the color of meat sauce, there's none of that calm atmosphere you get at night.

And she always starts fussing as soon as we finish eating. So, our stay is always about 20 minutes.

But this is pleasant in its own way. It warms my heart, as if I were wrapped in the glow of a crimson sunset.

It's decided that my daughter is in charge of ordering for our family.

"Daddy? Which numbers should I order?"

"Got it! Um, two, three, one, zero..."

...

> To me at 9 years old

Don't worry.

Twenty years from now, you will be eating pasta and laughing from the bottom of your heart.
Surrounded by a slightly restless, energetic daughter and a kind wife.

Thank you for your order, my daughter.
I love you.

And one more thing.

The 340"5" you ordered. That is a decanter (large).

But thank you.

Daddy will do his best starting tomorrow again.