A Memorable Evening in York
When I was just 24, I found myself in a relationship with a boyfriend who didn’t seem to have much affection for me. Yet, despite our rocky connection, I decided to visit him in York for a weekend when he was assigned there for work. It’s the kind of impulsive decision that young people often make.
On that Saturday night, we set out for dinner. This was before the era of smartphones, and we were both young and disorganized, lacking any dinner reservations. After wandering around for a while, I spotted a Pizza Express and exclaimed, “Pizza Express!” in relief. The sight of that glowing blue and white sign, with its charming art deco design, filled me with joy. Unfortunately, my boyfriend dismissed the idea of dining there, snobbishly turning his nose up at chain restaurants. He seemed to believe it was a place frequented by lower-middle-class patrons enjoying a simple meal.
As I watched cheerful families entering the restaurant, I felt a pang of longing. We continued our search and eventually ended up at a shabby establishment that my boyfriend deemed sufficiently independent and authentic. You can probably guess what happened next: the food was abysmal, the ambiance reminded me of cleaning products, and the tables were sticky. To add insult to injury, we had circled back, with the view from our table directly looking into the wide plate-glass windows of the Pizza Express I had been denied entry to.
Sitting in front of my unidentifiable stew, across from my scowling boyfriend, I had a perfect view of a couple inside Pizza Express who were laughing merrily and toasting with glasses of champagne. A waitress, clad in a stripey shirt, arrived with two sumptuous pizzas that I could almost smell. I felt a wave of sadness wash over me, and later that evening, I think I did cry.
At that moment, I realized I had never understood the snobbery surrounding chain restaurants. To me, chains offered a sense of comfort because they eliminated the anxiety of deciding where to eat; you knew exactly what you were going to get. In my case, it would have been a La Reine, a side salad, and a glass of red wine. What more could a girl ask for?
Pizza Express Turns 60
So, I never developed an aversion to Pizza Express, which is celebrating its 60th anniversary this week. It’s not because it’s a cookie-cutter chain or because it has a penchant for acquiring beautiful historic buildings to sell pizza from. Even after being married to a restaurant critic for 15 years, I still hold no bad opinions about Pizza Express. In fact, there have been countless lunches and dinners at new restaurants where my husband and I both knew we would have a better time at Pizza Express.
My experiences in the British restaurant scene have only deepened my appreciation for Pizza Express as a stalwart of the high street. This sentiment seems to be widely shared, as in many towns, Pizza Express stands out as the best dining option and the place to be on a Saturday night—just as I discovered during that rainy November evening in York.
My children are also big fans of Pizza Express, and let me tell you, children can be quite hard to please. They can sense unfriendly service and subpar food immediately. Unlike adults, they don’t have the patience to give a place a second chance, nor do they consider that their experience might be influenced by other factors. If they have a bad time, they simply won’t want to return.
Thus, we all look forward to the two or three times a year we decide to dine at Pizza Express. It has saved the day more than once. We’ve had particularly delightful experiences at Pizza Express locations in Oxford, Belsize Park, and Coptic Street, right next to the British Museum.
It’s important to recognize that different restaurants serve different purposes, and Pizza Express excels at providing a consistent, family-friendly, and reasonably priced dining experience.
And as for my mean-spirited boyfriend? I wish I could say that I ended things with him, but he actually dumped me in a rather unpleasant manner. He’s still around, unfortunately, but perhaps someday something embarrassing will befall him. When that day comes, you can bet I’ll be celebrating at Pizza Express.
