Say Yes to Nonna: A Pizza Pilgrimage at Si Nonna’s in Bangalore

Bengaluru: It’s not every day that you bite into a pizza and forget, for a fleeting moment, that you’re in Bangalore. That you’re not in some sleepy Italian alleyway where the scent of wood-fired dough wafts through narrow cobbled lanes and a nonna is somewhere in the back, humming while ladling tomato sauce. But that’s exactly what happens when you step into Si Nonna’s—a restaurant that doesn’t just serve pizza, but serves a feeling. A memory. A Mediterranean mood board of comfort, craft, and culinary heritage.

I visited Si Nonna’s just two days ago, and honestly, I haven’t stopped thinking about that crust since.

Very close to Sarakki signal, Socials JP Nagar, Si Nonna’s isn’t flashy. It doesn’t need to be. Its charm lies in its quiet confidence: exposed brick walls, a tiled floor that feels like a postcard from Naples, rustic wooden tables, and that open kitchen—an architectural shrine to fire, flour, and fermentation. At the heart of it all is a wood-fired oven, roaring like it knows it’s the real star.

You smell it before you see it. That sourdough, fermented for 24 hours, crisping up at the edges while staying airy and pillowy at the base. That sauce, slow-cooked and singing in the language of tomatoes. That cheese—whether it’s buffalo mozzarella or Fior di Latte—melting into golden, blistered perfection.

But to understand why Si Nonna’s hits different, you’ve got to understand where it comes from. And where pizza comes from too.

Pizza—real pizza—has always been humble. A street-side solution to hunger in Naples centuries ago. Just dough, tomato, basil, cheese. A dish that said, “Here’s what we have. Let’s make it delicious.” The Margherita itself was an edible tribute to the Italian flag. Over time, the world fell in love. But with love came reinvention. And reinvention often came at the cost of tradition.

In India, we embraced pizza with the zeal of a thousand toppings. We paneer-ed it, we schezwan-ed it, we made it “desi.” And while there’s joy in that too, something got lost in translation—the dough, the balance, the soul.

Then came Si Nonna’s.

Rooted in a family recipe passed down from an actual Neapolitan nonna, this pizzeria is a slow-burning revolution in Bangalore’s food scene. It doesn’t just serve pizza—it reminds us of what pizza was always meant to be.

Let’s talk food.

I started with the Focaccia al Rosmarino. Just bread and rosemary? Think again. It arrived warm, dimpled, slightly charred, and oozing olive oil. A humble prelude, but one that promised the kitchen knew its dough.

Next, I tried Pizza No. 2—their signature Margherita. Tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella, basil, EVOO. That’s it. And yet, that’s everything. It’s easy to underestimate a Margherita—until you taste one done right. The crust had that Neapolitan chew, that “leopard spotting” on the edges, those blackened air pockets that only come from high heat and patience.

Then came Pizza No. 3. Tomato sauce, Fior di Latte, thinly sliced garlic, Kalamata olives, capers, basil, oregano, EVOO. It was a study in contrast—creamy and salty, herby and bright. Every bite was like tuning into a new layer of flavor.

But it was Pizza No. 8 – Ortolano that truly surprised me. A vibrant, all-veggie delight with fresh produce that actually tasted like something. No soggy mushrooms or sad bell peppers here. Just charred zucchini, juicy cherry tomatoes, and more—each ingredient earning its spot.

And then came the best part: the “Make Your Own Pizza” experience.

They handed me an apron and led me to the prep station, where I got to stretch the dough myself (with some help—I’m not Michelangelo), spoon on the sauce, and pick toppings like I was composing a melody. My creation? Goat cheese, caramelized onions, mushrooms, and chili oil. Into the oven it went, and two minutes later, it came back as art. The whole process was messy, fun, and surprisingly emotional. There’s something profound about making your own meal—and watching it transform in fire.

Kids were doing it. Couples were giggling through it. Friends were high-fiving over it. This wasn’t just dinner—it was participation.

Drinks? Thoughtfully curated. Their cold brew was smooth, their elderflower lemonade floral and fizzy. No overloaded cocktail menu—just a few well-made drinks that don’t steal the spotlight.

Desserts were a mic drop. Nonna’s Famous Tiramisu is exactly what you hope it’ll be—pillowy, rich, soaked in espresso and edged with just enough cocoa. Not too sweet. Just enough drama. There’s also affogato and gelato if you want to end your evening the Italian way—with cold comfort and a side of espresso.

There’s a lot to admire at Si Nonna’s—the ingredients, the open kitchen, the pace, the intention. But above all, what stayed with me was the feeling that someone here cares. This isn’t pizza that’s been optimized, engineered, or trendified. This is pizza that’s been remembered.

It’s hard to build a restaurant that feels lived-in from day one, but Si Nonna’s does. Maybe it’s the nonna energy. Maybe it’s the music, or the staff, or the fact that the oven crackles like a fireplace in someone’s home. Maybe it’s that we’re all a little tired of overdone menus and just want something simple, real, and honest.

Bangalore needed a place like this. A restaurant where the food isn’t just good—it’s grounded. Where you don’t leave feeling full, but feeling fed.

So go. Book a table. Order a No. 2 and a No. 3. Try your hand at the DIY station. End with tiramisu and a shot of espresso. Sit a little longer. Laugh a little louder.

Because sometimes, the best meals don’t just feed your stomach. They remind you where food comes from. And where you belong.

Si Nonna’s does just that.