Once upon a time, there was the bourgeois restaurant.

That, to be clear, is the historic Giannino in Milan: founded in 1899 as a small fiaschetteria with a kitchen, it grew to become the favourite stomach-filler (and soul-filler) of the emerging “middle class” promised by capitalism and the industrial revolution: those who weren’t doing badly, but weren’t exactly thriving either. Yet they were enjoying themselves. These were the years of Paolo Valera’s Milano sconosciuta (Unknown Milan): his book, published in 1879, depicted the shadowy city, flea-ridden hotels, corruption, and taverns that were, in the end, the city’s first restaurants—mainly in what is now Porta Garibaldi and the future Varesine area, notorious for vice and prostitution. Giannino began as a kind of minor miracle, or an excellent success story: starting at the margins of the city, it first moved to Via Sciesa, then to Via Vittorio Pisani. Along the way, it began attracting the sciuri, those who wanted a properly set table with tablecloth and napkin. From there came the stars: Sophia Loren, Grace Kelly, Maria Callas. The cuisine is creative yet rooted in Italian and Milanese tradition. Under the 2006 management, it became the meeting point for AC Milan and the universe orbiting it—thanks in part to Kakha Kaladze, the Georgian defender, who joined the ownership. Today, prices reach their peak with mains: veal cutlet at 57 euros, salt-baked sea bass at 80 euros for two, or sole fillets à la meunière ( lightly floured fish, cooked in butter, then decorated with lemon slices and sprinkled with chopped parsley) at 55 euros.

Trying to replicate that flair, without the weight of 125 years of history, is, for example, Gloria Osteria, right across from the Piccolo Teatro Strehler. The setting is decadent, the portions even bigger, the cuisine rich with sauces and flourish. Opulent, certainly tasty, but with more accessible prices (a Simmental rib steak costs 48 euros per person, Tagliatelle with crab and lemon 25 euros, a Vintage Martini 25 euros). These are bourgeois restaurants because they speak the language of comfort, both in the bill and on the plate, without overdoing it. They imagine a clientele of busy people who enjoy opening a fine bottle to relax, to feel good, and who have the means to do so and the palate to appreciate it. Or rather: those who want to indulge will find plenty to satisfy them, while anyone simply wanting to treat themselves for an evening can leave contented. But what happens to the bourgeois restaurant when the bourgeoisie no longer exists?