Drooling over La Pizzeria

My favourite Aesop's fable was always The Town Mouse and The Country Mouse and there was absolutely no doubt where my loyalties lay. Who would want to live in the dark and scary countryside, making do and eating barleycorns and roots like the poor old country mouse? Not me. I always identified with the lucky town mouse, who dined on figs and honey and enjoyed all the excitement that the town had to offer, even if life was edgier.

But times have changed, and so have tastes. Today, the divisions between town and country have blurred and urbanites hunger for simplicity and the rhythm of the seasons. We're no longer content to escape to the country at weekends when the city becomes too much - we want to bring the country into the city and grab comfort here. Back to nature is cool. Why else would delicious organic food shops be the only places that seem to be defying the economic downturn? Or farmers' markets be springing up all over London?

I'd heard about Chelsea Farmers' Market but had never been there. It had always sounded a bit of an impossibility (like President Sarkozy giving a lecture on humility) to imagine a borough famous for its conspicuous consumption giving house room to earthy produce and catering for rustic tastes.

And I confess that my first sight was far from promising; this was like no other farmers' market I'd ever seen. No heaps of mud-tinged vegetables or mismatching eggs reposing on sweet little beds of straw. In fact, the market is mainly composed of shops housed in weather-boarded huts - which made me feel as if I were on a day trip to the Isle of Wight - and a series of small restaurants. It's a bit like one of those upmarket craft fairs in market towns. Here, you can buy unusual jewellery or objects from the East. There's a wine store, a chi-chi parlour for dogs and a wonderful bookshop with an amazing collection of film memorabilia; it would be a great place for Christmas shopping.

I was having lunch with my friend the architect and we headed for La Pizzeria, which is situated right at the back of the market. She had heard that the pizza here was one of the best in London and the setting certainly looks authentic. Edged with neat little clipped hedges, the restaurant is open on all sides, with simple tables and chairs which overlook the traditional wood-fired oven. The waiter (who had so much natural charm that he might have been the owner) made us feel as welcome as old customers.

Other diners were interesting: glamorous European women, wine-drinking businessmen in shirt sleeves and an American couple who were eating spaghetti and lobster. Sitting sipping cold beer in a totally relaxed atmosphere, I was reminded of a much-loved little restaurant on the edge of Lake Trasimeno in Umbria, which I visit every time I go to Italy.

Pizza has been getting a bad press recently. The rising price of the flour used for dough is causing Italians to reject their national dish because it has become too expensive - just like us Brits with M&S. Where will it all end, I ask myself?

La Pizzeria's menu doesn't hold any great surprises, but then we weren't looking for any. It's traditional in the very best sense of the word - though our choices were heavily influenced by the group on the next table who were eating pizzas as big as a satellite dishes. Were they family-sized, we asked? No, just normal.

We began with a kaleidoscopic salad, which managed to taste interesting rather than a healthdriven chore, but the Italians always weave a certain magic when it comes to salad. Next, we shared a giant plate of pasta with teeny little spicy sausages, dribbled with a piquant sauce; a delicious dish you'd never be able to re-create at home.

When our Neapolitan pizza arrived, we simply drooled. I know I've raved about pizza in the past (I think it's the perfect food), but this one rose effortlessly to the top of my all-time greats. It was... sublime. Crisp, light, flavoursome and with just the right balance of topping to base.