Pucci Pizza is full of life

We're being advised to tighten our belts (not great advice for a food critic). To clad our lofts (I don't have one). To start reusing bathwater and wearing recycled clothes. Yeah, like that's going to happen. Guilt has replaced gold and crunches are no longer something we do in the gym after Xmas.

Yes, I know that everyone has got to do their bit to stop the freefall into economic hell, but the doom-and-gloom merchants don't do much for the mood or health of the nation. Especially when I read that laughing up to 20 times a day is as good for the heart as rowing for ten minutes (I think that means in a boat, not sparring with your partner), and that giggling lowers blood pressure. What greater incentive do you need?

It's time to get happy. To chase all those cares away. This week I wanted more than a meal; I wanted an experience. I wanted to feel good and the place where the feel-good factor has always been guaranteed is at Pucci Pizza, on the King's Road. The restaurant has moved; it used to be slap-bang opposite the fire station (does that ring a bell?), but the nightly crush of customers has prompted them to move further down the road to World's End where more space beckoned.

Pucci's is as Italian as diving footballers and has been around as long as Hillary Clinton. I remember coming here soon after I arrived in London, having been reliably informed that it was 'wild'. Apart from its unusual longevity, traditional Italian food and party atmosphere, what the restaurant is really famous for is the energetic and thigh-laden displays of dancing by its Sloaney customers. Wednesday and Thursday evenings guarantee that giggling legions of Chelsy Davy lookalikes will leap on to table tops to strut their stuff. It's an old Chelsea tradition, and hundreds of composite smiley photos papering the walls attest to this.

For all that it's been transplanted, Pucci's feels as if it's been in the new spot for ever. It's like a wellworn and slightly scruffy Italian beachside restaurant that you visit year after year and that always gives you a great, relaxed welcome. On the walls are framed newspaper cuttings of famous customers taken so long ago that a fresh-faced Rod Stewart is pictured with an earlier Mrs Stewart, though Bryan Ferry looks spookily unchanged. (Does he have a picture in the attic? I wondered.) 'That photo is 35 years old,' announced the waiter, with a waggle of his expressive eyebrows. It made me feel very old. Unusually, it's cash only (I suppose in case the partying hordes are tempted to do a runner), but this only adds to the holiday atmosphere.

I was meeting a friend who works in Westminster to catch up on all the gossip - and for once, there was plenty. He'd run the entire length of the King's Road and was starving so he ordered a large plate of avocado, tomato and mozzarella. This much-loved starter, which echoes the colour of the Italian flag, is so easy to get wrong, but not here: the ingredients are as fresh as if someone's just brought them back from the market. My parma ham and melon was just as good - the fruit was perfectly ripe - a simple but effective test of the kitchen. Since I'm on my pre-summer health kick, I followed this with fillet steak, a hefty slab of tender meat that came on a plate as large as a landing pad and was festooned with pretty vegetables. My guest opted for the intriguingly named Euro pizza (avoided by Irish customers, I expect).

When Pucci's first hit town, pizza was a very foreign, slightly glamorous dish, but now it's the mainstay of every small town in England. Up and down the land, flabby discs of dough that defy trade description are being served up. But nobody does it better than Pucci's. Here, the crust is thin and 'bites' properly and the topping (basil, onion, garlic) is perfectly judged. The fairly simple menu includes pizza tartufo, which costs a mind-blowing £1,000! What's in it, we asked the waiter. Truffle, he explained expansively, which costs £50 a slice. Had anyone ordered one? Not yet.

If you've got the summertime blues, I can think of no better mood enhancer than Pucci's. Blow a week's wages on some truffle pizza or just sit back and watch the dancing girls. Get happy.

Pucci Pizza
205 King's Road, SW3 5ED