In Naples they are, how you say it? Floppy?” our waiter Claudio asked me conversationally, continuing, “But if you are from Rome they stay up. And I’m from Rome.”

How I maintained eye contact I will never know, but while doing so, I howled inside.

We were discussing pizza of course, Claudio educating me in a way no man has before, or will again, one suspects.

And as we were in Franco Manca, a Naples inspired pizza joint, floppy it was.

Opened last year, I first attended when the queues stretched down the street, such was the demand for the superior Italian fast food landing on George Street with such temerity, shaking up its more traditional rivals, both in quality and price.

It’s a formula that’s still working. Bums on seats and a high turnover, meaning you can be in and out within half an hour.

And considering that Thali opened and closed a few doors down before you’d even noticed it was there, and other brands such as Ask, Jamie’s, Byron and Prezzo have all announced ‘trouble at ‘mill,’ it’s not easy out there for restaurants at the moment.

And yet Franco Manca carried on bucking the trend. Why? Because the pizzas there are blooming marvellous.

My son’s best friend won’t eat anywhere else, even though I’ve paraded him from The White Rabbit to The Rickety Press and Pizza Pilgrims on a quest to prove him wrong.

But back to Claudio and his floppy pizza pep talk, which worked because he persuaded me to go off piste and ride roughshod through southern Naples on the culinary equivalent of a dirt track by trying the special of the day; a pizza with potatoes on it.

I know the carb intake was enough to give Gwyneth Paltrow palpitations, and it sounded really stodgy.

But it was hot, I was restless and I fancied a change.

Maybe Claudio was right and floppy was the way forward?

My special of the day included British mozzarella, organic tomatoes, toasted potatoes cooked with onions, roasted leeks and a three chilli mix.

I wasn’t expecting much to be honest, regretting my choice as soon as Claudio left, even though he’d recommended it.

My daughter had the number 2, with tomato, mozzarella and basil (£6.55), a basic marguerite.

Sharing a cranberry juice and fizzy water, and enjoying the atmosphere of a buzzing restaurant, both our meals arrived in an indecent amount of time. Were they trying to get rid of us?

The next 15 minutes are lost, a haze of gourmet euphoria, unable to open my eyes until every floppy slice had been consumed, my eyes having to reaccustom themselves to the daylight, as if coming out of a deep sleep.

It was hard not to grab Claudio and kiss him hard.

Instead I will try to vocalise the delights. The potato was thin, sautéed slowly with onion and garlic, parsley and then scattered across the top. It worked because the sourdough is so chewy it’s almost moist, but light, ones jaw aching afterwards, the topping lying wetly, oozing with oil, juice and flavour.

No wonder it’s floppy.

And it sang, a sweet Neapolitan tune of tradition,love and respect for its beloved ingredients. The olives for example were piquant, deep and rich without being acidic or bland. The chilli oil had just the right kick, the cheese the perfect texture - soft, pliable and chewy, the sourdough base boasting blackened bubbles and unctuous crusts, the tip of each piece drooping, encouraging one to fold, wrap or gulp it down.

My daughter’s no2 pizza arrived and she ploughed in. Neither of us spoke until we were done, a scattering of crusts left on the plates like a hungry cannibal’s bones.

So just for the record, the bug bear of any Neapolitan restaurateur is pizzas being sent back because they aren’t cooked in the middle.

They are supposed to be like that. If you want crispy, you need a Roman version. Lecture over.

Our bus was imminent, so we asked for the bill and then sat back and stared.

How could that be? £18.65 for two of us. What amazing value!

No wonder Franco Manca is doing a booming trade. Floppy it is then.