2 Amys Neapolitan Pizzeria

Location: 3715 Macomb St NW, Washington, DC

I know that I appear to be doing more eating out than cooking out, and I am. Yesterday I spent much of the day perched on the edge of the sofa, my fingertips massaging my temples and rocking back and forth. If I was to be objectified I would become one of those little desk pendulums, banging back and forth but going no-where. Every time I tried to think of something other than the precariousness of my overdraft limit, or asking Mr Google "if my bank collapses does that mean my loan disappears into the cosmos?" I developed a cold sweat. As sure as eggs are eggs, yesterday was a bad day.

Now what would've been sensible would be to write a plan of action. But seeing as I can't even plan what clothes to wear in the morning, this obviously didn't occur. Instead I buried my head in the sand and went out for a meal at 2 Amys, allegedly the best place in all of DC to get a pizza. Now I have to admit that I am a fan of a real pizza. When I was younger, pizza came out of a box frozen and had strangely multi-coloured cheese nestling on top of some peroxide-bright-tomato sauce. Then later on when I discovered the joys of hand-made dough, wood burning ovens and the "Denominazione di Origine Controllata" (D.O.C) I became a pizza lover. I'd waltz around the kitchen shouting "beee-sa, beee-sa" in a ridiculous Italian accent. If there was a woman around I'd schmooze her by whistling and whispering "bella" everythime she'd walk by.

The D.O.C apply to all sorts of foods - in this case Neapolitan pizza - and are a set of guidelines laid out by the Italian government. All Neapoloitan pizza must be cooked in a wood burning oven, for example. Now I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I've never eaten one of those frozen pizzas out of a box when I've been blind drunk at 2 a.m (ironically this happened at Ballymaloe) - but if I'm going to actually sit down and eat one in a restaurant, I really am rather picky. If I find out that it's not really Buffalo Mozzarella on my crust, I throw my hands in the air, cross my arms furiously and tap my fingers one by one on the table rather like a five year old who didn't get the christmas present they were expecting.

2Amys abide by the D.O.C, and I was happy. Which is just as well because the "host" was more unfriendly than a lion whose wife you had stolen, house you'd moved into and told that he was adopted. She was an awful, gum-chewing, ashen-faced, jumble-sale clothed, ice cube of a woman. Bearing in mind that I had already been having a bad day, I was not exactly my usual placatory self. Her sarcastic smiles were met by my sarcastic smiles and pose that I imagine teenage girls use when they are taunting each other. When we were moved to a different table (at my request) I responded with the loudest most sarcastic "Oh thank you SO much you are SO kind." Horrible lady. So when the friendly little (she really was petite) waitress bounced up to our table, all smiles and enthusiasm, I was instantly charmed and ordered the largest beer known to mankind, followed by a Parsnip and Prosciutto crostini, some Salt Cod Croquettes and a Vongole pizza.

I absolutely adore Salt Cod, that wonderful ingredient used in so much of the Mediterranean, a throwback to the days when mariners had to preserve their catch in sea salt. Bound with potato, parsley and deep fried in breadcrumbs, they are a perfect snack with a chunk of lemon. 2Amys did a great job. There is always a danger that deep fried food can be awful, but in this case the oil they used was obviously clean (no nasty bitter taste) and the end product had probably been dried in a warming oven. The Crostini was a nice surprise when it arrived - a creamy Parsnip puree with a wafer thin shaving of Prosciutto. Wonderful, so it was. The following pizza was also fantastic. A wafer thin, light pizza crust topped with juicy sweet Cockles, sweet roasted Garlic, zingy Capers, fresh Parsley, a little Chili pepper and some Grana Padano. Needless to say I finished the lot with ease, unlike the lady sitting on the table adjacent to us who had obviously just given birth. (Or so I deduced - she was wearing a hospital bracelet and her husband was reading a book of baby names.) Poor woman obviously just wanted to be at home resting, not enduring one of the three witches of Eastwick at the door...