Perfectionism Sucks

I am still not totally happy about my pizza sauce.

This is distressing. I have perfected crust. This week, I found whole-milk, low-moisture mozzarella, which I think is the perfect cheese. But the sauce is nagging at me, like when the elastic in your underwear gets exposed and bites you every time you take a step.

What? That never happens to you?

Liars.

I think I'm going to get myself a can of whole tomatoes and smoosh them myself. They always seem riper than the tomatoes you get in crushed tomotoes or tomato paste.

I'll tell you something awful. The best way to get good street-pizza sauce is to root around in the dumpster at the pizzeria you like best and check the labels on the cans they use. I have considered doing that. No matter what kind of sauce my favorite local place uses, I know I can find it online. You could buy the smallest size can, separate it into pizza-size portions, and freeze it.

I have decided that the very best pizza crust possible contains no fat whatsoever. No matter how little fat I put in the crust, it degrades it to a noticeable degree. And it doesn't matter at all what kind of flour you use. They're all good in different ways.

Oh, God. I have to do more research.

Watch me get shot while digging through a dumpster.

At least it's for a noble cause. If I can perfect homemade pizza for the masses, I will be the greatest hero of the 21st century.

And I'm damn near there.