Ms. J doesn’t eat pizza much anymore. I think she’s a victim of anti-gluten disease, a condition caused by a generalized phobia for anything which a bunch of people are shunning. (Alas, Ms. J feels better than she ever has, and is as fit and trim as can be! So, who am I to talk?)

Me? I’m still a fan, but only when the pizza’s worthy. No late nights with Dominos, Papa John, or Little Caesars for me. And I find myself, increasingly, favoring what I make at home.

I like my pizzas lean and dry, mostly. Barely there with the cheese and less/no sauce, and I’m happy. And, as it is with the soaked salad you asked the restaurant

Ms. J does not love meat. She eats chicken and turkey, likes well-done salmon, and passes on most everything else. Or so I used to think!

A few years ago I fell into the momofuku ambit. Momofuku means lucky peach, and it’s also a restaurant group, started and led by David Chang. (Learn more at momofuku.) I have not dined at any of its 12 locations in New York City, Toronto, and Sydney. I have, however, made two of the highly touted momofuku dishes at home.

We’ll skip Crack Pie for now. It’s a variation on Chess pie, a southern favorite; alas, it’s more complicated, sweeter, and one very fine pie.

Right now, we’re focusing on momofuku bo ssam

Food Writers Have Foils: barleymash

Food writers often have foils, individuals in their lives off whom they can work. Calvin Trillin is a master of writing about food (and so many other subjects). Mr. Trillan had Alice, his wife of many years who died too soon in New York City on September 11, 2001 (not because of the WTC events, but as a result of a heart problem.) Alice, per Mr. Trillin, “had a weird predilection for limiting our family to three meals a day.” Another charming foil is Miss F, the real star of Domesticity by Bob Shacochis. In Domesticity Mr. Shacochis shares lots of stories about Miss F, most of which end with a recipe.

I do not

I’ve been eating pizza for 50 years. I’ve had lots and lots of good pizza, some bad pizza and a fair amount that falls “in between.” And that only includes the pizzas made by others, for I’ve been making my own pies for 35 years or so. In that realm there have been a few good ones, and many that have been unremarkable.

For the past several years I’ve been curious about “the best” pizzas. Are they really good? Exceptional? Memorable?

There’s no standard for “the best,” of course. (My daughter used to be sweet on Chuck-e-Cheese pizza. I thought she wanted to play games and collect little red tickets, so she could exchange them for plastic junk I’d throw