I did not like tomato-based products growing up. Now that I think about it, I had an aversion to a lot of processed foods. They were often too bitter or too acidic or too salty. Most of all, they were too mysterious. I didn’t like things of unknown origin or composition, even homemade items. It wasn’t until I experienced the ingredients in the raw (like onions, garlic, and mushrooms) and started cooking with them that I was able to eat them in things I didn’t make.

The whole tomato-aversion thing meant my parents had to tell Domino’s I was allergic to tomatoes to ensure we got a sauce-free pizza delivered. And it meant my dad had to serve the tomato sauce (a blend of browned ground beef, Prego, and some other sauce that started with an M that I’m sure he’ll share in the comments) separate from the pasta when he made spaghetti.

This continued for me personally until I discovered a type of NY-style pizza at a strip mall near my high school in Pflugerville called Baris and at some little hole-in-the-wall along Sixth St in Austin. At both places the crust was thin and the sauce was in equal proportion to the cheese and thus sort of bonded with it, forming a very tasty cheese-sauce compound. It was as if the sauce was seasoning for the cheese, rather than a lagoon over which the cheese floated. This I think is when I started appreciating tomatoes.

At a place called Mambo’s in Sebastopol (and Santa Rosa) where they also make a very satisfying NY-style pizza, I witnessed them using a turkey baster to add a spiral of sauce on top of the cheese before it went in the oven. Why I haven’t tried that before? (Oh, probably because I don’t have a turkey baster.)

All this to say, there’s a pizzeria in San Francisco that a lot of people like (and probably an equal number hate, pizza is like that) called Little Star. They make a most unusual deep dish pizza with what I think is a most excellent cornmeal crust. The unusual part is that they build the pizza with the sauce on top, and the cheese and toppings underneath. I’m told they do this to protect the cheese from the intense heat of the oven, but that’s probably just an urban legend.

Given a choice, I still prefer Petaluma’s Old Chicago Pizza (not to be confused with the Old Chicago chain) assuming you’re A) in Petaluma and B) are willing to wait 20-30 minutes for the pizza to cook. But if you find yourself on Divisadero in San Francisco instead, do check out Little Star. It’s different, and they have Racer 5 on tap.