When I was a kid, my abuelita called the shots in the kitchen, or at least until old age got to her. A native Oaxacan, she taught me about the glorious invention that is the tlayuda, a.k.a. Mexican pizza, that makes life worth living.

At the market, she'd buy two dozen Oaxacan tortillas, roughly the size of a trucker's steering wheel, lard, and queso fresco that crumbled under the touch of a finger. Once she got home, she'd mash boiled beans with an avocado leaf in a clay pot and toss in a touch of spicy salsa roja. Then, she'd place the tlayuda over a comal, and patiently wait for it to get hot so she could spread a good layer of asiento (toasted, unrefined lard) over it, followed by the mashed beans and crumbled cheese. She died 12 years ago, and I've never come close to a version quite like hers until recently, when I stumbled onto Mexico City's Santisima Street, where expert tlayuda guru Gildardo Soto is busy making magic happen in a tiny stall.