In a big bowl, mix the flour, salt, sugar, and yeast. Add the warm water and olive oil, then mix till it comes together into a shaggy dough.

Turn it onto the counter and knead for about 8–10 minutes.

Yes, it’s a workout. Yes, you deserve snacks later.

You want it smooth, soft, and slightly springy. If it’s sticky, sprinkle a little flour—but don’t go wild. We want soft dough, not a brick.

Place it in an oiled bowl, cover it, and let it rise somewhere warm for about an hour, or until doubled in size.

Go scroll. Go clean nothing. Go live your life.

In a small bowl, mix the crushed tomatoes, garlic, a pinch of salt, black pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil.

That’s it.

No cooking. No sugar. No 17 spices fighting each other. This sauce is fresh, bright, and chill—just like we’re trying to be.

Taste it. Adjust. Trust your tongue.

Preheat your oven to 475°F (245°C). Hot oven = happy pizza.

Punch down the dough (very satisfying), then stretch it gently into a circle.

No rolling pin unless you absolutely must. We want air in the crust—she deserves to puff.

If it’s not a perfect circle, congratulations, you made it authentic.

Place it on a baking sheet or parchment paper. Drizzle lightly with olive oil.

Spread a thin layer of sauce over the dough. Thin, babe. This isn’t soup night.

Add the mozzarella—scatter it, don’t smother it. We want pockets of cheese, not a blanket situation.

Finish with a tiny drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of salt.

Basil comes after baking. Trust me.

Slide that beauty into the oven and bake for 10–14 minutes, depending on your oven.

You’re looking for:

golden crust

bubbling cheese

little charred spots that scream “restaurant energy”

If your oven has a hot spot, rotate the pan halfway through. No one likes uneven tanning.

Once it’s out, immediately add fresh basil leaves. They’ll wilt just enough and smell unreal.

Let the pizza rest for 2–3 minutes.

I know. It’s hard. But molten cheese burns are not cute.

Slice. Serve. Admire your work like the legend you are.