My Best Coping Mechanism for Navigating this Chaotic Life
When I cannot deal with whining four-year-olds; and rescheduled doctor's appointment; and swimming and music class falling on the same day, I bake bread.
Do you have any idea how easy it is to make focaccia?
I do this thing when I cannot deal with the demands of life: I cook. I make breads, and stews, and cakes. I make Indian, and Mediterranean, and Cuban. I throw myself into nourishing my family and everyone around me so that if I—let’s just say—completely forget it’s Tuesday and I’m supposed to take my children to music class after swimming lessons, no one will judge me because when I show up, I show up with zucchini cake, or sprouted lentil soup, or focaccia. Everyone loves the mom who brings delicious (and healthy!) food, right?
Bread is an insufficient catchall term for simple carbohydrates baked in any shape. We have so many words in so many languages, and I believe one reason for the robustness of language is to differentiate between sourdough, and rye, and whole wheat, and pumpernickel, and focaccia, and ciabatta, and baguettes, and brioche, and challah, and flatbread.
Much to my husband’s dismay, I’m adamant about calling each bread by its Proper Name. Lucky for him, I have—up to this point—stuck to making run-of-the-mill sourdough. That all changed this weekend, though.
I passed some of my sourdough starter along to a friend a few weeks ago. Last week, she sent me a photo of a puffy piece of focaccia, stuffed with garlic and speckled with fresh rosemary. It’s my favorite thing I’ve made so far, she texted. She passed along the recipe, and on the Saturday before Easter, I got straight to work.
Focaccia is a flat, leavened Italian bread. It comes in many styles from savory with garlic, salt, and herbs to sweet with sugar and raisins. In my brief dive into the history and etymology of focaccia (the word is derived from the Latin word focus, which is what they called the hearth), I learned focaccia is a traditional Easter gift from godparents to their godchildren. And I thought, wow, I intuitively know which bread goes with which holiday. I must be the Queen of Breadland or Panlandia or something.
Let. Me. Tell. You. In a world where Americans are still cutting carbohydrates as the way to weight loss, this sheet of olive-oil-doused, flaky-salt-dusted, roasted-garlic bread should be illegal.
I am not a food blogger, but making focaccia makes me wish I were. My favorite recipes are usually the ones I simplify so much they no longer resemble the 9,000-word blog post from which they came. Thus, I cannot be a food blogger, as the primary job requirement is to write as much superfluous information as possible.
With flour, water, salt, honey, olive oil, garlic, and the herb of your choice, you too can find divine satisfaction in a fresh sheet pan of focaccia.
There’s just one catch, you need a sourdough starter. WHICH, I am absolutely eager to mail you if you become a paid subscriber to this newsletter. (Seriously, just email me and we will make this happen.)
If you want a spiritual experience straight from your oven, here’s what you need to do:
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