My focaccia-making began uneventfully. First, I stirred together high-gluten flour, salt and yeast, then I added olive oil and water, mixing it all together to form a wet, sticky ball.
After much more mixing, the dough became smooth and sticky.
I took it out of the mixing bowl and formed the dough into a rectangle and let it rest for a few minutes.
Then that had to rest for quite a bit more before more stretching, folding and resting.
While this stretching and fermenting was happening, I started on the fixings that would gussy up my bread.
You see, I’d decided to use my focaccia for an international BLT lunch-date I’d hatched with two food bloggers in San Diego and Paris.
So I was determined to go for MAXIMUM flavor when it came to my focaccia toppings.
I warmed up some olive oil, then chopped up some fresh basil and mixed it together with coarse sea salt, dried garlic, fennel seeds, cayenne pepper, paprika, onion powder and black pepper. When the olive oil had cooled, I mixed in the herb mixture and set that aside.
… so I very, very gingerly transferred it off the counter and onto a sheet pan that I’d coated with olive oil.
Next, I wrapped it up and refrigerated it overnight.
By the next morning, the dough had absorbed most of the herbed oil.
At this point, the recipe says you can use more herb oil to coat the dough.
dump on the rest of the herb oil I’d made, even if it meant I ended up with a dough that was swimming in so much oil the basil and fennel bobbing about resembled bits of debris, floating down a river.
… and, into the oven it went.
Now, I’d been nervous about making focaccia because it bakes at 450 degrees F.
If you’ve been following my bread-baking adventures, you might recall that the last time I made a bread that baked at that high a temperature, my apartment had filled with smoke and I’d ended up with blackened, rock-hard loaves of ciabatta.
Oh, the ego-crushing devastation!
So, when I started hearing intense sizzling coming from within the oven and clouds of whitish smoke started filling my living room, I began to worry.
From the little peeks I made into the oven, I gathered that the herb oil was bubbling over and sizzling. Not good.
When I started coughing and Mike had to leave because his eyes were stinging, I figured it was probably time to take the focaccia out, even if there were still a few minutes of baking time on the clock.
But in the end, the focaccia tasted lovely — far tastier than most store-bought versions I’ve had. (If I do say so myself.) It also made a fantastic canvas for a BLT sandwich, I’ll tell you.
In my bid to achieve MAXIMUM flavor by being greedy and dumping heaps of herb oil onto the bread, however, I’d made it just a hair too oily — something to avoid the next time I make focaccia.
It’ll probably be better for my lungs, too.