Focaccia
Annie & Alison Newsletter #24
Life is often a lot like making focaccia bread. From the very beginning, you’re full of doubt. For one thing, the ingredients seem insufficient for the task. You struggle to imagine how tiny grains of yeast, water, oil, and flour can possibly form a pillowy dough large enough to fill a baking sheet. The tools before you feel lacking, which somehow translates to the lie that you, yourself, are lacking. A lie so potent, you consider forgoing bread for dinner altogether. I mean, think of the carbs.
But also, think of all those delicious carbs. Remember what Jill said: “Failure is where character is formed.” Make the bread, learn the lesson, let the yeast do what it was created to do. So you begin to whisk. Whisking water, yeast, and oil until well combined, nothing you haven’t done before.
Now to add the flour. Five cups of bread flour. You scoop one half cup at a time, feigning carefulness, respect for the craft. When really one large dumping of flour would yield the same result.
You put your whole body to work, leaning into the stirring, the scraping up of dry bits of flour, the combining of a craggy mess. Everything’s a mess. Where’s my apron?
Doubt creeps in again. That’s a lot of dry flour for that amount of liquid. Now for a big decision: follow your instinct and add a teaspoon of water for those last grains of flour, or forgo it for the sake of following instructions. What happens when the rules go against your sense of right and wrong? Which do you discard? Worry about the moral implications of that question later. You’re making focaccia, remember? You add the teaspoon of water before you can face more doubt, and move onto what you, and the bread, require: rest.
Rest for a whole hour. Cover it with plastic and let time carry the weight of the process. Sometimes doing nothing is the most productive decision of all. Funny how often you forget that fact
An hour later, and the dough has indeed doubled in size. You sprinkle your counter with flour and knead the dough, pushing it with your palm and letting it fold onto itself. Over and over, and quickly, until the surface appears smooth and elastic. You coat the bowl with olive oil and put the dough back down for another nap.
Light, airy, and sticky, you turn the dough out on a well-oiled baking sheet, pushing it out to the edges, so it can rest for one final hour. If there’s one lesson to learn from bread, it’s that good things happen to those who nap.
Turn on the oven, slice an onion, have flaky salt and more oil at the ready. You play the risen dough like a piano, plucking keys, pressing your fingertips to dimple the surface. Scatter the remaining ingredients and watch as the bread turns a golden brown. As you spy on the baking bread, you wonder why you ever doubted those tiny grains of yeast. After all, you’ve been told your whole life that, “though she be little, she is fierce.”
I’ve been cooking these last two weeks! The reviewed recipe round-up includes:
146 recipes cooked, 79 to go.
During this week of cooking…
I learned… that “short rib” is a misnomer. Imagine a rack of beef ribs. A string of bones connected by sinews with a thin layer of chewy meat on top. Now think of short ribs. Tender meat stands tall atop a long line of bones, with layers of fat interrupting the surface. In other words, short ribs are not shorter at all! Do not be fooled, friends, by the height of the meat. A butcher’s vocabulary will always remain a partial mystery to me.
I listened… to an episode of Brene Brown’s podcast, “Unlocking Us,” where she interviews therapist Esther Perel about how our pasts shape our relationships, and the importance of embracing paradox. Get ready to feel like you’ve been both slapped (lightly) and hugged (fiercely).
I also listened… to another mind-bending podcast episode of John Mark Comer’s “Live No Lies” series. In it he interviews theologian Dr. Nancy Pearcey about Personhood Theory and its effects on gender, sex, and human rights. What does it look like to truly love, and glorify, the human body? Pearcey argues that the Bible, of all books, does just that. I haven’t stopped thinking about this episode since I listened.
I read… and received a card in the mail from one of my dearest friends. Her letter reminisced about our college memories in the Fall… long walks through the leaves and excitement over sweaters and chunky scarves. So much of life has changed since then. She has a precious daughter now, and the card included a Polaroid of her. I wish I could watch her grow up on a daily basis. At the end of the letter, she made me feel seen and remembered. An unexpected gift for this tired gal.
Take naps.
xo,
Annie