A few weeks ago, one of my friends brought a piece of bread to a meeting. It was just plopped there, in front of her on the table. A single slice of bread. Just sitting there. Alone.
Can I taste it? I asked. Oh, sure, she said.
I tore off a hunk and popped a piece in my mouth.
Fireworks. Buttery. Light. Chewy. My eyes bugged. What the heck IS this? I mouthed across the table. Focaccia, she mouthed back. I fell back against my seat, chewing slowly and fluttering my oil-slicked fingers, trying my darndest not to slide off my chair in a puddle of ecstasy.
She gave me the recipe then, she did. Bless her heart.
After the first batch of focaccia, this is what people said:
It’s like fried bread. Wow. Can I have more? That egg sandwich was so good. It’s so light! Holy cow. That focaccia is really good. My sandwich today. . . [long sigh]. . . That bread makes the best sandwich. Is there more? What?! It’s all gone already? Nooooo! Can you make more?
I made a second batch then. We ate it last night with our baked ziti. I used the focaccia to sop up all the meaty, cheese, tomato-y juices and it was so wildly delicious it almost felt unethical.
Focaccia is supposed to be all jazzed up with herbs, cheeses, and olives and such, but so far, I’ve only made the plain version. When you find something this perfect, you don’t mess with it.
(Not yet, at least. One of these days, I might get plucky.)
This is best eaten the same day it’s made, but leftovers are wonderful as toast, or split in half to make the most fan-TAB-ulous sandwiches. Really stale focaccia makes kickass croutons (I would imagine). Another idea: cut the focaccia into long fingers for grilled cheese stick sandwiches.
I wrote that, and then of course I had to go and make grilled cheese sandwiches for supper.
Sliced focaccia with pesto, two kinds of homemade cheese, and pepperoni, mmmm.
And then it occured to me that this focaccia, sliced like so, would make the perfect base for bruscetta. Tomato season, get here NOW.
Best Focaccia In The Whole Damn World Adapted from my friend’s recipe.
I used a three-fourth sheet tray to bake this focaccia. The dough could fit in a regular half-sheet tray, but the focaccia will be thicker.
If serving focaccia for a 6:00 pm supper, start the dough by 2:00 pm.
850 grams warm water 12 grams yeast 5 grams sugar 1000 grams bread flour 20 grams salt Olive oil
In the bowl of a stand mixer (hand mixing works fine, too!), swirl the warm water with the yeast and sugar. Let rest for 5-10 minutes. Add the bread flour and salt and mix on medium speed for 4-6 minutes. The dough will be soppy wet, almost like a thick pancake batter.
Pour the dough into a bowl and cover with plastic. Let it rest for 30 minutes. Using wet hands, stretch and fold the dough about 6 times. The more you stretch it, the tighter and firmer the dough will become. Repeat this 30-minute rest followed by the stretch-and-fold treatment three more times. After the final stretch and fold, let the dough rest another 30 minutes.
Coat the bottom of a three-fourth sheet tray (or a big sided baking sheet) with a lot of olive oil. Like, start with a half cup or so. Now is not the time to be scroogy.
Pour the dough into the pan and then flip the dough so the dough’s surface is coated in oil. Gently tug the dough to fit the pan; it’s fine if the dough doesn’t perfectly reach the edges. Let the dough rest for 30 minutes. (I place mine in the oven on the “proof” setting.)
Once again, gently stretch the dough to fit the pan. Let it rest another 10 minutes, and, while waiting, preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
Now! Gently, luxuriously, deeply dimple the dough with your oiled fingers. Really get in there. If the oil has pooled in the corners of the pan, spoon it back on top of the dough, and then add more oil, if desired. Do not be shy.
Bake the focaccia for 20-30 minutes. Cut into fat squares and devour.
Cooks always act like quick-pickling veggies is simple (case in point), but I rarely do it myself because 1) it feels like an extra step, and 2) I’m never quite sure of proper ratios and correct method.
When do you let the veggies ferment at room temp and for how long? What’s the vinegar-to-water ratio? What kind of vinegar is best? How much salt? Add sugar? Don’t add sugar? Hot brine? Cold brine?
It’s the little things like this that tie me up in knots.
I still don’t know the answers to most of those questions, and I still feel like I don’t know how to make pickled jalapeños, but — guess what — I’ve got a jar of them in my fridge. This is progress.
The first time (this recipe), I used equal parts vinegar and water, and a heck of a lot of sugar. The jalapeños weren’t tangy enough, and they were too sweet and not even that spicy. But even with all those problems, I still managed to single-handedly devour half a batch in one sitting via cheesy tortilla chips. The flaws weren’t that problematic.
The second time around (maybe this recipe?), I used way more vinegar and dramatically slashed the sugar. The jalapeños were much more to my liking, and they were a lot spicier, too (which makes me wonder: does sugar cut heat?). Even so, I thought the jalapeños tasted underwhelming at first, so I tossed in a little more sugar and salt. Perked them right up, it did. Moral of the story? The recipe isn’t set in stone; adjust the ingredients to suit your tastes.
I’m not done learning about pickled jalapeños — this is less a fixed recipe and more a stepping stone so I don’t forget the learning I’ve already acquired. As my methods evolve, I’ll note improvements here. (That said, if you have a killer pickled jalapeño recipe and want to speed up my evolutionary process, please enlighten me. I’d be happy to Darwinian the heck out of these.)
One more thing. On the off-chance you’re stymied as to why one might want pickled jalapeños on hand, let me ‘splain. Pickled jalapeños are secret flavor bombs that elevate the shiz out of ordinary food: potato salad, chili, scrambled eggs, tacos, pot roast, quesadillas, subs, bean dip, tuna salad, nachos, etc, etc. Once you have them, you won’t want to be without them.
Pickled Jalapeños
8-10 jalapeños, washed 2-3 cloves garlic, smashed 1 cup white vinegar ½ cup water 2-3 teaspoons salt 2-3 teaspoons sugar
Thinly slice the jalapeños into disks, discarding the stems but leaving the seeds and pith intact. Put the jalapeños and smashed garlic in a jar.
Combine the remaining ingredients in a small saucepan, bring to a simmer, and stir to dissolve the sugar and salt. Pour the hot liquid over the vegetables. Screw on the lid and, if you want, flip the jar upside down to make sure the top veggies get good and pickled.
By the time the brine cools to room temperature, the peppers will have lost their bright green color. Transfer the jar to the fridge where the peppers should last for weeks.
