focaccia, where it all begun

Baking is a passion that comes from afar. I started mixing doughs of flour, water, and yeast about 5 years ago. And since then, despite much inconsistency, I can say I’ve never stopped. There’s something extremely relaxing and pure about feeling the flour slip through your fingers.

Perhaps I like the idea that it’s an object of potential: at first glance, you might say it’s ‘just flour,’ but look at what it can give you when mixed with the right things.

Baking relaxes me. Sure, it can also frustrate me like few other things when, after spending entire weekends on a recipe, the result is a failure. But it has taught me not to give up. It has taught me patience and that even with the perfect recipe, there will always be some uncertainty. Just as life: we control much less than we think.

The first type of bread I learned to make was focaccia. It’s a type of Italian bread, generally used for appetizers or as a quick lunch, often sliced in half and filled. There are various types and consistencies, and just as many debates about which is the best. My choice is simple: all and none. There have been times when I loved the tall and soft focaccia, like the one from Bari, and other times when I craved a thinner and crispier focaccia, like the ones from Liguria or Tuscany.

With focaccia, my journey of discovering flours and their strengths began. Never in my life did I think I would browse entire shelves of flours and read their protein percentages, despairing every time I couldn’t find the right one, and thus touring neighborhood supermarkets and beyond to get my flour.

Yes, it was a matter of life or death. And still is.