Cooking With Folk Magic Shorthand
I am not missing having a garden. There is so much greenery canalside it is hard to feel deprived. I might not have my woods, but a walk along the towpath yields blackberries and other practical delights. My level of deprivation might change a little come autumn when I am not cropping hazelnuts, but the green corridor of my patch is deep with benefits.
This afternoon, a quick trip across a bridge and I was able to cut fresh rosemary. This was needed for both the planned onion and red wine gravy and the focaccia. After years of not making bread, today I was ready to get my hands dirty again. Of course, with my usual overestimation of my woeful cooking skills, I decided not only to bake focaccia, but to bake focaccia stuffed with olives, chillies, cheese and sun-dried tomatoes.
When it comes to symbols of domestic rightness, few are stronger than bread. Focaccia itself comes from the words ‘focus’ and ‘fire’. Traditionally cooked on flat stones in the household’s central hearth, it is bread as the heart of home. Add in the freshly chopped rosemary and I am cooking with folk magic shorthand you can trace all the way back to the ‘Eden’ of Lake Van.
Despite a season of doubt when the dough glues my fingers together better than Spiderman’s web fluid ever could, a miracle happens. Returning from an expedition to Bayswater, my sticky ball has grown to more than three times its original size. The ever expanding blob slips gracefully from the well-oiled bowl, submits to my knocking back and folds with ease over the fragrant paste I have made to fill it. Brushed with oil and sprinkled with salt, its time in the oven makes the kitchen smell like a Ligurian bakery.
The finished result might not quite be holy focaccia, but drizzled with homemade chilli oil, it certainly earns its place on the menu.
This afternoon, a quick trip across a bridge and I was able to cut fresh rosemary. This was needed for both the planned onion and red wine gravy and the focaccia. After years of not making bread, today I was ready to get my hands dirty again. Of course, with my usual overestimation of my woeful cooking skills, I decided not only to bake focaccia, but to bake focaccia stuffed with olives, chillies, cheese and sun-dried tomatoes.
When it comes to symbols of domestic rightness, few are stronger than bread. Focaccia itself comes from the words ‘focus’ and ‘fire’. Traditionally cooked on flat stones in the household’s central hearth, it is bread as the heart of home. Add in the freshly chopped rosemary and I am cooking with folk magic shorthand you can trace all the way back to the ‘Eden’ of Lake Van.
Despite a season of doubt when the dough glues my fingers together better than Spiderman’s web fluid ever could, a miracle happens. Returning from an expedition to Bayswater, my sticky ball has grown to more than three times its original size. The ever expanding blob slips gracefully from the well-oiled bowl, submits to my knocking back and folds with ease over the fragrant paste I have made to fill it. Brushed with oil and sprinkled with salt, its time in the oven makes the kitchen smell like a Ligurian bakery.
The finished result might not quite be holy focaccia, but drizzled with homemade chilli oil, it certainly earns its place on the menu.
posted by David at 6:08 PM
11 Comments:
Oh I feel homesick now! My mother buys fresh focaccia every day when I am with her in Italy.
Have you tried adding some red peppers with the olives? yum yum
Funny how bread gives so much the idea of 'home'...its smell, its texture, the way it breaks in yor hands.
I did not have any roasted peppers or pecorino to hand unfortunately. Next time I hope to try adding both.
um... can I come for dinner? Maybe move into the kitchen? I used to get focaccia at one restaurant in Gunnison but I'm sure it's not the same as what you make. I've never seen it here.
Ohhhhh pecorino...il pecorino sardo... how can I concentrate on my own work now?
I know this will sound incredibly poncey and almost middle class, but it is actually quite difficult to get Sardinian pecorino and malloreddus in my little bit of London. I guess this may actually not be a bad thing as it keeps them feeling like glorious treats when I come across them.
And he cooks, too.
Mmmm...i love focaccia with olives and cheese on it.
with some goats cheese, thinly sliced portobello's , sundried tomatoes with rocket slowly toasted tis like angels dancing on the tip of your tongue
No bloody mushrooms thank you.
Damn, now I'm really hungry.. That sounds good.
Never made bread, but put it like that, and you've got me interested in learning.
Post the recipe! Yum, yum!
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