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.