A journal of our two-year-long, honeymoon adventures in Liguria, Italy.
Friday, April 17, 2009
We live in the world center of focaccia production and as such, have grown quite accustomed to its light, perfectly oiled and salted taste. True Ligurian focaccia is nothing like the puffy, Uno pizzeria-like junk found back in the States, which I never much cared for and which Martello even claims he will no longer ingest. Thus, given the fact that our time in Italia is likely half way through, Trofie Wife believed it was important to perfect her focaccia making so that we won't be forced to eat dreck when we settle back home. After one failed attempt at a sweet focaccia (most of the blame can be laid at the foot of the wrong kind of yeast (for angel food cake), purchased in haste back in December), I managed to make a perfectly beautiful tray of normale. So perfect, in fact, that I had to wake up Martello after he had fallen asleep (typical) so he could have a bite.
Below, please see my triumph.
I promise it will not supplant the cupcakes in my repetoire, but I'll try to make it a staple for any future housewarmings, dinner parties, potlucks, or castle stormings.