More bread. I'm very hormonal about cooking, by which I don't mean that I want to cook myself a chocolate cake, but that I swing form wild optimism to crushing self doubt.
I'm currently convinced that baking bread is actually very easy and virtually foolproof, but I know myself well enough to realize that self confidence can and will be taken away randomly and quickly, so I just had to ride the wave!
Here's an example of what I am talking about - on the day we arrived back in London I dropped my bags in the doorway, strolled into the kitchen and mixed a batch of focaccia dough from Supper Club cookbook. I was in a great mood, all sunburn tingly and still slightly drunk from the plane. The recipe is for focaccia shots, so you are meant to divide the dough into little balls, but I didnt do this and instead made a couple of really big balls. Yes to big balls, this is what you get
Not really focaccia, the texture is moist and light but too soft to be what I consider to be focaccia. Having said this, it's delicious - the bottoms, which have been resting on an oiled tray in the oven are crispy and unctious and there is a light, fresh taste of olive oil throughout. Definitely getting copied into my little spiral bound recipe book.
Fast forward to the next day. I stumbled home from work, kicked my handbag under the table and crawled in to the kitchen to make Antonio Carluccio's focaccia from Complete Italian Food. The main difference with this recipe was that the dough was only given one rise. I don't know if that's because nobody bothered to test the recipe or if the resultant 'loaf' is really meant to be a hard, dense cracker, but it totally killed my buzz. No more bread making. Go away and leave me alone.
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