Today I tried making focaccia from scratch for the first time, and the process felt more like meditation than cooking. The dough was sticky and warm under my palms, slightly elastic as I pressed my fingertips into it to create those signature dimples. I'd watched a dozen videos, but nothing prepared me for the tactile pleasure of working with something that alive. The olive oil pooled in the little wells I made, glinting gold under the kitchen light, and I scattered coarse salt and rosemary on top, trying not to overthink the spacing.

When it baked, my apartment filled with that unmistakable yeast-and-herb smell that reminded me instantly of a small bakery my grandmother used to take me to on Saturday mornings. She'd always order the same thing—a square of plain focaccia and a tiny espresso—and we'd sit by the window watching people pass. I hadn't thought about that place in years, but suddenly I could picture the way she'd tear off a corner of bread and hand it to me, still too hot to hold comfortably, the steam curling up between us.

Mine didn't turn out perfect. I pulled it from the oven a few minutes too early, worried I'd burn the bottom, so the center stayed a bit soft and pale instead of golden all the way through. But when I tore off a piece and tasted it—the crisp salt crystals, the slight bitterness of rosemary, the tender, airy crumb—I felt an unexpected swell of pride. It tasted like effort, like patience, like something I'd actually made with my own hands.

I saved half the loaf for tomorrow and ate the rest standing at the counter, dipping torn pieces into olive oil mixed with balsamic vinegar. The aftertaste was faintly herbal, grassy almost, and I noticed my shoulders had dropped, my breathing had slowed. Maybe that's what people mean when they talk about comfort food—not just flavor, but the act of creating something simple and warm, something that connects you to a memory or a person you miss.

I also learned that I need a better oven thermometer. My oven runs hot on the left side, which explains why the edges browned faster than the middle. Small detail, but it matters. I'll adjust next time, maybe rotate the pan halfway through. For now, I'm just glad I tried.

#food #baking #focaccia #homemade #cooking