Last Sunday we had planned to go to the beach, instead the black sky gave us rain and hail. It seemed to have jumped back in November. A day at home when you have planned to spend it outside can however reveal an unforeseen present.
And so last Sunday morning I decided to cook something that needs time and attentions, that rises with no hurry whilst you do something else, something to peep out from time to time to check what’s going on and that, at the end, when it comes out from the oven, it fully rewards the long wait.
Sweet focaccia was on my mind since a long time. As all the ingredients were in the fridge already (even the milk cream, surprisingly) I took this wonderful opportunity to bake it.
Sweet focaccia is good, very good.
Its consistency is the same of the typical focaccia of Genova, but slightly more melting due to the butter in the dough.
At each bite the caster sugar creaks under the teeth whilst the butter on the surface – which have melted in the oven – goes out of the holes where it nestled slipping away between tongue and palate.
And once again ‑invariably ‑ the magic alchemy that eggs, sugar and butter create when used in making breads repeats so that sweet focaccia tastes of pan brioche, straight out.
One more thing: sweet focaccia needs to be eaten warm because any glorious bite must be announced by its fragrant scent of old-time sweets.
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