At 5:00 this morning another of my
culinary dreams came true – I baked my first real focaccia. Though it was still
dark out and I hadn’t quite yet rubbed the sleep from my eyes, the sight of
several loaves baking already assured me that there was no place I’d rather be (not
even my bed).
With the guidance of a local baker, I
combined the traditional ingredients to make the dough, substituting olive oil
where I would have used butter in my usual bread recipe and kneading it by hand
rather than throwing it in my KitchenAid. Once the dough was prepared, I
slathered on a layer of a creamy Italian cheese called Stracchino to make a
simple pizza and popped it in the oven. After several long minutes of waiting
as delicious smells emanated from the oven, the timer finally rang; while the foccacia
was still hot, we took it down to enjoy by the ocean for a sunrise breakfast.
Keeping with the baking theme, I spent
the late afternoon in another kitchen, this time baking lemon cookies. With a
little lemon juice, some zest, flour and sugar, a batch of cookies was in the
oven in a matter of minutes. I was having so much fun cooking with the baker (a
delightful man named Fausto who whistled while he worked) that we decided to
make some lattice-topped pies while the cookies baked.
When they came out of the oven, Fausto
immediately handed me one to taste, which I was all too eager to do. The
outside of the cookie was coated in sugar and lemon zest, forming a crisping
exterior that crunched before giving way to a soft, warm center, pale yellow
with bright specks of lemon zest. The flavor was subtle, the aroma fresh. It
was one of the best things I’d ever eaten.
Apparently my feelings were obvious and
moments later I was sent away with a white paper bag filled with a dozen of
them. I took them with me to snack on by the water. Sitting there with the warm
bag of cookies on my lap and the sound of the ocean hitting the rocks nearby, I
realized I was in one of life’s perfect moments. It’s a memory I will hold on
to forever.
– – –
It is impossible not to fall in love with
Cinque Terre, but as a tourist, this sort of love is often one-sided. I am
eternally grateful to the Parco Natzionale for enabling me to meet the people
of Cinque Terre on this trip, especially to enter into their kitchens, where
the heart of the culture lies. With the warmth of the oven, the comforting
smell of yeast, the familiarity of forming dough with my hands, I’ve felt at
home here making the ravioli, the focaccia and the cookies.
The kitchen is governed by a universal
language and a desire to share. That these people have allowed me, a perfect
stranger, to come into their homes and bakeries to cook with them and to taste
the recipes that have been in their families for generations means more than
any words can express. I can’t wait to bring these recipes home with me to
share with my family.
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