Sourdough focaccia is bread at its most generous. Pillowy and dimpled, soaked in olive oil, studded with rosemary and flaky salt. It is the bread that makes you understand why Italians take bread seriously, why they build entire meals around it.
The sourdough starter brings complexity that commercial yeast cannot match—a subtle tang, an open crumb structure, a crust that shatters. But it also demands patience. Twenty-four hours from mixing to baking. No shortcuts, no rushing. The dough will tell you when it is ready.
This is weekend baking. You mix the dough on Saturday morning, let it ferment through the day, shape it in the evening, proof it overnight, and bake it Sunday morning. The house fills with the smell of baking bread just as everyone is waking up. It is theatre and breakfast in one.
