I banked my evening post on some cast iron skillet focaccia bread. The plan was to bake a zesty round of generously seasoned pan bread, a twelve inch disc of leavened goodness, baked to perfection in the oven and sliced up for some Friday night snacking.
I followed a simple recipe: some flour, yeast, olive oil, spices, salt, water… you know how this goes.
Mixed, I set it all aside to rise.
I waited.
I watched.
I put it into the proofing drawer of my oven.
I waited some more.
I think my failing was relying on store bought yeast. I would have gone the sourdough starter route, but I dreamed up this plan in the afternoon and was hoping for a Friday treat.
The darned thing never rose.
I turned into a cold, wet, oily ball of dough with so little going for it that six hours later I’m pretty much resigned to cooking it up and seeing what happens.
And whatever happens will definitely not be focaccia.