Short answer: it is really hard to make or at least make well enough to eat. After a long debate with myself over whether or not to make yet another batch of chocolate chip cookie dough-I mean cookies, I opted to use all my flour to make a basic foccaccia recipe. Now me and baking have not always gotten along well as baking is a science while cooking is an art. Needless to say, I disagreed with the author's recipe and went off in my own directions. It is like using the GPS--even if you don't agree, maybe, just maybe someone else knows better. I mixed and kneaded and mixed and kneaded my own worst Play-Doh nightmare, adding more water to one, then oil to another.
Somehow after my brutality, the four little balls of dough made at least a general effort to rise though not enough to make the bread light but enough that I didn't throw them all in the garbage and walk to the store. I was tempted to take a picture of them basking in the sunshine through the window, glistening with oil and rosemary but failed to get the camera out in time to capture the idyllic moment when I still thought my might taste good.
Dinner hour has rolled around and I have turned my Celsius oven on to MAX--I get up to 200 C before it just goes to MAX whatever that means. We should all have ovens that have a MAX setting. Now I cook by smell--does it smell like I want to eat it or is it on fire. Who knows. My cookie sheets are a fraction too big so they sit at a slant in the little oven, a friendly light illuminating my efforts to feed my family. I am without hope that they are edible but for a few more moments, I will sit and smell the blossoming scent of homemade bread and olive oil with a very big glass of red wine to drown my tears in afterward.
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