Focaccia

Today's cookery lesson: making focaccia. There were elements of this that the Boy Wonder didn't like - most notably, getting his hands into the gloopy flour and water to mix it - but other parts he enjoyed very much: measuring tablespoonsful of olive oil into the mixture (with an extremely liberal hand), kneading the dough, poking dimples into it once it had risen in the cake tin, and sprinkling over salt, rosemary and more olive oil before it went into the oven for baking. It was quite a messy procedure, but we all had fun, and once again B helped with the clearing up afterwards.

Better yet, the bread was delicious. We served it at dinner time, alongside the smoked salmon and salad we always have on Christmas Eve, and by the end of the meal there were only a couple of pieces left. We used Wright's garlic and rosemary focaccia mix, by the way, which I happily recommend.

Looking at this photo reminds me suddenly of the conversation B and I had had in the car about an hour earlier. Noticing a nostril being mined by a fat forefinger, I nudged him and said "No picking!" "I weren't pickin'," was the stern reply. "Yes you were," I said. "I saw you picking!" "I was not pickin'," replied the Boy with injured dignity. "I was pushin' it back in."

You'll be glad to hear that he washed his hands between the pushin' and the kneadin'.