Gluten-Free Focaccia Recipe with Garlic + Tomato

When Steve and I were on our honeymoon we ate focaccia every morning for breakfast. After a few cappuccinos, that is. Six between us. To fortify us for the walk across the piazza to the tiny bakery. After all, we were in Italy. Doing what you do in Italy. Wake up. Rub the garlic infused sleep from your eyes. Pull on your jeans. Walk to the local espresso bar. Zip. Boom. Buon giorno!

The owner of the Podere Villuzza would greet us every morning on our way out the door, wishing us a good day, For your blue moon!

I am thinking about this honeymoon morning ritual today because our anniversary is fast approaching. March is our month. And this time around will mark our fourteenth. How is that even possible? We're just getting started. It still feels new. Even through the last year and a half- frankly, the most difficult of our marriage. The most isolated. We wonder aloud over Reisling and popcorn how we got here, how we sleepwalked into this commitment, buying this tiny casita in the middle of a windswept desert on impulse. Investing all we had in curved adobe walls and tile floors tough enough to break a hip on.

We look into each others eyes for answers. There are none.

We were bewitched, I tell my husband. We were infatuated. With the light. The summer monsoon skies. The smell of roasting chile. It was a seduction. The desert pulled us in and whispered stories in our ear, weaving her magic, making us feel as if we belonged here. Soothing our east coast gringo fears that it might be rough giving up community, giving up the quick jaunt to fetch a newspaper, grab an espresso, browse in a book store. We believed in the power of space and sky. We imagined inspiration dripping from our pores in the sandpaper heat. We embraced the notion of alchemy and willingly submitted ourselves to burn, trusting the process.

It worked for Georgia O'Keeffe.

Be careful of your heroes, I've learned- the hard way. Choose carefully. I identified so strongly with Georgia- her strength, her depression, her stubborness. Her colors. The way she painted the world. It all felt so intimate and true, so deep down familiar. And so for years I spun a narrative in my associatve brain. A dream of the desert and her earthy pigments. Images of adobe and fierce blue sky. A belief these imaginings were destiny, a trust that I was meant to live in New Mexico, that it was here I would find my home.

Because I have never felt at home.

Except in my husband's grasp. The first time I shook his hand I knew. He was my country. And so we sit together and sift through possibilities once more, this time more sober. This time without the flush and dazzle of infatuation. We speak of dreams gingerly now. Step by step. We examine and turn over each impulse looking for the hidden. The unconsidered.

We've had our place on the market for almost two years. We've lowered our price to less than what we paid for it. We sweep it and clean it everytime the realtor brings in a potential buyer. We cross our fingers. We have fallen out of love- not with each other- but with the desert. Why she clings to us we do not know. They say- down in Santa Fe- the Land of Enchantment pulls you in, and if you don't belong she spits you out. The night I fell and broke my hip- the night that changed how I navigate through the world, forever- I said to Steve, She has spit me out.

I don't belong here.

Waiting to sell, I pick through memories. I think about beginnings. Our blue moon in Italy. Biting into tender breads baked with garlic and sliced tomatoes. I decide it's time to bake a focaccia. Like the ones we ate in San Gimignano. Before we set down roots. Before we bought a house. Before we tied ourselves down to a mortgage.

I turn to my husband and tell him, I'm going to bake a focaccia today. And from now on?

Let's rent.

gluten-free focaccia dough, rising

Tomato-Garlic Focaccia - My Vegan Italian Flatbread Recipe

Flatbreads are easy to make. Don't be intimidated. You can stir up a dough, plop it into a cake pan, rise and bake it in under an hour. And it's delicious with gluten-free flours.

Turn on the oven briefly- to warm it- then turn it off.

Note: You'll need sliced fresh tomatoes and garlic for topping.

Whisk together these dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl:

1 cup sorghum flour
1 cup potato starch (not potato flour!)
1/2 cup millet flour
2 teaspoons xanthan gum
1/ 1/4 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon dried minced onion
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
2 teaspoons dried thyme
2 teaspoons dried basil

Proof the yeast in a large glass measuring cup:

Add 1 tablespoon instant dry yeast- or rapid yeast to:
1 1/4 to 1 1/3 cup warm water (at 110 degrees F)
A pinch of raw sugar

When the yeast is poofy, pour the mixture into the dry ingredients and add:

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon honey or raw agave nectar (this helps bind and keep texture moist)
1/2 teaspoon mild wine or rice vinegar (or lemon juice)
Ener-G Egg Replacer for 1 egg whisked with warm water

Stir to combine. The dough should be sticky- it doesn't really feel like typical wheat bread dough- more like a thick muffin batter.

Scoop the dough into a 9-inch cake pan dusted with cornmeal.

Using wet hands pat and shape the dough into a rounded loaf.

Top with sliced tomatoes and fresh garlic; sprinkle with extra herbs and a little sea salt. This is my focaccia before I put it into the oven.

Place the pan into the warm oven and allow it to rest and rise for 20 minutes. Turn on the oven to 375 degrees F.

Start timing the baking when the oven comes up to temperature. Once the oven is 375 degrees, put the timer on for 25 minutes. Bake until golden and firm. If you thump it it should sound hollow.

Remove from the pan as soons you can and cool it on a wire rack. Slice with a sharp bread knife.

Makes 8 wedges.

Printer-friendly recipe.

Karina's Notes-

I'm at high altitude so my focaccia took 35 minutes to bake- and this is vegan, without eggs. If you bake at a lower altitude, or you use eggs, the loaf might be done sooner- closer to 22 to 25 minutes. Keep an eye on it.

We slice the wedges in half, horizontally, and grill them in a little olive oil- scrumptious.

Slice thin wedges for serving with a dipping plate of extra virgin olive oil and a sprinkle of balsamic vinegar.

This focaccia freezes well. We thawed two wedges and sliced them; grilled them in olive oil and topped with Italian deli fixin's for an easy, simple supper.