Pumpkin Bread

I know that I have been a neglectful blogger lately, but with work and the holidays and all it's been a bit hard. But I'm not here to make excuses. I'm here to tell you, or at least to strongly suggest that you make this pumpkin bread. Why? Because the season for pumpkin bread is here, and with fall nothing more than a not-so-distant memory at this point, it won't be here for much longer. And because it's so easy that I feel like a fool for not having made it before. It's a great cold-weather alternative to banana bread, and takes arguably even less effort to make, considering the pumpkin is already pureed for you (if you choose to go the canned pumpkin route, which I did, and why not?).



This pumpkin bread is so quick to put together that you really don't need to plan ahead much at all for it. If you get a hankering for warm autumnal scents permeating your home, this bread can be whipped up in ten minutes flat. You'll be rewarded for your ten minutes effort with a moist, warm, deeply flavored bread that will make you feel at home, no matter where you are.

Sure, pumpkin bread (much like banana bread) is nothing more than cake-in-bread's-clothing, but on a chilly winter's morning, there's no need to justify thinly-veiled cake for breakfast. Faintly sweet, wonderfully, but not overwhelmingly spicy, it's the type of bread that vanishes faster than you'd ever think possible.




Pumpkin Bread
adapted from this recipe from King Arthur Flour

This recipe makes a couple of loaves, which is convenient for those times when you want to leave a loaf with your parents and take another loaf to a lovely holiday brunch.

I found the chocolate chips to be a little bit overwhelming in the amounts originally called for in the recipe, since their strong flavor overpowered the subtly spiced bread at times. I think a better move is to add more nuts than chocolate, which I've reflected in the recipe below. The bread would be great without any chocolate at all as well, since it's sweet enough and rich enough without it.

1 cup vegetable oil
2 2/3 cups sugar
4 large eggs
2 cups pumpkin (NOT pumpkin pie filling)
2/3 cup water
3 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cup pecans (can substitute walnuts), toasted and cooled, chopped
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, cream together the oil and sugar. Beat in eggs, pureed pumpkin and water. In another large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and vanilla. Add the flour mixture to the oil and sugar, stirring to blend, then mix in the chocolate chips and nuts.

Spoon the batter evenly into two lightly greased 9 x 5-inch loaf pans. Bake the bread for 1 hour, or until a cake tester inserted in the center of loaf comes out clean. Remove the bread from the oven, and cool it in the pan on a wire rack for about 15 minutes, then remove the bread from the loaf pans and cool bread on wire rack. When it's completely cool, wrap it well in plastic wrap, and store it overnight before serving, which, difficult as it may be, really allows the flavors to deepen and is really worth it.

[Note: the recipe includes an optional glaze, but I don't really see any reason for it. Sure, for presentation's sake it gives it a bit of a 'wow' element, but the bread is sweet enough as is, and I just don't see the icing as a worthwhile addition. However, should you wish to drizzle some atop (just don't go overboard), whisk together a cup of confectioner's sugar, 2 tablespoons of melted butter and a tablespoon of milk, and drizzle atop the bread just before serving.]

Honey Cake

Tradition is an interesting thing. We perpetuate certain ideals, advocate certain processes, even propogate lies, all in the name of "tradition." It provides a basis for the continued existence of certain items, techniques or processes that might have otherwise fallen by the wayside as the underappreciated victims of social darwinism.

But we humans are emotional beings, a feature with which the rational actor model is still grappling. Certain traditions, yes, are rooted in fact or in religious circumstance, but some happenings take place time after time, year after year, just because that's the way it always was, or how it had always been done before.

Because of these emotional connections we often feel towards the traditional, we frequently tend to just accept tradition as is, and don't question at all the reasons why we do what we do or how we do it or why we've adopted a particular means of accomplishing the end result of whatever the tradition in question may be.

One such tradition is the consumption of honey around the Jewish New Year (yes, I HAVE waited that long to write this post - please forgive me). There is a definite reason why honey finds its way to the Rosh Hashanah table - it is meant as a symbol of the sweetness we hope to experience in the coming year. Honey makes its way to the table in various forms, though most typically in a shallow dish in which we dip slice after slice of apple, which is always delicious in its simplicity. The other most common vehicle for honey around the high holidays is the ubiquitous honey cake. Dense, deep...dense honey cake.



There are few redeeming features of a typical honey cake. Actually, I might take that back - there is one redeeming feature of most honey cakes - the very top crust. Soaked through and through with honey, the top layer is rich, sweet and oh so deliciously sticky. The rest of the cake, though, forget about it. Dry, dense, the rest of your standard rosh hashanah honey cake is a waste of time, really. But that top layer - the top layer of any honey cake around our house at the holidays is just ripe for the picking, my attempts at denial rendered futile by my sticky fingers. The rest of that cake, though, just sits there, and sits there, and sits there. The funny thing about honey cake is that it really takes forever to go stale - with all the honey and sugar and oil it stays just as moist as it was on day one (which is to say, not all that moist) for far longer than most other cakes. And so it can sit there, on the counter, no less, and taunt you, with it's deep, dark color, as if to say "I could be delicious, why don't you just grab another little bit," for upwards of a week.

Tradition dictates that we have honey cake on the table each and every year. We don't question it, don't second guess it. There has been honey cake on the table every year prior, why stop this year? But why can't we question the honey cake itself. If it has to be on the table, can't it at least be delicious? Anything based around something as sweet and pure an ingredient as honey should certainly have the potential to taste fabulous. So I set out on a search to find a delicious honey cake, one with certain ingredients that would add a depth of flavor and prevent the cake from being cloyingly sweet - one that would allow the honey to shine, rather than to overpower. And I found it, with a four-fork rating on epicurious. I figured, if any honey cake could be so universally approved, it had to be good. But there was still a part of me that thought legitimately good, or is it good for honey cake? The ingredient list looked like it would balance out the intense sweetness of the honey, with citrusy notes from the orange juice, aumtumnal spices and a deep richness from the coffee. And it did not disappoint.

This honey cake will change your mind about honey cake. A new tradition began at our house this high holiday season: a tradition of truly delicious honey cake, one that we will all look forward to on the dessert table at the holidays, and not just one that sits on the table because it should. A honey cake that is happily eaten, top to bottom.



Marcy Goldman's Majestic and Moist New Year's Honey Cake
from A Treasury of Jewish Holiday Baking, recipe also availabe here

Ingredients
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cup vegetable oil
1 cup honey
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup warm coffee or strong tea
1/2 cup fresh orange juice
1/4 cup rye or whisky (I subbed orange juice, as my whiskey was dreadfully close to empty, and well, I wanted it)
1/2 cup slivered or sliced almonds (I went without)

Method

I like this cake best baked in a 9-inch angel food cake pan, but you can also make it in a 10-inch tube or bundt cake pan, a 9 by 13-inch sheetpan, or three 8 by 4 1/2-inch loaf pans.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Lightly grease two loaf pan(s)*.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and spices. Make a well in the center and add the oil, honey, sugars, eggs, vanilla, coffee, orange juice, and rye or whisky.

Using a strong wire whisk or an electric mixer on slow speed, combine the ingredients well to make a thick batter, making sure that no ingredients are stuck to the bottom of the bowl.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan(s) and sprinkle the top of the cake(s) evenly with the almonds. Place the cake pan(s) on 2 baking sheets stacked together and bake until the cake springs back when you touch it gently in the center. For angel and tube cake pans, bake for 60 to 70 minutes; loaf cakes, 45 to 55 minutes. For sheet-style cakes, the baking time is 40 to 45 minutes. This is a liquidy batter and, depending on your oven, it may need extra time. Cake should spring back when gently pressed.

Let the cake stand for 15 minutes before removing it from the pan. Then invert it onto a wire rack to cool completely.

* You can also use a tube or angel food pan for this cake.

Banana Bread

I tend not to cook the same recipe twice. It's not a hard and fast rule I have, or something that I do intentionally, but there are so many recipes out there, so many things I have yet to try my hand at, that it seems almost a waste to retrace steps I've already taken. Sure there are things I cook for myself all the time, such as the less-than-stellarly-healthful french toast with caramelized bananas that I've developed a penchant for as a late dinner, but that's not really what I'm talking about. I'm talking about meals that you don't just make, but plan ahead to compose.

Pastas, eggs, sandwiches; these aren't things for which I need to rely on recipes to make.

But cakes, for instance, require a recipe. I just don't know off hand the precise measurements required in order to make something rise. And, unlike cooking, baking requires more precise measurements, since there's science and shit working inside that oven. Chemical reactions are required to make cakes rise, to make cookies puff, and if the proportions aren't right, then you wind up with cakes that sink and cookies that spread far too much. But with so many recipes out there, why eat the same thing twice? Sure there are classics, and I am sure that there will be some that I remake over and over again, but likely not until I've done enough experimenting to be sure that the particular incarnation really is the best of the best.

Sometimes, though, there are recipes that I come back to time and time again.

Some of my staple meals have spillover effects. For instance, to afford myself the ability to make my fall-back dinner of french toast and bananas whenever the craving hits, I tend to keep both challah an bananas around my kitchen at most times. While the french toast tends to get better as the challah gets stale (provided I don't get home from the bar a little, uh, hungry, and house half a loaf, and actually give it a chance to get to the stale stage, that is), the bananas are another matter. I'll only buy a couple of them at a time, but it's still rare that I actually go through all of them before they're overripe and past the point where they're acceptable for use with french toast. You'd think I'd learn and just buy one at a time from the fruit guy on the corner, but no, that would actually be wise. So I'll usually throw a couple in the fridge - the skins will turn brown, but the fruit itself is none the worse for wear.



While overripe bananas aren't the greatest in their unadulterated form, it's a well-known fact that the riper the banana, the better it is for baking. The browner they are, the spottier they are, the sweeter they are, and this sweetness really comes through in the baking process. The texture, which is what I think most of us find unappealing about the brown-speckled banana, is not an issue in baking, since the banana is mercilessly smashed, is form sacrificed for its better attributes: its moisture and the sweet, delicate, subtle flavor that is so basic to all of us.

This constant excess of bananas means that I need to find ways to use them, lest they meet the sacrilegious end of the trash can, which is just far too much for me to bear. Typically, this leads to banana bread.

Banana bread is without equal in the world of baked goods. It's so familiar that just the smell of it baking away in the oven is enough to instill warmth within your being. The fact that it's termed a "bread" despite having all the same ingredients (usually) as a cake, and the presence of the word "banana" - a real, honest-to-goodness fruit - in its name even allows you to convince yourself into thinking you're being virtuous for having a slice.

While, as I mentioned, I tend not to make the same recipe twice, banana bread, and this banana bread in particular, is one of those exceptions. When you want banana bread, there's just nothing else that comes close - there are simply no substitutes. And when extra bananas are lying around, there are few things to do with them as enjoyable as turning them into banana bread - sure cookies are cool, and I suppose muffins have their place, but there are just no substitutes when banana bread beckons. In fact, there may actually be no higher honor to an extra banana than playing a leading role in the making of banana bread.

I have tried a lot of banana bread recipes over the last few years, but this one has become my go-to. It's a veritable breeze to put together, the batter takes all of three minutes - max- to put together, and the fact that there's no fat in it makes me feel a little bit better about constantly having some around. Oh, it's also delicious, by the way, and it takes to freezing exceptionally well, so leftovers are not an issue.

It also happens to be an amazing companion to the salted caramel custard from a little place I may have mentioned here before. The last time I had the custard in my freezer I made the mistake (or had the ingenious idea) of throwing together a batch of banana bread. And when I was left in my apartment, working, all Memorial Day weekend, while all of my friends were traipsing around tri-state-area beaches, with nothing but my laptop, some banana bread and a pint of salted caramel custard, I may have developed an unhealthy affinity for banana bread and salted caramel custard sandwiches. What do you want from me? If I was going to be sitting home, drafting documents all weekend, I was going to gorge on banana bread and salted caramel custard sandwiches to my little heart's content - and don't judge me - I do not regret a second of it. I did, however, learn the danger of having both items in my general vicinity at once.

But I digress. This recipe is a keeper, an honest-to-goodness go-to. And while I will undoubtedly stray from it in the future, and I will try other banana breads, I don't doubt that I will continue to fall back on this recipe. It's simplicity and relative healthfulness, and it's wonderful results, have solidified its status as a standby in the kitchen of Shelbs & Cheese.

Banana Bread with Cinnamon Sugar Topping



Adapted from Everybody Likes Sandwiches

Banana bread, and this recipe in particular, is infinitely adaptable. It has no fat or oil of which to speak, so if you're feeling something more healthful, just cut back on the sugar and leave out the chocolate - it's still delicious. And you can enjoy it knowing that it won't leave you feeling all weighed down, or, worse, guilty. And if you're feeling some spice, go ahead -throw in some cloves, some cinnamon, hell, go nuts - add some ginger. Or if you just want to call a spade a spade (or a cake a cake), just whip together some cream cheese frosting and go to town.

Since this recipe has no oil or butter, really, really ripe bananas are necessary for it to achieve its great moistness. So let those bananas get really spotty, and then let them go a couple more days. You won't regret it.

The original recipe calls for an 8x8 square pan. I do not have such a pan, but have a 9x9 square pan. I have tried it in the larger square pan, in two loaf pans, and in a 9 inch circular cake pan. The circular pan has yielded my favorite results thus far, I think because the extra height keeps the cake nice and moist, but play around with it. You really can't go wrong.

3 really ripe bananas, mashed (I've made the recipe with two large bananas with good results, though 3 is certainly preferable)
2 large eggs
1 1/2 c flour
1 1/4 c sugar
1 t baking soda
1 t vanilla
1 T cinnamon
3/4 c chocolate chips

3/4 c chopped walnuts (optional - though I can't do without them)
2 T sugar mixed with 1/2 t cinnamon, for topping

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Mix mashed bananas with eggs and stir well to combine. Add the flour, sugar, baking soda, vanilla, and cinnamon and mix well with a wooden spoon or rubber/silicone spatula. Add the walnuts, if using, and all but about 2-3 tablespoons of the chocolate chips into the batter.


Pour batter into a buttered square (or circular, if you so desire) cake pan. Sprinkle the entire surface with the cinnamon-sugar mix and dot the surface with the remaining chocolate chips.

Bake at 375 for 35-40 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into cake comes out clean.

Spices of the Season

There are some flavors you feel comfortable eating all year. Vanilla, chocolate, peanut butter, meat (meat's a flavor, right? That's what I thought) to name a few. Some flavors, however, have such a strong seasonal connotation that they're seemingly relegated to being consumed during only a limited few weeks every year. Pumpkin is one such flavor. Yes, obviously this has to do with the seasonality of the gourd and the fact that it's a symbol of the bounty of fall harvest. Pumpkin is so strongly tied to autumn and Thanksgiving that it seems just plain wrong when eaten any other time. Pumpkin in spring is so out of context that it just doesn't make sense. Pumpkin isn't even on my flavor radar (fladar?) in May.

It's sometimes hard to figure out why some flavors don't translate well among seasons. We've clearly reached a stage with technological advances in food that it's beyond possible to artificially create any flavor imaginable any time of year. And the flavor of pumpkin that we crave isn't really the pumpkin itself, but the spices with which it has become so inextricably linked with thanks to countless renditions of pumpkin pie year after year after year. This is not to say that I think we should be artificially re-creating pumpkin flavors and genetically altering the gourd family just so that we can enjoy pumpkin-flavored desserts year-round, I just find it odd that most people rarely crave pumpkin spice goods at other times of year.



It is this same air of seasonal-exclusivity of pumpkin-spice treats that make them that much more special. They're firmly tied to Thanksgiving, which is probably my favorite holiday of them all. The air around you at this time of year also seems spicier, though I can't really pinpoint why; I imagine it has to do with all the roasting nuts and the knowledge that somewhere, at that very moment, there is a roaring fire going, even if you're not the one seated in front of it. Were we to enjoy pumpkin spice all year round, it would not have this same association, and it would lose some of its charm and crave-ability. It's quite rare that a flavor has such a widely-held element of nostalgia, that so many people around the country have the same association and can have these same warm memories conjured up by a simple taste of pumpkin spice. Even those that don't like pumpkin pie are often hard-pressed to deny the allure of the spice.

That's why, when my parents' anniversary rolled around at the end of last month, a pumpkin spice cake seemed like a perfect choice to celebrate (that, and my mother loves spice cakes). A pumpkin spice cake in the middle of autumn is a sure-fire winner, and though the heyday of fall is behind us, I see no reason to not extend the pumpkin-spiceness of the season just a little bit. As long as the air is still more crisp than cold, and as long as the pumpkins and squash line the stalls of the farmers market, it's pumpkin spice season (and I figure as long as the pumpkin spice custard is on the menu at the Shake Shack, we're in the clear anyway). Pumpkin spice is just that much more special in November and December than it is in March, so heed my advice and make this cake -stat! - you will not regret it.



Pumpkin Spice Cake with Caramel Cream Cheese Frosting

from Bon Appetit, November 2008

This cake is truly fantastic. The cake itself is supremely moist and has a subtle but wholly recognizable spice to it. The addition of caramel tempers the cream cheese frosting, which might otherwise have overwhelmed the rather delicate spices of the cake. The caramel deepens the flavor of the frosting, making it less cloying and more subtle than your typical cream cheese frosting. I burned my caramel just a tad, but I took the chance and mixed it in anyway, and this actually added a nuttiness and complexity to the icing that I quite enjoyed. This recipe makes more than enough frosting, so don't worry about running out when icing the bottom layer.

Ingredients:

For the Cake:
3 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 15-ounce can pure pumpkin
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/4 cups vegetable oil
4 large eggs
2 teaspoons finely grated orange peel

For the Frosting:
1 1-pound box powdered sugar, divided
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon heavy whipping cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 8-ounce package cream cheese, room temperature
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
Candied orange peel* (note: I used candied ginger; feel free to use either or neither according to your taste)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour two 9-inch cake pans with 1 1/2-inch-high sides, tapping out any excess flour. Whisk first 9 ingredients in large bowl. Using electric mixer, beat pumpkin, sugar, and oil in another large bowl. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating to incorporate between additions. Mix in orange peel. Add flour mixture; beat on low speed just to blend. Divide batter between prepared pans.

Bake cakes until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 33 minutes. Cool in pans 10 minutes. Invert onto rack, then turn top side up and cool completely.

For frosting:
Sprinkle 1/2 cup powdered sugar over bottom of small nonstick skillet. Cook over medium heat until sugar melts (do not stir). Continue cooking until sugar turns deep amber, stirring occasionally, about 2 minutes. Carefully stir in 1/2 cup cream, vanilla, and salt (mixture will bubble vigorously). Stir until any caramel bits dissolve. Stir in remaining 1 tablespoon cream. Strain into small bowl. Cool caramel to room temperature.

Sift remaining powdered sugar into medium bowl. Using electric mixer, beat cream cheese and butter in large bowl. Gradually beat in powdered sugar. Beat in cooled caramel. Cover and chill frosting until firm enough to spread, about 2 hours.

Using long serrated knife, trim rounded tops from cakes. Place 1 cake layer on cake plate, cut side up. Spread 3/4 cup frosting over. Place second cake layer, cut side down, atop frosting. Cover top and sides of cake with remaining frosting, creating smooth surface. DO AHEAD: Can be made 2 days ahead. Cover with cake dome or large bowl and chill. Let stand at room temperature 2 hours before serving.

Arrange candied orange peel/ginger on cake as desired. Slice and enjoy.

Conquering Yeast

There are few things of which I can say I am legitimately afraid. Among those things would have to be bees (though this fear has dissipated a bit since being stung for the first and second times), a Yankees World Series championship and cooking with yeast. Especially cooking with yeast – I mean, the stuff is legitimately alive! Something about it just seems so ominous, like I’m setting myself up for incredible failure. The kind of failure that leaves you covered in flour, with shards of dough draping the cabinets, a lingering reminder of yeasted carnage. Once activated, the yeast would surely take on powers that would leave the outcome of my efforts totally out of my hand.

And so it was. I would search and search for recipes, and as soon as I saw the word “yeast” I turned away. Such a small word, so monosyllabic, yet so – ugly, the word was enough to make even the most delicious-sounding recipe totally unappealing.

Oh – yeast, you little devil you, you always manage to sneak yourself into an otherwise perfectly good recipe. How quickly cinnamon rolls go from yum to ew.

But I’ve always been a brave girl. Knowing that I would muster up the strength to tackle yeast, I purchased my first envelopes while in the grocery store for another reason. And then you sat – taunting me.

On my kitchen counter, acting all untouchable, like there was no way I was going to ever actually find it in me to rip that package open and activate you. Little did you know it was just a matter of finding the right recipe.



Because I like you guys, I’m not going to lie to you - it took a while for the right recipe to come up. But then, in my daily blog readings, it arrived. It was advertised to be one of the easiest yeast doughs I’d ever make. It was the shining beacon I was waiting for. Not one of the easiest yeast doughs I have ever made, but one of the easiest I would ever make. That implies that this was easy enough to not turn me off from yeast altogether. This was it.

And so I set off on my mission. It was my rite of passage – something every person who calls herself a cook should do. I was going to knead, and I was going to kick some ass.

Everything came together really well. The dough was easy to handle. But I don’t think I let it rise enough during the second resting period, since it puffed up a lot in the oven and a bunch of the tomatoes actually fell off the focaccia (never mind that I halved the tomatoes improperly. Oh, and I tried to put olives on it. Note: don’t do that). But that wasn’t the point of this. So what if I didn’t let it rise enough? Who cares that I over baked it? I made bread! With yeast! And I’m going to do it again!



Potato Focaccia
Makes one 8-inch focaccia
The Wednesday Chef, January 27, 2007

My focaccia didn't really rise enough during the second resting period (I think that's what happened anyway, this being my first yeast dough I could be totally wrong, please advise) and the dough puffed up in the oven. Make sure your dough is in a warm place after you set it in the cake pan to make sure it gets it rises properly. The recipe really is incredibly easy and the result is a surprisingly light, flavorful bread, even if it is a bit overcooked.

1 medium Yukon Gold potato
2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
1 teaspoon fresh yeast
A pinch of sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons salt, plus more for salting water
2/3 cup warm water
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 pint of cherry or grape tomatoes, sliced crosswise
1 to 2 teaspoons dried oregano
Coarse sea salt

1. Wash the potato and place in a small saucepan along with enough water to cover the potato by an inch. Place the pot over high heat, covered, and bring to a boil. Add a handful of kosher salt to the water. Simmer until the potato is tender when pierced with a knife, around 20 minutes. Drain the potato and let it cool. Peel the potato and mash finely with a fork. Set aside.

2. Put the yeast in a large mixing bowl along with a pinch of sugar. Add the warm water in a thin stream over the yeast, using a fork to help dissolve the yeast entirely. Let the mixture stand for a few minutes.

3. Pour the flour into the yeast water and stir with a fork, then add the mashed potato and the salt. The dough will be relatively thick and shaggy. Use the fork to incorporate the potato into the flour. Add 2 tablespoons of olive oil and begin to knead the dough by hand. It will come together quite quickly. Knead against the bowl for a minute or so, until it is relatively smooth. Add more flour if the dough is too sticky to handle. Form the dough into a ball and let it rest, covered with a kitchen towel, in the bowl for an hour.

4. Cut a piece of parchment paper to fit the bottom of an 8-inch cake pan. Using your fingertips, gently release the puffy and risen dough from the bowl and place it in the cake pan. Gently tug and pat it out so that it fits the pan. Cover the top of the focaccia with the tomato halves, distributing them evenly. Sprinkle the oregano and a large pinch of coarse salt over the tomatoes, drizzle with the remaining tablespoon of olive oil, and let it rest for another hour.

5. While the focaccia is resting, preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Place the cake pan in the oven and bake for 40 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through. Let cool on a rack for 20 minutes before removing the focaccia from the pan.