Focaccia and the Glory of Good Oil
Strip focaccia back and it is flour, water, yeast, salt — and olive oil, lots of it, in the dough and on top. More than almost any bread, it is a showcase for good oil. Use a poor one and you will taste the gap in every bite.
Focaccia is one of the purest, happiest ways to taste good olive oil, because the oil is not hidden anywhere — it is in the crumb, in the surface, and in those famous dimples. When you bite a good one, the oil is what you taste first: fruity, peppery, alive. When you bite a poor one, you taste the flat greasiness of a dull refined oil, and no amount of flaky salt can rescue it. This is bread that argues, loudly and deliciously, that when oil is the star, quality is the whole dish.
Where the oil goes
Good Ligurian focaccia uses olive oil three times: in the dough, for tenderness and flavour; poured into the famous dimples before baking, usually with a little water to make the classic salamoia that steams and crisps the top; and drizzled over the surface with flaky salt as it comes from the oven. The dimples are not decoration — they are little pools that fry the surface as the bread bakes and carry the oil’s flavour into every bite. Press them deep with your fingertips and fill them generously; a timid dimple is a wasted one.
Why the oil matters here
Because the oil is barely cooked and everywhere at once, focaccia tastes of whatever oil you used. A fruity, peppery extra virgin turns plain bread into something memorable; a dull refined one leaves it flat and slick. It is the same lesson as bread dipped in oil, only baked into a loaf: when the oil is the point, there is nothing to hide a poor bottle behind. This is the bread to open your best oil for, and to be shamelessly generous with — it should glisten, the salt should crunch, and the bottom should be almost fried.
The two-oil trick, again
Here is a small economy the best bakers use without thinking. The oil baked into the dough has its finer aromatics driven off by the oven heat, so a sound, everyday extra virgin does that job perfectly well — there is no point spending your finest bottle on the crumb. Save your best, freshest, most peppery oil for the surface and the raw drizzle at the end, where it is barely warmed and where you actually taste it. Same loaf, two oils, and the good one goes exactly where your palate will find it.
| Where the oil goes | Cooked or raw? | Which oil to use |
|---|---|---|
| In the dough | Baked; fine aroma is driven off | A sound everyday extra virgin |
| In the dimples | Part-fried on the surface, high heat | A good everyday oil; it crisps the top |
| Raw over the top | Barely warmed; you taste it directly | Your best, freshest, most peppery bottle |
Getting it right
- Use olive oil three times: in the dough, in the dimples, and raw on top.
- Press the dimples deep and fill them — they fry the surface and carry flavour.
- Bake with a sound everyday oil; heat wastes a fine one in the crumb.
- Finish with your best fresh oil raw, and plenty of flaky salt.
- Be generous — it should glisten and the base should be almost fried.
Focaccia and its oil: common questions
How much olive oil does focaccia need?
A lot, and in three places: in the dough, in the dimples before baking, and drizzled raw on top. Focaccia is meant to glisten; timidity with the oil makes a dull loaf.
What are the dimples for?
They are little pools that hold oil (often with a little water, the classic salamoia), frying and crisping the surface as the bread bakes and carrying the oil’s flavour into every bite.
Does the type of oil really matter?
Completely. Because the oil is barely cooked and everywhere, focaccia tastes of whatever oil you used — a fruity, peppery extra virgin makes it; a dull refined one flattens it.
Can I use a cheaper oil in the dough?
Yes. Baking drives off the fine aromatics anyway, so a sound everyday oil is fine in the crumb. Save your best, freshest bottle for the raw drizzle on top.
Why is my focaccia not crisp underneath?
Usually not enough oil in the tin and dimples, or too gentle an oven. A generous, well-oiled tin and real heat give that almost-fried base.
Focaccia is the loaf to open your best bottle for — but not to pour all of it into the dough. The oven burns off the fine, peppery aromatics you paid for, so anything baked into the crumb might as well be a sound everyday oil. Keep your good, fresh, green bottle for the surface and the raw drizzle at the end, where it is barely warmed and where your tongue will actually meet it. Then be shameless: deep dimples, plenty of oil, flaky salt, a base that is almost fried. Focaccia rewards generosity more than any bread I know, and it repays a great oil in full.
Drawn from Ligurian focaccia tradition and everyday baking practice.