Garlic Parmesan Focaccia with Spicy Hot Honey
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Okay listen: I will fight anyone who says focaccia is "just bread." That insult is personal. This Garlic Parmesan Focaccia with Spicy Hot Honey deserves a medal, a choir, and a small parade down my cul-de-sac (I would get permits but I also admit I once failed at a backyard fireworks show—remember the lemon bar disaster of 2021? Let’s not.). Also: if you think honey on bread is weird, you clearly haven’t tried it with garlic and parmesan while it’s still steaming. Also also: if you need proof that honey + garlic is A Very Good Idea, I wrote about a sibling dish over here with similar vibes, the honey garlic beef tenderloin, which is florid and loud and exactly the energy this focaccia brings to dinner.
How I burned Thanksgiving (then redeemed myself with bread)
Once, I left the oven door open for a "quick peek" during Thanksgiving and somehow charred the turkey into modern art. The smoke alarm cried. My aunt dramatically fainted (she later blamed the brussels sprouts, which, to be fair, were suspiciously crispy that year). Bread was the only thing I could salvage—so I learned how to coax dignity out of flour and fate. That’s when I started making focaccia: forgiving, pillowy, and forgiving (I did say it twice—intentional).
I still remember the exact Trader Joe’s jar of artichokes I bought afterwards because I felt like I deserved something pretty. Small, specific victories. Also: note to self—do not attempt to flambé cranberry sauce. Ever.
Pivot: let’s talk recipe before I spiral again
ANYWAY, before I emotionally relive the entire event and possibly cry into a mixing bowl (yes, I’ve done it), here’s the deal: this focaccia is a little rustic, a little fancy, and wildly easy to impress with. It’s garlic-forward (obviously), sprinkled with salty parmesan, then drizzled—yes drizzled—with spicy hot honey that makes your taste buds do a tiny interpretive dance.
What you need: the ingredient lineup (and my grocery gripes)
- 2 cups warm water
- 1 packet active dry yeast
- 1 tablespoon sugar
- 5 cups all-purpose flour
- 1/4 cup olive oil (plus more for the pan and brushing)
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 tablespoon salt
- 1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese
- 1/4 cup spicy hot honey
- Fresh herbs (optional, for garnish)
Mini-rant: you don’t need the fanciest parm here—grates from the supermarket tub (Trader Joe’s does a solid parm) are fine. But spare no mercy on the olive oil: good oil makes the crust sing. Aldi has steals, TJ’s has fun labels, and your neighborhood co-op is cool if you’re feeling dramatic.
Cooking Unit Converter (handy, because adulting is hard)
If you’re the metric type or just hate converting cups at midnight, use this to make your life easier.
Technique talk: how I stopped over-kneading and learned to love dimples
I will not hand you a rigid, joyless assembly line of steps—because baking is part science, part yelling at dough until it behaves. Here’s what I learned the hard way: patience is yeast’s love language, and dimples are not just for looks (they hold oil and flavor like tiny blessed wells).
- In a bowl, combine warm water, yeast, and sugar. Let it sit for about 10 minutes until frothy.
- In a large mixing bowl, combine flour and salt. Make a well in the center and add the yeast mixture and olive oil. Mix until a dough forms.
- Knead the dough on a floured surface for about 5-10 minutes until smooth.
- Place the dough in a greased bowl, cover, and let it rise for 1 hour or until doubled in size.
- Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C).
- Punch down the dough and spread it into a greased baking pan.
- Use your fingers to create dimples in the dough, then brush with olive oil, sprinkle with minced garlic, and top with parmesan cheese.
- Bake for 20-25 minutes until golden brown.
- Drizzle with spicy hot honey just before serving. Enjoy warm!
Also: when you press the dough to make dimples, pretend you’re calming a small, anxious dog. Soft, firm pats. Sprinkle garlic like you’re telling a secret—generous, but not reckless. If the parmesan looks sad, give it another shower.
Why this matters to me (and maybe to you)
Cooking is how I keep family stories alive: the smoke alarms of childhood, the bowls of gravy that were more opinion than sauce, the neighbor who always brought buns. Making bread is a ritual that says: I have time, I have care, I choose to feed you warmth. It’s nostalgia, identity, and stubborn hope kneaded together.
Tiny story: the time a kid called my focaccia "cloud pizza"
At a block party, a five-year-old took one bite, looked at me solemnly, and announced, "This is cloud pizza, but better." I am legally required to keep that compliment framed in my kitchen.
A delightfully chaotic FAQs (because you will ask me questions and I will answer loudly)
Yes! Make the dough, let it rise once, punch it down, oil the bowl, cover, and refrigerate overnight. It’ll develop flavor and frankly, you’ll feel like a wizard. Take it out an hour before baking.
Depends on your bravery. Start with a jar labeled "mildly naughty" and work up. Or make your own by steeping chili flakes in honey (I judge no one but I will taste-test aggressively).
You can, but expect denser focaccia. Mix half all-purpose and half whole wheat if you like texture without grief. Also, be kind to it—don’t overwork the dough or it will sulk.
Nope. Pecorino is a dramatic cousin and works great. If you use a melty cheese, expect a different vibe; that’s not wrong, it’s just extra. (I once used halloumi and the neighborhood applauded.)
I love it with roasted veggies or a bright salad. For a main that pairs gloriously, try something with savory-sweet notes—like those honey-glazed brussels sprouts that saved a holiday once: honey-glazed roasted brussels sprouts. Also works with breakfast spreads—yes, breakfast; yes, really—see my weird obsession with Korean morning plates here: Korean breakfast with traditional dishes.
Okay, I’ll stop yelling and let you bake. Seriously: make this. Drizzle ridiculous amounts of hot honey like it’s a mood. Share it, hoard it, apologize later. If you burn it? New loaf, new nap, same love.
Daily Calorie Needs Calculator: because curiosity and carbs coexist
Use this to estimate how this slice fits into your day (or to justify a second piece).
