Plain and Simple

A recipe for Panini all'Olio; plus a selection of savory fillings for sandwiches

Art by Daniela Bracco

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I woke up last Monday with an urge to bake bread. This isn’t so unusual; I’ve been baking bread for decades, and I enjoy it, even if I’ve never really progressed much beyond the level of (enthusiastic) amateur. Bread dough is satisfying to work with, softer than pasta dough; it transforms magically, and it perfumes your kitchen twice—first, as it it’s rising and then when it bakes.

I started as a teenager with the white sandwich bread from my mom’s Betty Crocker cookbook and eventually graduated to the cinnamon-raisin swirl variation. Now I make the sourdough sandwich bread from King Arthur Baking, which is only slightly more sophisticated, and only just qualifies as a sourdough. It contains both commercial yeast and a couple of tablespoons of sourdough starter, and the latter is more of a flavor enhancer than a raising agent. It’s an excellent all-purpose sandwich bread, as easy to make as Betty Crocker’s and especially good for those end-of-summer tomato sandwiches.

On the subject of sourdough, I do keep a starter (lievito madre, in Italian), and no, it does not have a name. But I am proud to say it predates Covid. I started it nearly a decade ago, using a method shared by my friend Amelia, whom I wrote about early in the life of this newsletter. Following her instructions, I mixed flour with water, refreshed it every day, and, about two weeks later, had a jar of lively, pleasantly pungent goo. It resides in my fridge and I use it primarily to make pizza dough and focaccia, the bubbly kind that has become so popular on Instagram.

However, when I woke up on Monday, focaccia was not what I had in mind. Lately, I’ve gone off focaccia. It might have something to do with all the bizarre iterations of it that I’ve been seeing on social media: corn and kewpie mayo focaccia; ube (purple yam) and marshmallow focaccia; brown sugar-iced apple cinnamon focaccia; beetroot curry goat focaccia; blueberry matcha focaccia. Whatever happened to a sprinkle of sea salt?

I am not sure what to make to make of this trend. On one hand, I applaud the ingenuity of the chefs and bakers who come up with these combinations. On the other, I’m kind of…disgusted? At a certain point, one has to ask: to what end? What is the purpose, beyond clicks and engagement? Why do creators feel compelled to push everything into the realm of the grotesque?

Or maybe it’s just me being curmudgeonly again. (If you do want to try a stuffed focaccia, why not go with

Nancy Harmon Jenkins

’s schiacciata coll’uva, a slightly sweet, grape-stuffed focaccia that is made during the harvest and has generations of history and tradition to back it up.)

I pulled out my old copy of Carol Field’s The Italian Baker, which you may be familiar with. This comprehensive book, first published in 1985, is filled with regional recipes for breads, cakes, tarts, pastries, and cookies. Some of the recipes, especially those for yeasted breads, feel a bit clunky now (home baking has changed a lot in the last couple of decades!), but it’s still far and away the best resource for learning and mastering traditional Italian baking—meticulously researched and beautifully executed with love and dedication. It’s among my top 5 favorite cookbooks.

My eye fell on the recipe for Pane all’Olio—plain, simple olive oil bread—and I knew instantly that was what I wanted to make. As a child, olive oil rolls were my favorite bread, with the possible exception of rosette, those iconic, (vaguely) flower-shaped Roman rolls with a crusty exterior, chewy, tender crumb, and nearly hollow interior—not an easy bread to master at home.

Olive oil panini, shaped two ways

Pane all’Olio, by contrast, has a thin, light golden crust and a tight, soft crumb. It’s a basic white bread, but the addition of olive oil lifts it up and gives it more flavor than you would expect, and a fine texture that is good for slathering with butter and jam or for making into sandwiches. Following Field’s instructions, I shaped some of the dough into a “wreath” of connected rolls, and some into crescents.

I made the panini three times over the course of the week, mainly to practice my crescent roll shaping skills (still wonky) and just because the bread is that good. I’ve made a few minor adjustments to the original recipe, including swapping in instant yeast for active dry and reducing the amount to allow for a slow, overnight rise in the refrigerator. This gives the bread a more complex flavor and improves its texture. (You can read more about the benefits of the cold fermentation technique here.)

We (my husband and I) used the panini to make a variety of small sandwiches for dinner, filling them with prosciutto and mozzarella, and soppressata and roasted peppers. Over the weekend, I made an additional batch of dough and baked cocktail-sized rolls, which I stuffed with a mix of fillings and brought over to our neighbors. I’ve listed some filling combinations at the end of the recipe.

Think of this bread as the antidote to chocolate-drizzled, peanut butter cup-stuffed bubbly focaccia.*

*I haven’t actually seen this combination but I feel fairly certain it exists.

What are your favorite Italian(ish) sandwich filling combinations?

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RECIPE: Panini all’Olio | Olive Oil Rolls

Mini panini all’olio with a variety of fillings

One of the biggest assets of these little rolls is how versatile they are. Shape them into burger buns, crescents, or mini cocktail rolls. Brush them with olive oil and sprinkle with flaky salt, as Carol Field suggests in her recipe, or leave them plain. They are great for sandwiches because unlike so many rustic breads with an open crumb, you can easily fill them without them falling apart, and you won’t yank your teeth out when you go to take a bite. At the end of the recipe, you’ll find a dozen suggestions for savory filling combinations.

By the way, these rolls freeze beautifully. Bake and let them cool completely before sliding them into freezer bags or a tightly lidded container. Freeze for up to 3 months.

Click on the button below for the full recipe, available to paid subscribers.

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Alla prossima,
Domenica