Some people have weekly sushi night. For others it's pizza night. Or movie night. Last winter I started my own tradition. Focaccia night.
There's something about the smell of yeast and watching dough rise when it's cold outside and cozy inside. It's not a quick process. Making bread. It requires time and patience and planning.
But when it's finally in the oven and the aroma starts to permeate the air, it's nearly impossible to let it bake for the full 20 minutes.
I don't even wait for it to cool before tearing into it. And in interest of full disclosure, some days, I don't even pretend to have self control. I demolish the entire pan and call it dinner.
I use Sister Schubert's cookbook, Cast your Bread upon the Waters, if you're looking for some good bread recipes. The nice thing about focaccia is that I always have the main ingredients on hand, and the rest can vary depending on what I'm stocked up on or how adventurous I want to be. Sea salt and rosemary. Onions and olives. Parmesan. The possibilities are only as limited as my imagination.