You'll be my American boy

Yesterday was my grandmother's eighty-fifth birthday and she didn't want any of my desserts. She wanted a tiramisu from one specific bakery on Staten Island.

So I made a rosemary foccacia for a change of pace. It's like a pizza dough coated with olive oil, coarse salt, and rosemary.

My grandparents are old-school Italian-American. They have "macaroni and gravy" every Sunday, not "pasta" with "sauce." I don't think they have ever heard the word "foccacia" so I told them it was an olive oil bread.

"I like it," she said. "It's just like the bread they used to sell by Dom's house when I was a girl."

I think that was the best review I've gotten in a long time.