Focaccia is a flat, olive-oil-rich Italian bread with a dimpled top, a crisp, almost fried underside and an open, airy crumb. It is older than pizza, simpler than most breads, and, done properly, it is the best thing you can put a sandwich on.

That last claim is the reason this bakery exists, so it is worth explaining where the bread comes from and what separates a good focaccia from a flat, oily disappointment.

Where it comes from

The word is from the Latin panis focacius — “hearth bread” — a dough baked on the hot stones of a fire. Versions exist across the Mediterranean, but the one most of the world now means by focaccia is Ligurian, from the coastal strip around Genoa.

Genoese focaccia (fugassa in dialect) is thin, salty, and glossy with olive oil. Locals eat it for breakfast, dipped in cappuccino, which sounds wrong until you try it. Further south, in Bari, focaccia barese is thicker and topped with cherry tomatoes and olives. Across the north you’ll find rosemary versions, onion versions, and in Recco a cheese-filled one that is barely bread at all.

What they share: a wet dough, a lot of olive oil, and a pan.

Focaccia vs pizza vs ciabatta

People ask this constantly, so here is the honest answer.

Pizza is a thin, lean dough stretched by hand and baked very hot, very fast. Toppings are the point; the base is a plate.
Ciabatta is a wet, lean dough with almost no oil, baked as a free-standing loaf. It is about the holes and the chewy crust.
Focaccia is a wet dough with olive oil in the dough, under the dough and on top of the dough, proved slowly in a pan so it rises thick and even. The bread is the point.

The oil is the difference. It tenderises the crumb, fries the base in the pan, and gives the top that golden, blistered finish. A focaccia without enough oil is just a thick pizza base.

Why the dimples

The dimpling is not decoration. Pressing your fingertips into the proved dough does three things: it stops the bread doming unevenly in the oven, it creates pools where oil and brine collect so the top stays moist while it crisps, and it knocks out the largest air bubbles so the crumb is even enough to cut for a sandwich.

Just before baking, those dimples are filled with a mix of olive oil and salted water. The water keeps the crust tender; the oil fries it. That is where the texture comes from — crisp outside, soft and open inside.

What makes a good one

Judge a focaccia like this:

Underside. Turn it over. It should be golden and crisp, with a faint sheen of oil, not pale and soft.
Crumb. Tear a piece. Open, irregular holes, and a soft, slightly chewy texture. Dense and cakey means it was under-proved or under-hydrated.
Top. Blistered, salted, glossy. If it is dry and matte, it was baked without enough oil or water.
Flavour. Olive oil first, then salt, then wheat. If you can taste yeast, the dough was rushed.
The next day. Good focaccia is still worth eating the next morning, refreshed for a few minutes in a hot oven. Bad focaccia goes to cardboard overnight.

Why it’s the right bread for a sandwich

Most sandwich breads do one thing well. A baguette is crisp but shatters and cuts your mouth. Soft rolls are easy to eat but collapse under a wet filling. Sourdough is sturdy but tough to bite through.

Focaccia does all of it: the crust holds the filling, the crumb is soft enough to bite cleanly, and the oil in the bread means it does not go dry while it waits for you. Split a square horizontally, put something honest inside, and you have a sandwich that eats well an hour later — which, if you are ordering lunch for collection, matters.

That is the whole idea behind Focaccia Kenya: one rosemary focaccia, baked every morning in Loresho, and six fillings that change each month. You can order by 2pm and collect the same day, or have it delivered across Nairobi.