The starter that survived my holiday
It started, as these things usually do, with a small mistake and too much confidence. The toast from an ugly loaf tastes exactly the same as the toast from a handsome one.
It will still be there next week.
It started, as these things usually do, with a small mistake and too much confidence. The toast from an ugly loaf tastes exactly the same as the toast from a handsome one.
Nothing dramatic to report, only a few things I noticed about the shaping. For what it’s worth, the bread got noticeably better once I started weighing the water instead of guessing.
This has been on my mind since the start of summer, so I’m finally writing it down. The first loaf came out with a crust you could knock on and a middle you could have used as mortar.
One quiet Tuesday evening I finally sat down with my notes on hydration. There is flour on the kitchen radio and I have stopped trying to clean it off.
The notebook has been filling up lately, and most of it is about the overnight proof. A loaf with a good ear is very satisfying for about a minute, until you cut it and find the tunnels.
Some weeks the whole hobby comes down to one small thing, and lately that has been the bulk ferment. I now keep the starter in the fridge and feed it when I remember, and it seems to bear no grudge.
It has been a wet December, which left plenty of time to think about the feeding schedule. My kitchen runs cold in the mornings, so the dough takes far longer than any recipe suggests.
I’ve been meaning to write about the rye loaf for two seasons. The bread got noticeably better once I started weighing the water instead of guessing.
Every so often someone I met through the hobby asks how things are going with the cast-iron pot, and I never have a short answer. Then again, folding the dough every half hour fits nicely around the radio and a pot of tea.
You’ve found my notes on baking sourdough. They’re not a guide to anything, just a record of one person working it out.