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.

What went wrong

For a while I blamed the rye loaf, but that turned out to be unfair. After most of a month of this, the cast-iron pot finally started to make sense. My kitchen runs cold in the mornings, so the dough takes far longer than any recipe suggests. A small change to the bulk ferment ended up mattering more than all the rest put together.

I spent most of a quiet September fussing over the starter, and I’m not sure I have much to show for it. This autumn I’ve mostly been trying to leave the overnight proof alone and see what happens. None of this is original, and it’s simply what has worked for me so far. It wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t what I was hoping for either.

Why bother

I’ve kept at it mostly out of curiosity, and partly out of stubbornness. I don’t want to make too much of this, but it did make me happier than it should have. I wrote down what I’d done at the time, and that’s the only reason I can repeat it.

I read a lot about this in a magazine article I clipped years ago, then ignored most of it and learned the hard way. I tried again a week later, paying closer attention, and it went noticeably better. My notes on the starter go back further than I expected, and they don’t flatter me.

Anyway, that’s where things stand.