Every weekend, without fail (well, unless life truly kicks off), I make a loaf of sourdough. Sometimes it’s a Friday night unwind, sometimes a lazy Sunday bake — but it always starts with the same familiar friend: my faithful sourdough starter, quietly waiting in the fridge.
I’ve been baking bread for years, but switched entirely to sourdough during the chaos of Covid, like many others did. My starter — kindly gifted by @huw28582 and his now ex-wife (cheers both!) — has been bubbling along for over five years now. It’s changed character many times depending on what flour was cheapest: plain, wholemeal, rye — it’s tasted them all. That shifting blend has given it a deep, ever-evolving flavour. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There’s something incredibly grounding about the process. On baking day, I take the starter out, let it warm up, and give it a fresh feed of water and flour. A few hours later, it's wide awake, bubbling and ready to go. I always leave a bit behind in the jar, give it a top-up, and pop it back in the fridge — zero waste, no discard, and it’s never let me down. I don’t do measuring. Never have. I add water, a bit of olive oil, salt and flour until it feels right. Too wet? More flour. Too dry? A splash more water. It’s not rocket science — just intuition (and probably years of doing it slightly wrong until I got it right!).
After a 30-minute rest, the dough gets its first stretch and fold, and then another. After an hour or so, I knead it for a good 15 minutes — my own form of stress relief. Some people meditate. I pound dough. Better than shouting at the kids, right? Once shaped and rested, it’s into a Dutch oven at 220°C to rise and steam for 30-45 minutes, then finished off at 180°C for that crisp, golden crust. Some days I’ve got the patience for an overnight proof to deepen the flavour. Most days I don’t. And when it’s done? Nothing beats slicing into a warm loaf, slathering it in butter, and topping it off with a spoonful of homemade strawberry jam from this year’s harvest.
Baking my own bread gives me control over ingredients, flavour, and that quiet satisfaction of making something with my own hands. It’s fresh, healthy, cheap — and just the way I like it.
Until next weekend...