4/20/20
Baking can be an intimidating thing. An hour too late, a pinch too much, or a missed fold can be the difference between an ugly, dense blob of dough and a crackly, crumby artisan loaf. However, with some patience, technique, and a schedule, you can make your own professional sourdough from nothing but flour, water, and time.
I've always been interested in sourdough, as I am with all things fermentation. With no shortage of time in the house, I decided to give the process my first crack. You should too; the social isolation that's going on is the perfect excuse to use some extra time in the most satisfying crossover of baking and art.
I think with some combination of luck and meticulous craft, I managed to come up with a couple of loaves that surprisingly surpassed my expectations. I'm going to share my experience in arriving at the picture above, and I'll offer some advice and gained knowledge along the way. If you're interested, follow along and I'm confident you'll be very happy with the process and result.
First, here's what you'll need:
- A bag of rye flour
- Whole wheat flour
- Unbleached all-purpose flour
- Bread flour
- Salt
- A pint glass container (I used a mason jar)
That's it! Okay, so the first part of the process is making what's called a sourdough starter. Your starter will capture the wild yeast and bacteria from the air (sounds gross, but it actually makes the bread way better). That's because sourdough is a naturally leavened bread, so you won't need any dry-packaged yeast.
Step 1: Building your starter
To start, measure the weight of your mason jar and write that down. You'll need it for some quick math each day when you feed the starter. Then, simply add 150 grams of rye flour (if you can't find rye anywhere whole wheat can work) and 100 grams of 85 degree (farenheit) filtered water to your mason jar. Mix it until everything's incorporated, and leave it in a warm environment. You could get picky about the temperature, but anything between 75-85 degrees should work fine. My starter's living space is in the oven with the light on. Oh, and make sure the oven's off if you do that... yeah, I made that mistake once. Had to start all over. Each successive day, you'll feed your starter. To do this, discard all but 50 grams of the starter into the trash (your scale will read *jar weight + 50 grams* after you do this). After that, add 100 grams of rye flour and 100 grams of water. After about a week of doing this once a day, you should have an active starter that smells a little like paint thinner. IT'S ALIVE. The yeast is now all up in your jar, eating flour, burping carbon dioxide, and occasionally peeing out alcohol. Sounds tasty, right? Some things to note: if there's ever a layer of liquid on top, it's that alcohol, referred to as hooch (hehe). That's fine, it just means your starter is hungry and you should feed it. Also, the starter will eventually rise and fall throughout the 24 hours between feeds. That means it's working. After a week or so, here's what mine looked like.
I think that looks so cool, although it made me think of those people who are scared of tiny holes. I looked it up so you don't have to. It's called trypophobia.
Alright, so with an active starter, we're ready to move on and start making bread. It's important to note that the most time-intensive part is coming up. After Step 2, the bread will go in the refrigerator around 12 hours later, so I did this on a Sunday.
Step 2: Creating the levain
Now we'll make the levain, which will make your bread rise. In a bowl, combine 35 grams of your starter, 35 grams each of all-purpose and whole wheat flour, and 70 grams of room temperature water. You can mix it just like you mix your starter. Toss that in your warm environment where it'll stay for 5 hours.
Step 3: Making your dough
About 3.5 hours into the levain fermentation, you'll put together the dough which the levain will later be added to. To do that, first mix 800 grams of bread flour and 75 grams of whole wheat flour. After it looks like a uniform flour, add 660 grams of 90 degree water. When you mix that, get in there with your hands. It's fun, it'll make you feel more connected to the process, and who knows, maybe your subway hands will enhance the flavor later on. Is this a bad time to make that joke? Maybe. Did I do it without second thought? Absolutely. The dough will look shady, unconvincing, and this will probably be the first time you think you did something wrong. Oh, and dough will also stick like crazy. That means it's perfect. Keep it up; it only goes up from here. Toss this in the same warm environment with the levain for the remaining 1.5 hours.
Step 4: Mixy-mixy
When that time is up, pour the levain over your dough, and get in there again with those greasy hands. I used kind of a pinching, squeezing, and dimpling technique to mix it thoroughly. Sticky sticky. It'll get easier. Once it's mixed, dump it out onto a working surface and "slap and fold". Basically that means to pick it up and slap it down while folding it over itself. Rotate 90 degrees, and repeat for a few minutes. Kind of confusing at first, but you'll get the hang of it. Then, back to the warm habitat it goes. After 30 minutes, take it out. Add 20 grams of salt and 80 grams of room-temp water and slap and fold again. Back in the bowl and back to the habitat.
Step 5: Bulk ferment
This is the start of what you think of as dough. It'll start to seriously rise and become more and more smooth and uh... doughy, I guess. It won't do it on it's own though. You'll have to be around for the next couple of hours. After the first 15 minutes, take out the bowl. Grab an edge of the dough, stretch it up, and fold it over to the other side. Rotate and repeat once around. Here's a picture of what that looks like.
Wait 15 minutes and repeat the folds twice more for a total of 45 minutes of waiting and folding. After that, change the wait time to 30 minutes for the next three, totaling 90 minutes more. Ugh... that's a lot... I know. But it's kind of fun! And you're developing the gluten of the bread which makes it perfectly holey and stretchy in the middle later on. Once you're done with that, just let it rest in its habitat for 2.5 more hours.
Step 6: Shape and proof
Now you have a smooth supple dough that has about doubled in size. From here, pour it back out onto your work surface and be careful not to pop the gas bubbles inside. Cut your dough in half. Woah. You read that right. Sounds dangerous, but you'll do great I believe in you. Here comes some shaping. You're going to feel like a pro chef doing this part. Use a spatula (or a bench scraper if you're actually a pro) to kind of scoop the sides of the dough. Finesse the dough in a circle to create a circle shape that looks like a saggy helium balloon. This next shaping part is tricky, so take your time. fold the top edge of the dough to the middle, one side to the middle, and the other side all the way over to the other edge. Then slowly and carefully roll the dough from the bottom and over itself. The dough should be perkier than ever now. Finally, place it seam side up in a bowl with a floured towel in it. Saran wrap (how tf do you spell saran) and put in the fridge over night. Oh, and do that whole thing for both loaves.
Step 7: Bake
Finally. The hard work is over, and the next day is all about reaping the fruits of your labor of love. That's right, the fruit of love can sometimes be crunchy, but somehow soft, but somehow chewy, but none of the bad parts of those things. I'm getting side tracked. Trust me, you'll be thinking the same thoughts after you try it. We'll get there. To bake, preheat a dutch oven to 500 degrees. The heat is a lot to handle. My oven couldn't keep up. I'm pretty sure I broke it... whoops. If you don't have a dutch oven, any pan works, just make sure you flour whatever you use. Score the dough before you put it in (any pattern you like; I used a simple slice down the middle).
Let the bread bake at 500 for 20 minutes, then take the top of the dutch oven off or just spray water into the oven. That'll help humidify the air and create a nice crust on the bread. Lower to 450 and let it go until you think it's done! I like mine to be dark brown. A crust like that adds great flavor. "Bien cuit", as they say in French. To you, the bread, your loving starter, your mom/wife who yells at you about the flour somehow making onto her keyboard, everyone... you killed it. Nothing left to do but admire the sounds, sights, and splendor of your very own, amazingly satisfying sourdough bread.
If you've made it this far, congrats, you're crazy like me and I'm so happy to have you. Thanks for being a part of the process. Keep experimenting and doing things that make you happy in this crazy time where we all need something to keep us aligned.
- Jack
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And if you're still here, I've added a picture of me with my loaves. You don't care. It's fine. I'm not crying, you're crying.
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