Enjoy: Make the Sourdough Bread and Tame Your Ego
Sourdough is not good for my ego.
It takes years to really learn and days to make good bread consistently, to get the wisdom in your fingers, and to form a trusting relationship with the little wild yeasties. Just the other week, I over-fermented a loaf and then my starter suddenly got tired and I wondered if I actually knew what I was doing at all. It’s an inconvenience, as well. My social life needs to be adjusted around gluten development and hungry invisible flour-eaters. The flour has to be good quality, the humidity and temperature have to support fermentation, and I have to feed my starter as often as I feed my animals. I have literally brought my starter on vacation before.
Gross story: Once, I left the lid of my starter a little ajar, and fruit flies laid their eggs on the surface. When I went to make a loaf of bread, I looked into the jar and was greeted by little wriggling maggots. Ugh. I immediately dumped the jar and started bringing back some (newly discarded) discard back to life. It took 2 weeks and a lot of flour to get sufficient activity for a decent loaf of bread. Also, cleaning sourdough starter and dough out of sinks, jars, and off of countertips has to be one of the most annoying things to clean.
So honestly, why bother? We can go buy a $12 loaf of good bread at the store. Commercial yeast isn’t so bad, right?
Here’s the thing…
I’ve come to realize that one of the secrets to just about everything in life, from relationships to accomplishing anything great, is humility. Humility is a very powerful thing, and we taste it when our egos are tamed. Humility comes with the deep understanding that I am not in control. I am an active participant in this existence and I have impact on the world around me, but I am not in control. Everything good I do, I do with the loving support of the world around me (in this case, those little wild yeasties). And when I mess up, I am not completely to blame. We are not alone, and humility teaches us this (just like darkness does). So work, like making sourdough bread, that humbles me and keeps my ego in check, is very very good for my soul. It’s very very Good Work.
But also…
Freshly baked, still-warm, chewy sourdough bread topped with good butter and last year’s homemade jam is one of life’s most delicious experiences. And when you’ve participated in the magic of sourdough fermentation — when you’ve created the conditions for flour and water to transform into a bubbly loaf of flavorful bread — it’s even better. And we deserve really good things. We really do.
There are plenty of amazing resources, books, experts that can teach you about the history of sourdough, the science of sourdough, and the technique of sourdough. That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to share the why of sourdough.
Make it because you can. Because with your two humble hands, you can make something amazing. And because when you do make that something amazing, you can feel the chain of ancestral wisdom of thousands of years of sourdough fermentation connecting through you. Because it feels good to know how to do things like this. Because it tastes better when you watch the ingredients turn into bread in front of your eyes. Because maybe one day that $12 loaf will be $20. Because commercial yeast is ok, but it’s not nearly as cool as the wild, bubbly culture that gives such good flavor. Because even though it takes time and knowledge, it’s uncomplicated, and we need more uncomplicated things in our lives. Because our lives are filled with convenience, instant gratification, anxiety, and honestly, it’s getting boring and it’s making us depressed. Because our fingertips love to learn new things. Because you can work on controlling your ego while you nourish yourself and your loved ones. Because it is Good Work and Good Work makes you feel good.
Some tips for learning sourdough from someone who is definitely not an expert (though I have been making sourdough for 4 years and I’ve learned quite a bit)…
Adjust your expectations and let go of any need for immediate gratification. You have to put in the time here. Simple as that. There’s good life lessons in this — try to find them.
Learn from someone in person, if you want the learning curve to be a little less steep.
Use good flour — this matters a lot.
Use good, filtered water — this also matters a lot. I have killed starters using chlorinated tap water.
Turner Farm is a wonderful resource for starting out and learning the basics.
There’s more room for error than it might seem from tutorials online, so don’t panic if things aren’t perfect.
Even a mediocre loaf tastes delicious — keep making the mediocre loaves. One day it will transform into a really good one as your hands start to gain the wisdom.
Remind yourself that your starter, your climate, your home temperature and bacterial environment are unique, and your sourdough will be unique as well.
Let yourself celebrate each delicious loaf that comes out of your oven.
Don’t always force yourself to wait until the loaf cools to cut into it. There’s nothing like fresh, warm, still crackling bread with butter
If you can’t manage to get a starter going, get a bit of an established one from a neighbor or a friend and don’t beat yourself up over it.
Don’t compare your bread. Be proud of your bread. Enjoy your bread.
Don’t lose sight of how freaking cool it is that flour, water, and salt can turn into something nourishing. You’re doing something that has literally kept humanity alive for thousands of years. You’re doing Good Work. And you aren’t alone while you do it.
