I’m a baker. Not professionally of course. But geez I enjoy it. It’s relaxing, challenging and never boring. No two loaves of bread are ever the same when working with a sour dough starter. My starter is 6 years old and it lives in the fridge, gently fermenting until, about twice each week it gets a feed of fresh, soft, delicious plain flour and some time out of confinement on the bench.
That bench time inspires the mix of water and plain flour to energize. It moves and flows and after a couple of hours a portion is removed and added to a bowl of containing more fresh plain flour and some salt.
Room temperature water is added, the dough is mixed by hand and then kneaded lovingly in a fluid motion for never less than 1 minutes. Often more as the rhythmic tempo carries me into a happy place.
The dough is rested for usually between 4 and 6 hours depending on ambient temperature, and then sometimes cooled for a while in the fridge before being let to rise slowly for 12 hours. It is this relaxed, contemplative time in which th dough develops character and flavour. It mellows, but grows confidently outward awaiting its fate.
When the morning dawns the oven is heated to its max. The dough is gently slit and quickly placed deep into the roaring oven. After about 5 minutes the temperature is dropped and the baker usually heads out for run.
50 minutes later when the front door is swung open the aromas state emphatically that the loaf is cooked and its time to remove and wrap lovingly in linen and place on the bench to rest.
Waiting can be cruel, but the bread steams in its crust and when the loaf is finally cut, the sound of the cut, the silkiness of the crumb and the light steam make it all worthwhile.
