The Rise of a New Journey

sourdough culture, part 1

Sometimes the sky’s the limit. But on the way there, you hit the ceiling. In our case, it was the 153-year-old hand hewn beams that caught our ambition. Or, rather, the life force that our ambition created, our sourdough starter.

When I started making sourdough bread many years ago the information available was lackluster and limited, if it all. But, fitted with a jar and a fresh bag of flour, I was nothing if not determined to build a starter. After all, I knew just enough to know some of the best bread came from the mysterious gooey marvel. However, trying to follow the overly simplified notes available, void of any reason or ration, made me just about crazy. It was a rocky road I nearly gave up on several times. Every jar I mixed had a seemingly pre-set timeline of bubbly failure, ceasing all activity after a week. Eventually might, stupid will, and blind ambition paved the way to our little bakery. And, to the day my ambitious starter rose to new heights. Our ceiling.

Yes, ten feet up in the air. That’s where I found the physical boundary that impeded my starter’s rise to the sky. I stood amazed for a few minutes, then collected the jar’s lid from the other side of the room and thanked the fortune and grace that brought me a tall husband (and the good sense to keep a back up).

Whether traveling the road with little other than common sense or trying to rely on endless contradictory online advice, sourdough is a journey. After all these years, I also like to think its a growing community of adventurous, and sometimes weary, travelers with stalled or exploding jars of goo. Confused by tiny organisms, elated with small victories, and sometimes just tired of being held captive by a needy starter. Every one connected by (if nothing else) the love of good bread.

Driven by that hope, I had a (insert laugh here) brilliant idea a couple of years ago. I decided to share the love of sourdough, and my starter, with anyone who wanted to travel this journey. I wrote a post talking about century old bakeries that handed out pieces of their starter culture. I talked about my belief that starter should be shared freely to strengthen community, as a small piece of good will from one baker to another. From one family’s table to another. After all, a starter is built from day after day of feeding and care. It’s physical existence is the story of each of our journeys as bakers. Moreover our lives. Even if you could put a price on that, should you?

One day a woman walked in and asked for a piece of our our sourdough starter. I excitedly jarred it for her and bent her ear with oodles of advice on keeping it happy and thriving. I was thrilled to think about all the loaves she would bake with it, like a little piece of my journey to help begin hers.

A few short days later, I stumbled on her social media listing, not showing a loaf of freshly baked bread, but offering sourdough starter for sale.

That’s one journey, I suppose.

As my mother always said, life would be boring if everyone were the same. The truth is, our intentions and hopes are just that. What comes out of them, in this great big world, is sometimes more than we could imagine.

It was in that moment I realized, I was going about this all wrong.

Our sourdough starter is wonderful, and clearly full of our ambitious hopes for flavorful, lofty bread. However, from the very first time it goes to a new home and eats it’s first new meal, it starts to become something, well, new.

Sourdough starter, or sourdough culture, is a product of it’s environment. Like people, no two are identical. Whether its a centuries old starter traveled from Europe, a decades old starter that breathed the salty air of San Francisco, or the flour and water you started cultivating a month ago in your kitchen, that jar of goo is continually pulling and creating microorganisms from the environment it’s in and the flour it’s fed. In short, no matter where it came from, it becomes a propelling force (or defeating agent) as a result of your environment and care. And the flavor and loft it provides, is just as unique as you are.

Imagine all the breads out there, from all those sourdough cultures. What a big, delicious world.

The journey of sourdough isn’t something anyone can hand to you (or sell you) in a dried package or tidy little jar. Not only is the goo messy, the knowledge has to be learned along the way. You might get a nice loaf or two at first, but what happens when something goes wrong? Or if you want something more?

The very best way to share sourdough is to tell you to do it yourself.

Everything you need to know about sourdough baking is right there, in that jar. Created, crafted and cared for, by your hands and developed skill, well before you’ve ever made your first loaf of bread. The truth is, really understanding the fundamentals of building and maintaining a starter are the very same as making a good loaf of sourdough bread.

So, if you want really great bread, pick up a jar and a bag of flour. We’re about to take a journey.