For Starters

February, 2022

I sat on a blanket, ripping up blades of grass while my dog lolled next to me in the unseasonably warm sun. The woman on the other end of the phone asked if I was familiar with the process of sourdough.

“I know it’s wild yeast,” I supplied. Unlike a fair percentage of the world I’d missed the 2020 craze that was the resurgence of breadmaking.

“Well, that’s a start,” she laughed, and offered me a two-day working interview at a local bakery, to be paid in bread, of course.

That was only the beginning of my journey with sourdough.

The bakery was locally owned and operated, having only recently opened its doors in a real building. I was brought in to run the front counter, and was welcomed into their oven-hot, flour-coated, warm-smiled world.

It’s interesting, really, if I may tangent for a moment, how much my Vocal journey is tied in with this bakery. I wrote, submitted, and placed with my first-ever piece, a story born in the ashes of a hare-brained idea about dragons and bread dough. Which, coincidentally enough, was risen again as another challenge entry that also got runner-up. Both stories were schemed and written in a college-ruled composition book on the long wooden counter during my lunch breaks. In the background, the bakers slung endless loaves; mixing, kneading, and scoring to the beat everything from Eminem to Darius Rucker to The Hu and all things in between. When the owner’s wife found out that I dabbled in wordsmithing, she put me in charge of writing up an FAQ that’s still on the bakery’s website to this day. It was those coworkers that were the first to hear of my achievement; my high-pitched shrieks of joy were hard to miss. If it weren’t for a little bakery in a nearly forgotten downtown, I would not be here today, throwing my stories out into the world. Writing and bread continues to be very closely intertwined in my life. I write until words fail me, and when they do, I knead out all that’s left in my head until it’s clear and quiet and my hands ache. The ritual has seen me through many hardships, even in times I could barely trust myself with my own wellbeing.

At the bakery, I threw myself into the science and rich history of sourdough, fascinated by the old world process that made arguably the best bread I’d ever tasted. It was the owner’s greatest passion, he was always experimenting, always testing, always traveling to expand his knowledge, and his employees’. I squirreled away a bit of the precious starter -by our best guess she was over thirty years old- and started experimenting myself.

My very first loaf was a disaster. I followed the recipe to a T, so I thought. The flour was wrong, the timing was wrong, even the environment was all wrong. My desert kitchen was too dry and the ambient temperature several degrees warmer than the pastoral New England housewife’s who'd written the recipe. The bread was a dense, small, inedible disaster. So I tried again. I adjusted the water content and kneaded it less. Added more salt and shortened the bake time. The second and third and fourth attempts were only marginally better.

Every morning I drove the five minutes to work, country radio leaking through my speakers, and I wondered why my bread didn’t turn out like the ones that passed under my hands day in and day out. Was it because I didn’t have an industrial proofing room? An oven that could bake dozens of loaves at a time? Or was it the fact that I was too lazy to wake up at 2am to start the dough? My patience with myself was wearing as thin as the dough I stretched and folded a hundred times a day.

It was the flour, I found out later. “All-purpose” turned out to be false advertising. Sourdough, along with most breads, needs a higher protein content to produce and develop more gluten.

That ends up being ironic in regards to sourdough. The proofing process actually ferments the dough, breaking down the gluten and making the fiber and nutrients more bioavailable. I heard so many glowing reviews from people with gluten sensitivities and even Crohn’s disease that could enjoy our sourdough. Some people had been forced to give up bread for decades before discovering the miracle that is (properly) homemade sourdough.

Now, before anyone with an intolerance runs out to the nearest store on these raving recommendation, I have an advisory to avoid my name being cursed to the winds. True old-world sourdough does not contain yeast. The ingredients should be simple, the most traditional recipes call for only flour, water, salt, and starter.

“But you just said starter is a natural yeast?” I did, good catch! My disclaimer is warning against baker’s yeast. The quick acting, “instant” stuff. It’s amazing for what it can do in a much shorter window of time, but it steals away the fermentation conversion and leaves the gluten heavy, unprocessed, and mean on unhappy tummies. I’ve picked up many a supermarket sourdough only to be left bamboozled when I see yeast as the top listed ingredient. Trust me on this: When it comes to sourdough, simpler is better.

I rejoiced in having cracked the code, as it were, and continued to practice at home, though with the copious amount of tasty treats I brought home every day my carb horde hardly required any of my own supplementation. I was only five months into the job, and I could imagine myself staying there forever. Alas, it was not to be. Due to a series of personal events, I left that little bakery, and the knowledge I took with me became infinitely more precious. I kept baking.

Winter, 2022

Fast forward to the end of the year. I had been making sourdough occasionally, really only getting out my starter to feed her and make sure I hadn’t killed her off in the fridge. We were both depressed, that little starter and I, and we needed the opportunity to show our worth.

The chance came when I began to attend regular dinners with a few of my friends. I felt bad showing up week after week empty handed, and when my hostess asked the group chat to contribute to that week’s menu, inspiration struck. I pulled out my dejected starter and she and I got to work. If memory serves me, it was a mediocre offering at best. But everyone, including my year-old nephew, enjoyed it, and my heart went home very full that night. Over the next month or so, it became known, thanks to my nephew, as Maggie-bread, and it continues to be known as such to this day.

Summer, 2023

Disaster strikes. This was a season of new adventures, I house-sat all over my home county and traveled over what felt like half the country. Instead of drying or freezing my faithful little starter, I left her in the fridge and hoped for the best. Imagine my heartbreak when I rescued her after a particularly long stint away, only to find her cover in fuzzy white mold. There was no saving her, and with genuine tears, I scooped her into the trash and washed out the mason jar she’d called home with scorching hot water. The last traces of my starter washed away down the sink of sudsy water. It was too complicated to go back to the bakery and ask for more. They sold it, sure, but I wasn’t ready to shell out $30 for a few ounces if I was just going to kill it again. And I wanted to wait to try making my own until I was sure I’d be home to keep an eye on it. The summer passed.

It wasn’t until late September that I had my shot at redemption. The dinner friends brought me a packet of dried starter all the way from Alaska, and I accepted with excitement and trepidation. How would a cold-weather starter fare in the arid heat? Quite well, as it turns out.

February, 2025

I named my new starter "Mabel", and she has thrived over the last year and half that I've had her in my care. She's fed many of my friends and family, and continues to provide bubbly, sometimes a little stinky, bread-y magic.

Funnily enough, I am writing this as I wait for the first rise of a double batch to finish. Once again, words and bread for me go hand-in-hand, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sourdough has become a huge part of my identity, I have sacrificed sleep and time and planned around my bake days like they’re sacred. There is nothing better than to slice into a warm loaf and divvy out slices to grabby, thankful hands. It is an art and a skill I can’t wait to take with me into all stages of my life, and wherever I finally decide to call home. I’ll leave you with a recipe and a wish: May all your loaves rise and never burn. May it never go stale and may it always be the perfect amount of sour. Bake on, friends. <3

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Artisan bread recipe:

⅓ cup of starter

1 ¾ cups of water

1 heaping T. of salt

~3-4 cups flour

Add starter and water to bowl, stir and add salt. Add flour 1 cup at a time, stirring well then kneading until shaggy dough begins to smooth. Measure flour with your heart, you don’t want it to be too dense. Don’t stress it though, you’ll do great.

Let sit for 1 hour

Knead gently

Let sit for 30 minutes

Knead gently

Allow to ferment (proof) for 8-10 hours (covered)

Preheat oven at 425 with dutch oven or oven safe container with lid.

Score dough with a knife or razor blade

Bake with lid on for 30-35 minutes

Remove lid

Bake another 25-30 minutes until golden brown