Julie's Sourdough

My Sourdough Journey: From Funky Raisins to a Perfect Loaf

Baking sourdough bread has become more than just a hobby for me; it’s a meditative practice, a connection to a simpler time, and a source of immense satisfaction. It all started with a simple, almost foolish, idea: I could make my own sourdough starter from organic raisins. The internet was full of stories, some cautionary, some inspiring, about the process. I was armed with nothing but a jar, some raisins, and a healthy dose of optimism (and perhaps a touch of naiveté).

The initial stages were… interesting. My starter went through phases of bubbling excitement and periods of concerning inactivity. There was the mold incident (let's just say I learned the importance of sterilization), and the constant monitoring, the daily feedings, the feeling that I was nurturing a very particular, very temperamental, little organism. It felt like having a demanding pet! After months of meticulous care, refreshing the starter, and patiently waiting, I finally had a thriving colony of wild yeasts and bacteria, ready to transform humble flour and water into something truly magical. The wait was worth it. Making my own starter was a journey of its own, a testament to patience and the magic of nature. The sense of accomplishment when it finally worked was unparalleled.

My first attempt at actually baking a loaf was a learning experience. The initial dough was too wet, then too dry; the rise was erratic, and the resulting bread a bit… dense. But I persevered. I read countless recipes, watched numerous videos, and experimented with different techniques. I learned about the critical importance of the water-flour ratio, the need for a gentle hand during kneading, and the satisfying feeling of scoring the loaf before baking. Every batch, every failure and every success, chipped away at my knowledge and expertise. The journey wasn’t always easy, there was frustration and disappointment, but the process has become something I look forward to.

Now, months later, I can confidently say that my sourdough bread is something I’m proud of. The aroma that fills my kitchen as it bakes is intoxicating; a warm, yeasty scent that promises deliciousness. The crust is crisp and golden brown, the crumb soft and airy, with a tangy flavor that's both comforting and exhilarating. Each loaf is unique, a reflection of the subtle nuances in flour, water, and the mood of my starter. It’s a far cry from the dense, slightly moldy loaves of my early attempts. The satisfaction of sharing this bread with my friends and family is an incredibly rewarding feeling.

Sourdough baking, it turns out, is much more than just a recipe. It's a ritual, a process that requires patience, attention to detail, and a healthy dose of love. It's a journey of discovery, where every loaf is a testament to the interconnectedness of nature and human ingenuity. And it all started with those funky, gross, moldy raisins.

The process of making sourdough bread, from nurturing the starter to shaping and baking the loaf, is a therapeutic experience, a meditative practice that allows me to unplug from the daily stresses of life and connect with something primal and essential. The ritualistic nature of the process – the feedings, the kneading, the watchful waiting – fosters a sense of calm and mindfulness. It's a wonderful way to slow down and appreciate the simple pleasures of life. Every loaf I bake is a reminder of the power of patience, the beauty of imperfection, and the satisfying reward of creating something delicious from scratch.

More than just a delicious bread, my sourdough has become a symbol of self-reliance, a tangible representation of my ability to nurture something from its humble beginnings to a state of perfection. It's a testament to the journey itself – the failures, the successes, the continuous learning – and a constant reminder of the joys of creating something beautiful with my own hands.

Whether served with butter, cheese, or simply enjoyed on its own, my sourdough is more than just sustenance; it's a reflection of my dedication, my patience, and my ever-growing love for the art of baking. It's a story written in flour, water, and time, a testament to the magic of a simple loaf of bread.

Step-by-step

• In a stand mixer combine flour, malted barley (if you have it), starter, butter and 3/4 cup of water. Knead with the hook on low for 3-4 minutes. Add a small amount of water and knead an additional minute if too dry (the dough should form a ball in the mixer. The secret to good sourdough is to get the water and flour ratio right. It shouldn't be too doughy but hold a semi-firm ball when it is correct).
• Allow the dough to rest for 5 minutes (this allows the flour to absorb the water). Add salt and knead for an additional 2 minutes.
• Place the dough in a large oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and place a dark towel over it. Let it rise until 2-3 times (up to about 12 hours)
• Take the dough out of the bowl and turn it on a floured surface. Knuckle out any large bubbles (this should take about 2 minutes), flip and repeat, knead it back into a small round circle and place it back in the oiled bowl for a second rise (2-4 hours).
• Put back on a floured surface, punch out and form dough into a ball. Sprinkle cornmeal on a baking dish to cook and allow it to rise one last time (2-4 hours). Use a very sharp oiled knife to place cuts on top of dough.
• Cook at 425 F (use convection setting if you have it) for 30 minutes (if you are using a clay sourdough oven you may need to increase the time by 10 minutes, bread should begin to brown) Also, you don't have to let the oven preheat before placing bread.
• Reduce heat to 375 F (remove clay bread lid at this time) and bake for 5-10 minutes more.
• Allow the bread to rest for 30 minutes before cutting and serving