I love sourdough bread with a heady passion and I should warn you now, I’m about to preach like the newly converted. You can have the satisfaction and pleasure of fresh sourdough bread everyday too! Just ask me how! Actually, you don’t even need to ask. I’ll get up on my soapbox right now and tell you. I’ve been making sourdough several times a week for a couple of years, and used many methods (and many, many hours) to whittle the technique down to something that works for me. I put in maybe 5 minutes work per loaf, really, though that time is admittedly spread over 18 hours. My timing may not fit your hours, but you can be flexible, and fit it around almost any schedule. Rising timing isn’t critical to the minute, or even the hour really. I start mine in the evening, shape the loaf first thing in the morning, and bake it late morning. You could start your dough before work, let it rise during the day, shape the loaf when you get home, then bake it just before bedtime, giving you a fresh loaf of bread when you wake up the next morning.
Measuring the ingredients probably takes the longest – all of a few minutes – which involves weighing your ingredients as you put them in the breadmaker bowl, setting it to knead only, topping up your starter (I’ll get to that later) and going to bed. This works in the Winter time anyway. On balmy nights, I wait until it has kneaded, and pop in in a bowl in the fridge. In the morning, the first thing I do is scoop out the risen dough, roll it into a loaf and place it into a slightly warmed oven. The next part is where I’m lucky to often be at home during the day. We get the kids to school, I stay for reading and do what ever needs to be done in the morning, then when I take a break for a cup of tea I take the dough out of the oven, heat the oven to 230ºC (445ºF) cut a couple slashes in the top, spray it with water, and pop it back in. Bake for about 45 minutes, or until the internal temperature is close to 100ºC (212ºF). Then, and this is the hard part, don’t cut into it until it’s completely cool, or the whole loaf will take on a weird gummy texture. If I could leave you with any wisdom it is this: Let cooling loaves lie.
Now, I know purists will be choking on their artisanal coffees right now, and I may never be let into France again, but this method works, for me anyway, and it means I can bake fresh crusty sourdough bread every second day without having to schedule it into my diary. It has become habit, and seems like no work at all. It is crusty, has just the right chewy texture, and those telltale air bubbles.
I’ll start with essential (or useful at the very least) items.
One: A set of scales. Inexplicably, US kitchens rarely seem to have them, but measuring things like flour by volume is far from accurate. So very far. You’re standing there at your kitchen bench and your measurements? In a galaxy far, far away… Just buy some scales. They’re inexpensive and will save you much heartbreak.
Two: A breadmaker or mixer with a dough hook. Not essential I guess, but actually… it is. I certainly wouldn’t be making all our own bread if it meant kneading by hand every time. The arm-cramping act of kneading is a big hurdle for new bakers, and probably won’t make you a regular baker. Romantic it may seem, but only the first three times.
Three: A good sturdy baking tray – NOT non-stick. You shouldn’t heat teflon coating past 220ºC or you risk nasty fumes and peeling. Use the big old rusty tray at the bottom of the drawer, and line it with baking paper.
Four: Oh yes, your starter, aka levain or biga. The magic of sourdough is that instead of adding commercial yeast, you use and replenish a wet dough that contains live active yeasts. They feed off the flour and water in the dough, and the same batch can last for hundreds of years if someone keeps feeding it. Cool right? You get to keep your very own bubbling yeasty pet! Right there on the fridge shelf. Sometimes this freaks people out. Oh god really? Something else I have to keep alive? Aren’t the children and the dog enough? Don’t worry, it’s hard to kill. Just top it up with equal parts flour and water every time you use it. Keep about 500g in the fridge. Say you need 400g? Scoop it out, and replace it with 200g of water and 200g of flour. Stir. Easy. If you don’t use any for a while, just do the same every week or so. Your compost will love it. People will tell it’s more complicated than that. Those same people will tell you that making sourdough needs 5 pages of instructions including 27 steps and 3 days. They want you to get up at 3am on a Tuesday morning to gently fold and laminate your dough and put it right back where it was. You don’t need those people in your life.
Now where to find this magical starter. You could make your own. Try this over at the BBC for an easy start, though not if you’re vegan. The Kitchn has instructions here for a wild starter. A warning though: that is a bit complicated. You’re catching wild yeasts and bacteria from the air, and you want to make sure you catch the right ones.
The easiest way is to ask around. Sourdough bakers LOVE to share. We’re pushers. Ask one of us any innocent question about bread and and you’ll have a little jar of bubbling gloop and a lovingly typed page of instructions pushed into your hands before you can say “What’s the difference between starter, biga and levain anyway?” (Answer: Not much. National borders mostly.)
If you don’t have baking friends, ask your local bakery. If the old school bakers regard their starter as a family treasure, follow the cool kids to the latest artisinal pop-up bakery. Hipsters get nerdily excited about their passions, and should be happy to share, especially if you offer to swap for a little bit of cold hard cash, or a jar of your homemade jam. Or ask me if you live within shouting distance. I’ve got that page of instructions too!
What else? Flour! Yes, and a good bakers flour is probably you’re best option, but, saying that, I sometimes use ordinary old plain flour. And it’s fine. In fact that’s what I used in the loaf pictured here. It’s good quality flour, but just everyday all purpose flour nonetheless. Bread flour is probably better – more protein, yada yada – but you know what? I still haven’t been struck by lightning by the Patron Saint of Bakers (It’s St Honoratus of Amiens – I checked!), and it still makes a damn fine sandwich.
Ok, now I’ve written a thousand words on how easy and quick it is to make sourdough, I’d better get on with it. I should note that I got my basic proportions from Bourke Street Bakery: The Ultimate Baking Companion
Lorena’s Sourdough Bread
765g bread flour (or all purpose)
400ml water
400g starter (aka levain, biga)
20g salt
To replenish starter:
200ml water
200g flour
Place all ingredients into the bowl of a bread maker or stand mixer. If using a bread maker, set to ‘knead only’ and let the cycle run. If using a stand mixer, insert the dough hook and knead until smooth and elastic. Give it ten minutes – if it feels sticky, let it go a bit longer.
While the dough kneads, replenish your starter. Add the water and flour, stir, and return to the fridge.
Cover the bowl with cling film and leave in a cool place for 8 to 10 hours. Carefully tip onto a lightly floured board, and shape gently into a rough square. Don’t ‘punch it down’. You want to keep those air bubbles. If you like, divide the dough to make two small loaves, or keep whole to make one big loaf. Start from one end and roll into a log shape. You can be firm here, but don’t squeeze it. Tuck the ends under and place onto a baking paper lined tray.
Dough, after the 2nd rise, ready for baking.
Slide into the oven (not heated!), and place a tray of boiling water on the rack underneath. This will provide the warm damp environment it needs to rise. After 3 or 4 hours, remove from the oven (leave the tray of water in there), and heat the oven to 230ºC (445ºF). Cut several long slashes in the top of the loaf. This is optional, but gives the loaf room to expand as it rises, and should stop it splitting. Basically, it’s neater.
Slashed and ready for the oven
Spray or brush with water for a crunchier crust, and slide into the oven. Bake for about 45 minutes, or until it looks crusty and sounds hollow when tapped. If you have a thermometer, the internal temperature should be as close to 100ºC (212ºF) as you can get. A couple degrees under should be fine, but no less.
The baked loaf
Let it cool (be patient!) and enjoy!
For a PDF of the recipe click here. And please feel free to leave a comment or contact me with any questions.
