(Sorry, I just had to say that)
Dusting off this blog and seeing the last post was made at the end of September of 2019, well..let's chalk it up (in part) to a non-existent race season.
In March, didn't we all have these grand plans of catching up on reading, tidying up like Marie Kondo, learning how to properly forge a railroad spike from scrap metal, and binge watch all the seasons of TV from the past two years?
Nope, nope, scratch that! At least, we're comedians in that sense. I think my bedroom may have remained in the same, semi-chaotic state during the whole ordeal so far.
What didn't change for me: coffee consumption, hee hee hee
There's also been a surge of people trying their hands at baking sourdough bread, and lo and behold, pictures on social media of golden brown loaves, nicely scored (the slash on top) to make our mouths water.
I was recently given a jar of starter from some good friends of mine, as well as some basic instructions on how to keep it alive (no mentions of bringing it into outer space, however), and a few links to recipes.
First attempt - listen to said friends' easy-sounding method that didn't seem to take too long, excitedly bake up a loaf and...get a result of a very dense middle, not too much rise, toasted up a bit odd the next morning.
Informing myself on sourdough starters for baking bread, and the process (*ahem* patience) involved, got me on this unexpected journey that may have me considering renaming my starter to Bilbo. Or One Ring.
The actual culture requires time and a bit of TLC for it to be active. Leave it out of the fridge. Feed it once, twice a day. Watch the bubbles and hey, why not call it Precious since it's going to be the make or break of your bread!
This week (second week of June), attempting a batch with proportions that are reflective of proper bread recipes, as well as allowing more time (overnight!) for the active starter to do its thing...
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| Behold: Wet Goop related to Flubber |
...and I literally get something resembling slop, or a dough-coloured Flubber when poured out of the bowl and it slowly oozes out of shape. Not to mention it's quite the sticky mess that literally sucks my fingers in. You shall not pass!
Oh, and when I attempt to lift half of it out (what's in the picture above), it stretches like a mozzarella cheese monster, and my floured tray is suspended almost in mid-air by tendrils of dough.
As I'm typing this, I've got another loaf in the making, different amounts but still respecting the baker's math. Here's the thing - I can picture, and taste, that beautiful slice of sourdough toast; it will be done justice only by applying a lashing of butter.
To be continued (part 2)
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