There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, as comforting as the smell of a fresh baked loaf of bread just pulled from a hot oven.

Golden brown crust, crackling with crispy perfection, freckled
with tiny heat blisters and dusty from a light sprinkling of flour. The airy, chewy texture of the inner loaf, proof of hands that know just how much kneading is needed. It’s miraculous, and for as long as I can remember, the perfect loaf of a master bread-baker has been, in my mind at least, the highest pinnacle of achievement this stay-at-home amateur baker could reach.

For years, I had been telling myself it was time to start pursuing gluten greatness. I’d even bought some stoneware in preparation of this hallowed venture. It was still patiently awaiting its inaugural bake in the back corner of a rarely opened cabinet.

So, it really was no surprise when, at my local homeschool co-op one morning, a friend asked if anyone wanted a sourdough starter and my hand impulsively shot up before I’d even processed the thought.

I mean, how hard could this be, right?

That was how I found myself in my kitchen, staring at a slightly bubbly mixture in a glass jar and feeling a bit intimidated all of a sudden. Bringing home a sourdough starter was beginning to feel a bit like bringing home a newborn. This little life needed to be fed and cared for and loved, and all at once, I was not so sure.

I was fairly certain I didn’t even have everything I needed, but ready or not, I was now responsible for molding this yeasty blob into golden ecstasy (preferably with an open crumb and opulent crust).

My sourdough starter supplier had sent me home with links to some helpful information that I perused with interest. Happily, I discovered that a starter can “hibernate” in the refrigerator, so onto a shelf it went until I had more time.

(Don’t try this with newborns)

The next week I had a day at home, so I pulled the jar out and took a look. It appeared no worse for its time in the slammer, so I fed it, feeling very satisfied that I was on track to becoming a bona-fide baker.

This lasted for a couple glorious days in which I managed to produce some lovely crackers from the discard, until life got busy once again. The jar was returned to its chilly incarceration at the back of a frig shelf, where it remained for months.

By the time I got back around to it, the sweet little bubbly glob had transformed into a hardened criminal, brewing its own hooch in a shady dark layer on top that rested like a fetid pond.

Slightly alarmed, I set about the process of putting my starter back on the straight and narrow. The murky gray liquid that smelled slightly of stinky feet…a tell-tale sign of a troubled starter…was quickly dumped down the drain. I bought a high quality bread flour and bottled water for my wayward goop, and after a couple days of TLC, the change was noticeable.

I was relieved.

Hope grew as I watched it bubble back to life day after day. Logging its rise became a new daily obsession. On day four I decided, based on my extensive google training of a couple hours, to try my first loaf.

I will spare you the disturbing details. In short, it was a disaster. Even hours after it was clear it was not going to even proof enough to bake, I was still attempting to revive it. Eventually, I surrendered and resolved to let nature take its course. Despondent, I left the leaden lump in the oven and went to bed.

When I peeked in the oven the next morning hoping for a miraculous rise
of biblical proportions, it was clear it had not survived. I muttered a few words of comfort to myself over the remains as I lowered them into their final resting place in the garbage.

Thankfully, sourdough starters are, in the words of Loki, “burdened with glorious purpose”, and supply hope anew with their resilient nature to the bakers who have lost their way. Determination rising, even if my dough wasn’t, I redoubled my efforts.

Each day brought a faster peak rise and those beautiful bubbles.

The next week, with the trauma of that first attempt fading, I purposed to try again. I thumbed through a few more YouTube tutorials on my phone, gave myself a pep talk, and waited for the mixture to double in size after its feeding.

I’m happy to declare this next attempt actually made it to the baking stage.

After hours of rising, watching, stretching, poking and rising again, I nestled it down into the pot for the bake. I made several novice mistakes along the way, but nothing too terrible.

After dumping it out of the Dutch oven post-bake, I immediately grabbed the wickedly hot loaf in both hands to test the crackle of the golden crust. I was disappointed to discover it comes out of the oven basically a bread boulder, hard as a rock. When sufficiently cooled, however, the crust was a lovely percussion of crackle.

All in all, not a bad loaf for a second attempt.

I won’t begin to claim to have reached a pinnacle with that second loaf, or even any of the many loaves that have followed, but it was definitely more than just palatable.

I’m still the proud parent of a slightly temperamental sourdough starter. I’m learning more with each feeding, each bake. It’s been a lesson of love and care, patience and watching for that sneaky hooch.

As the seasons change, so does the way the starter needs handled and fed.

The climate of the room influences the rise of the dough.

Success is never a guarantee, even if all the boxes are checked.

The starter can be trained (surprising, but absolutely true!).

I have to keep adapting my methods as I learn how to get the best results.

There are so many lessons here that parallel to parenthood…or any relationship, really. Kids… spouse… family… friendships… bread…

They take time. Learning and changing. Understanding and patience…so much patience. But here’s the truth: good things like warm, crusty bread and our myriad of relationships, are worth it!

I’m here for it.

Let’s get baking…

Jamie Inman

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