Tag: wild yeast

  • Start a new sourdough starter with me

    Start a new sourdough starter with me

    There’s something special about new beginnings. A clean jar, a fresh bag of flour, the quiet anticipation of what’s to come.

    A sourdough – flour and water, mixed together and left to rest. At first, nothing much happens. Then, after a couple of days, tiny bubbles appear, a sign that wild yeasts and bacteria are waking up. The smell shifts – sweet and slightly tangy, reminiscent of yoghurt and apple cider vinegar.

    I’ve made many starters over the years. Some I’ve carried with me across kitchens, feeding them daily. Others I’ve left too long in the back of the fridge, until they turned greyish, then still. But now, in the quiet of winter, I feel like starting again.

    I’m doing as I always have – a 100% hydration starter, equal parts flour and water. It’s familiar, reliable, and the foundation of so many loaves I’ve loved. But I’ve been reading about stiff starters – not unlike a sourdough biga – and I’m curious. Perhaps next time! 

    For now, it’s just organic wheat flour, full of natural yeasts, and lukewarm water. 

    If you’ve never made a sourdough starter before, now is as good a time as any. The process is slow, but that’s part of the charm. Stir, wait, feed, repeat.

    Are you starting one too?

    There are as many ways to start a starter as there are bakers – really, you could talk to two hundred people and get two hundred different processes. I like to keep things simple, because it shouldn’t have to be complicated.

    I’ve written down my method, the one I follow loosely. Twenty-two hours instead of twenty-four? That IS okay. The “recipe” is in grams, though I’m mostly partial to my Swedish decilitermått [measuring cups that fit 1dl = 100ml]. And while I write 50g/50g on paper, in practice it’s usually a little over ½ dl water (about 60g) and 1dl flour (scooped and scraped, around 60–65g) – especially once the starter is established and I’m discarding or baking, and feeding daily.

    DAY ONE

    In a clean jar, mix 50g of lukewarm water (30°C and filtered if needed) and 50g ORGANIC plain flour. Stir well, cover with a lid, and place somewhere warm-ish – 22-24°C. You might want to write the time on your starter jar for future reference.

    Notes: When mixing water and flour, I ALWAYS start with the water to avoid pockets of flour at the bottom of my mixing container/bowl.

    DAY TWO

    Timeline: 24 hours after you first mixed the starter.

    Add 50g lukewarm water and 50g of flour. Mix well, cover with a lid, and leave to rest. The starter now weighs 200g.

    Our feeding ratio for day 2 is 2:1:1 (starter:flour:water) – the first couple of days is possibly the only time I would have more starter than water/flour.

    Notes: No discard on the second day!

    DAY THREE

    Timeline: 24 hours after the last feed. Keep in mind that depending on whether you started your starter in the morning or evening, your next feed will be 12 hours after this step.

    You might have started seeing some activity in your starter – totally normal for it to smell slightly cheesy at this stage. This comes from lactic acid bacteria, which are also found in yogurt and cheese.

    Stir your starter, then place onto scales and tare. Discard starter so that you get -125g on the scales – we’re saving 75g starter. Now, add 50g lukewarm water and 50g of flour. Mix well, cover with a lid, and leave to rest. The starter now weighs 175g.

    Our feeding ratio for day 3 is 3:2:2. Depending on whether you starter you starter in the morning or in the evening, you’re going to have to next feed it 12 hours after this step.

    Notes: I like to stir my sourdough starter before discarding and feeding. This ensures the wild yeasts and bacteria are evenly distributed, promoting consistent fermentation.

    DAY FOUR & FIVE

    Timeline: We’re going to do two feeds today – one 12 hours after the last feed and another one 12 hours later.
    I, of course, forgot to feed my starter after 12 hours last night, so it ended up being closer to 20. I couldn’t help myself and added some rye to the mix today. To keep things consistent, I usually mix 350g organic flour with 150g coarse rye flour, which I’ll use for feeding my starter from now on.

    On Day 4, you’ll follow the instructions for both the first and second feed. After that – Day 5 and so on – you’ll only perform the second feed but TWICE a day – discarding 100g of starter and feeding as follows.

    First feed:

    Stir your starter, then place onto scales and tare. Discard starter so that you get -150g on the scales – we’re saving 25g starter. Now, add 50g lukewarm water and 50g of rye flour mix (read note above). Mix well, cover with a lid, and leave to rest. The starter now weighs 125g.

    Second feed:

    Stir your starter, then place onto scales and tare. Discard starter so that you get -100g on the scales – we’re saving 25g starter. Now, add 50g lukewarm water and 50g of rye flour. Mix well, cover with a lid, and leave to rest. The starter weighs again 125g.

    Our feeding ratio for day 4 & 5 is 1:2:2.

     

    DAY SIX & more

    Is your starter ready to bake with?

    Look for consistent fermentation patterns: it should reliably double in size within 4–6 hours of feeding and have a pleasantly tangy smell. If not, keep repeating the process from Day 5 : discard 100g, feed with 50g lukewarm water and 50g flour mix, twice a day, until it gains strength

    If your starter is ready, you can now bake with it – simply mix a levain as written in your bread recipe. Keep in mind that a starter strengthens over time; it typically takes around one month to become fully developed.
    Now is also the time to transition to a maintenance feeding schedule: save 6g of starter and feed using 60g lukewarm water and 60g flour mix. 

     

    ON FEEDING RATIOS

    Feeding ratios are written as starter:flour:water. For example, 1:2:2 means 1 part starter, 2 parts flour, and 2 parts water, all measured by weight. Keeping a consistent ratio helps maintain a healthy, active starter.

    Adjusting the ratio changes how your starter ferments. Higher ratios (e.g. 1:5:5) provide more food, slowing fermentation and extending the time before it peaks. Lower ratios (e.g. 1:1:1) speed things up, making the starter ready sooner. The right ratio depends on your room temperature, how quickly you need your starter, and your baking schedule.

    Common feeding ratios:

    – 1:1:1  A quick feed. Good if you plan to bake within a few hours, as the starter becomes active in 4-5 hours at room temperature.

    – 1:2:2 or 1:3:3  A longer fermentation, ready in 8-12 hours.

    – 1:5:5 or 1:6:6  A slow, steady feed, great for strengthening your starter. I love using this for overnight feeds or even maintenance (10g starter:50–60g both water and flour), so that my starter is ready to bake with first thing in the morning. It’s also a great way to increase the total weight of your starter, especially if your recipe calls for 200–300g of starter or levain.

    – 1:10:10 The ultimate maintenance feed!

    More than a strict and unmovable rule to follow, adjusting the feeding ratio is a way to make sourdough work for you – fitting baking into your timeline rather than the other way around.

  • Kusmark sourdough

    Kusmark sourdough

    I thought it would be nice to start my weekend boulangerie posts with a book quote. You know, being the weekend and all. Perhaps, you’ll want to do what I’ve doing and explore forgotten books.

    Yes, I’ve had time. To bake, to draw, to read.
    And yes, I’m extremely happy.

    On this subject, a few nights ago, we watched a documentary – in Swedish – about what used to be Frantzén/Lindeberg. It was unusually accurate and very interesting. I could relate a lot; with both Frantzén and Lindeberg, who were in two – very – different phases which caused them to separate. But really, I especially liked the part where Lindeberg – after leaving the restaurant – says (and I’m about to very badly paraphrase/translate him) that once you leave that intense bubble created by the constant need to reach perfection, you start to soak in the beauty of life that has been around you all these years without you even noticed.
    And while I don’t want to leave that bubble behind just yet, it’s certainly refreshing to be able to live without being consumed by a limitless passion that restlessly occupies every of your thoughts.

    “It was a pleasant May morning in 1775, and the air was filled with the fragrance of the freshly cut pine logs that had been poled down the river in big rafts to be cut into planks and boards at the big sawmills. The river, unusually full with the spring rains, dashed against its banks as if inviting the little girls to play a game with it. Usually Anna and Rebecca were quite ready to linger at the small coves which crept in so near to the footpath, and sail boats made of pieces of birch-bark, with alder twigs for masts and broad oak leaves for sails. They named these boats Polly and Unity, after the two fine sloops which carried lumber from Machias to Boston and returned with cargoes of provisions for the little settlement.
    But this morning the girls hurried along without a thought for such pleasant games. They were both anxious to get to the lumber yard as soon as possible, not only to fill their basket with chips, as their mother had bidden them, but to hear if there were not some news of the Polly, the return of which was anxiously awaited; for provisions were getting scarce in this remote village, and not until the Polly should come sailing into harbor could there be any sugar cakes, or even bread made of wheat flour.”
    Alice Turner Curtis (1920), A Little Maid of Old Maine

    Kusmark sourdough
    Adapted from Jeffrey Hamelman’s Bread: A Baker’s Book of Techniques and Recipes.

    You know those times when you know you’re doing something wrong, but you decide to go ahead and do it anyway. When, this was me, all over this bread. And yet, it turned out beautifully.
    A lovely chewy crumb, with a wonderful sourdough aroma – yet not too strong – and a dark crisp crust.
    I had a slice with a little butter and that Swedish flaky salt I’ve fallen in love with; the bread still slightly warm and the butter oozing on my fingers.

    The dough felt quite dry and gluten development was very fast. I guess I’ve gotten too used to my usual 75% hydration sourdough and this one being only 65%, it was surprisingly easy to work with.
    Yes, I do think it’s one of those magic breads that can absorb mistakes. Perhaps, a new go-to.

    I’ve named it Kusmark sourdough as it is apparently custom to name your bread according to the geographical location of your starter. And really, I thought it sounded great.

    The recipe.

    Makes one boule.

    The recipe is based on Jeffrey’s Vermont sourdough, which seems to be loved by many.

    75gT55 flour100%
    95gwater125%
    15gstarter20%
    for the dough
    375gbread flour90%
    50gwhole rye flour10%
    231gwater65%
    169glevain
    9.5gsalt1.9%

    The ingredients.

    Jeffrey recommends to go for a 12% protein flour for his levain breads. So I went ahead and used my Kungsörnen vetemjöl special and the Saltå Kvarn rågmjöl that I’ve also been using to feed Surdeg these past few weeks.

    The latter seems to absorb slightly more water than what rye has gotten me used to, so if you’re using the same flour, you might need to adjust the hydration slightly.

    Starter used: Surdeg (19/03/2015), 14 days old.

    The timing.

    Mixing the dough & autolyse = 1 hour-ish.
    Bulk proofing = 3 hours, with one or two folds.
    Pre-shaping, bench rest & shaping = 35 minutes.
    Fermentation = at room temperature, for around 2-3 hours or 1 hours at 20°C then retarded overnight (for up to 16 hours according to Jeffrey) at 5°C.
    Baking = 45-60 minutes, depending on the size of your loaf.

    The process.

    While I’m a bit of a perfectionist when working, I must say that I’m way more laid-back when it comes to home baking. In my mind – perhaps because I’ve spent so much time being insanely precise – I really like the nonchalance of baking at home. Yes, the oven isn’t perfect. Yes, the dough temperature might be too high or low. Yes, you will fail. But I’ve learnt to appreciate all of these. Maybe that will change, but for now, I’m pretty happy to take it for what it is: trying to make the best things possible in a home kitchen environment.

    That means, I’m not going to lie, that:
    – I didn’t measure dough temperature, even though I know they’re important. I adjusted the water temperature slightly to have a dough slightly warmer than 23°C, which I measured with my hands. There you go probe.
    – I don’t have a banneton to prove my loaves, but a bowl lined with a floured kitchen towel.
    – I didn’t score my bread using a lame – but a small serrated knife.

    Other than that, here is the process I followed.

    Make the levain.
    In a bowl, mix your active starter and water. Add the flour and mix until smooth. Cover with clingfilm and allow to ferment overnight.

    Mix the dough & autolyse.
    In a large bowl, combine the levain, water, and flours until it just forms a dough. Leave covered for an hour.

    Bulk proofing.
    Add the salt and knead the dough to medium gluten development. The dough will feel elastic and smooth but slightly loose.
    If you’re feeling like it, Jeffrey tells us the dough should now be 24.4°C.
    Cover with clingfilm and leave at room temperature to proof for around three hours.

    Folds.
    My gluten development being a bit more than medium, I only gave the dough one fold. To give a fold, simply place the dough, “nice side” down on a slightly floured surface (I didn’t need any flour here) and pat with the palm of your hand into a rectangle. Then fold like a business letter. And again in the other direction. Place back into the bowl, and keep on proofing.

    From the very beginning till the end of the process, make sure to keep the “nice side” – or seamless – of your loaf as is. While the other side will always be the one with seams.

    Shaping.
    Place “nice side” down onto a lightly floured surface. Pat down with the palm of your hand to degas the dough. Pre-shape the dough into a rough ball. Then cover it with a cloth – leaving its “nice side” down so not to put any flour on the seams and leave for around 30 minutes. In the meantime, get your banneton – real or homemade – ready. Then shape the dough into a tight ball, on a clean surface; the sticky dough will pull the outer layers creating some surface tension.
    Place the dough seam-side up into your banneton if you intend on scoring the bread. Or for a more natural look, place the seam-side down to let the natural cracks bloom in the oven.

    Fermentation.
    You can either ferment your loaf at room temperature until doubled in size and a positive finger poke test, or proof for around an hour before wrapping it in clingfilm or placing it in a sealed bag, and retard it in your fridge for up to 16 hours.

    I went for the latter. But I think my fridge was too cold as barely any fermentation happened overnight and I had to leave my bread to proof outside for another two hours in the morning before it was ready to go in (slightly underproofed, but I had reached my patience limit).

    Scoring.
    Unmould your loaf onto a piece of baking paper, big enough for you to lift the bread to the cast-iron pot. And score into the pattern of your choice.
    Scoring weakens a portion of the outer dough layer, creating the perfect escape for steam during baking and the cuts will expand in the oven, making sure your bread gets to its full volume.

    Baking.
    Preheat the oven to 250°C for at least an hour before your bread is ready. You can preheat a cast iron pot as well, although I’ve baked bread in a cold pot before with great results. It’s really up to you, although I do think a hot pot will generate a better oven spring.

    I choose to bake in a cast-iron at home for two reasons:
    – it removes the need for a stone: cast iron will accumulate heat, just like a stone would. A hot cast-iron pot will prevent your bread from sticking and has amazing heat retention properties, which means it’ll keep your oven hotter and provide a real nice hot base for your bread to bake on.
    – the bread steams itself: by placing a lid on top of your pot, you allow the steam that comes out from the bread to stay in a closed environment, hence acting as a steamer.
    Yes, steam is essential for a good crusty bread that has a lovely oven spring. As the steam moisten the surface of the bread – retarding the gelatinisation of starch, a process which starts at around 60°C – it will increase the volume of your loaf and turn the crust into a shiny surface.

    I baked mine at 250°C for 20 minutes with the lid on and then 30 minutes without. A quick way to check if your bread is done is to probe its centre. It should read 96-98°C for a sourdough bread.

    Notes.

    Next time, I’ll increase the hydration to 70%, to – perhaps – get a more open crumb.
    I also need to check my fridge temperature to make sure it’s not too cold.

    Perhaps, I’ll use a lower protein flour, around 10.5-11% proteins.

    Vermont sourdough ressources.

    Jeffrey Hamelman’s Bread: A Baker’s Book of Techniques and Recipes

    The fresh loaf’s posts on Vermont sourdough.

    R.F. Tester & W.R. Morrison (1990), Swelling and gelatinisation of cereal starches.