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How I fell out of love with sourdough
Those of you who follow me on Instagram or who read my recent article in Club Oenologique, may recall a smug series of posts about a month ago crowing about my newly acquired prowess as a sourdough baker.
True, I did mutter about beginner’s luck at the time but I really thought I'd nailed it.
So what happened after such a promising start? I feel I owe it to my starter to explain why it’s all over
“So, sourdough, I admit it was love - or maybe lust - at first sight. I was swept away by your charms. Glowed with pride at hanging out with such a handsome loaf.
But once I got to know you better I realised it wasn’t all plain sailing. You were, I discovered, temperamental. Moody and inconsistent. Sure, you flattered me in the early days with your crisp golden crust but were sulkily capable of turning yourself into a leaden dough that I couldn’t even shape into a loaf..
And talk about high maintenance. Gawd you were needy. There was one stage in the process when I had to handle you every 30 minutes. Even my husband didn’t expect that.
And the mess! I’m not that domesticated at the best of times so having to scrape and scrub sticky dough off my lovely wooden kitchen table (which still hasn’t recovered, just so you know, Sourdough) is just one extra task I can do without. And the endless washing up ….
Also you weren’t good for me. I mean I’m trying to keep my weight under some control under lockdown and you were tempting me to eat far too much bread. Or ship it out to the neighbours whether they wanted it or not (and I suspect they probably didn’t).
It’s not as if I can’t buy a decent loaf. All those wonderful bakers in my home town* whose loaves, as you can see above, are better than anything I could possibly make myself. Basically I was doing them out of business and that’s not good in these hard times, you have to admit.
Finally - and I know this doesn’t reflect well on me - I was finding it hard to be a one bread woman. I want to play around with other loaves - flatbreads, focaccia, fougasse - some of which involve - yes, I know you’ll be shocked - commercial yeast. And are the better for it.
Just making the same bread day after day was, dare I say, boring. And it’s not as if life is massively exciting at the moment
So, sorry Sourdough. I genuinely did feel for you but like so many holiday romances it was just a flash in the pan (or the cast iron Le Creuset in your case).
I really hope you’ll find someone else who can give you the love and attention you deserve.
All the best
Which include, in Bristol, Farro, Harts Bakery and Bakers and Co and easy access to Gloucestershire-based Hobbs House
If you still want to have a go read my rather more optimistic first piece.
Image © Krasimira Nevenova at shutterstock.com
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