The first time I tried making sourdough bread, it was a lesson in patience and humility. I had nurtured my starter for days, feeling a sense of pride with each bubble that appeared. On baking day, I meticulously followed a recipe, but my inexperience was evident. The dough was stubborn and refused to hold the shape I intended. The final loaf emerged from the oven dense, with a thick, tough crust and a gummy interior. It was far from the airy, open-crumbed bread I had envisioned. Despite its flaws, that first loaf was not a failure; it was a crucial starting point that taught me to respect the process and understand that baking is a skill honed through practice and observation.
I enjoy the process of making sourdough because it is a deeply rewarding and almost meditative practice. It connects me to a timeless tradition of baking that relies on natural fermentation rather than commercial yeast. The ritual of feeding the starter, the tactile pleasure of folding and shaping the dough, and the anticipation of the final bake create a satisfying rhythm. There is a profound sense of accomplishment in pulling a beautifully browned, crackling loaf from the oven, one that I created from just flour, water, and salt. This craft combines science and art, offering endless opportunities for learning and refinement with every batch, which I find endlessly compelling.