The first time I tried making sourdough bread, it was a process filled with both anticipation and uncertainty. I began by cultivating my own starter, a living culture that required daily feedings of flour and water. For over a week, I watched for signs of life, feeling a genuine thrill when I saw the first bubbles appear. Mixing the dough for the first loaf felt like a science experiment, carefully combining the active starter with more flour and water, then embarking on the long, slow fermentation. The shaping was clumsy, and my scoring was hesitant, but the moment I lifted the lid of the Dutch oven to reveal a beautifully risen, crusty loaf was pure magic. That initial success, born from patience and a bit of microbial alchemy, was incredibly rewarding.
I enjoy the process of making sourdough because it is a deeply grounding and creative practice. It forces me to slow down and work on nature’s timeline, not my own. The rhythmic motions of folding the dough and the quiet patience required for fermentation provide a meditative break from a fast-paced world. There is a profound satisfaction in nurturing a living starter and transforming simple, elemental ingredients—just flour, water, and salt—into something complex, nutritious, and delicious. Each bake is a unique result of time, temperature, and touch, making every loaf a small, personal achievement and a tangible product of care and attention.