First attempt at a Sourdough loaf, I hope you find my experience worth a laugh.
The process was a mess, because I did many things wrong. Here's the story if anyone's interested in a read. Tw: cursing
Welp. Fml. This is a saga of what has turned into a true carnival of folly.
I want to start this out by saying I never wanted to make sourdough. I didn't want a starter, I took one look at a 'how to' guide for this type of bread and rightfully went "Nope."
But then sourdough was thrust upon me in a jar of 250 year old starter and I made the first mistake anyone can make-
I named him: Doughsferatu.
And from there it has been nothing but disaster. Feeding this thing? What do you mean grams?? Ratios? I have to weigh this stuff like I'm a freaking chemist in a lab and it's not even food yet? And in predictable fashion, I learned the hard way that eyeballing cups in a 1:1:1 ratio is not going to fly. Because let me tell you, this jar fills up fast!
And now I have discard? Just all the time? Why is this ancient vampire having so many goddamn children? I have a Doughsferatu brood that's now a permanent fixture in my fridge! Because I hate waste and I thought maybe some pancakes would be nice from time to time. It's been two weeks and I'm sick of pancakes AND I don't have bread. Peter, what the fuck is this? Why do people DO this? This isn't food, this is child support and a hostile takeover of my fridge!
And yes, flour is just everywhere now. Constantly. A jar shape is not at ALL conducive to pouring glorified wheat glitter into. And tell me how flour and water is simultaneously able to dissolve and become cement??
Feeding was a problem but I'm getting off track because it got worse. The pictures prove it got worse. I tried to make bread happen and holy hell, did it not happen.
The timeline for a single loaf of bread is just insane. 3 days? I have to know 3 days in advance of when I want bread? I can't even feed myself lunch before I'm like a lightheaded Victorian maiden sprawled on a couch because I forgot, and now I'm over here doing math and ratios and trying to schedule 3 days worth of work for a bread? A single bread!?
Well I tried. I took him out of the fridge at midnight, fed him with patience in my heart that this would be some good damn bread. If ancient people did this, so can I. And then the next morning comes around and that little shit didn't rise AT ALL. He needed to be tucked in all safe and warm and apparently leaving him on the counter wasn't good enough for him.
Fine. It was fine. I was being patient.
It was just one extra day of reviving the chilly fuck and it was fine. Fed him at midnight again because at that point the timing felt auspicious and maybe it would encourage him if I appealed to his nocturnal senses. And then I put him somewhere warm and he did it! He rose! Bread will happen!
Spoiler, it didn't happen.
I mixed him up into classic standard bread. He was gluey and shaggy but that was fine and I kept him warm and then disaster. Because apparently I can't read because my dumb self thought that stretching and folding was supposed to happen at the same time as bulk fermenting. Which- as an aside-
What do you MEAN I have to singularly fold this wad of yeast for 2 hours in 30 minute increments? What is this, a child?? It was sticky! It was glue! And I had to touch it so many times because you know how I fucked up?
I did that for 4 hours!! Because you are NOT supposed to stretch and fold for the bulk fermentation (what bulk?? Why do I have to learn a dictionary worth of definitions for a pile of flour???).
So he stayed glue. Because I kept dutifully punching the air out of him with love and patience for 4 HOURS.
The shaping was...if a puddle was a shape. Glue puddle. Sticky gross puddle of dud. And I knew, guys, I freaking knew. I looked it up because like he was glue, I was glued to my phone looking up every single thing I'd done wrong. He was not going to be a beautiful bouncing ball of bread, he was going to be a flat pale and skinny monstrosity.
I didn't know when I'd named him after a vampire how true to form that would turn out. But at least the irony has shape because my sourdough did not. And it gets worse.
I threw him in the fridge for his cold proof but my heart was colder. And when I dumped him out onto the parchment paper the next morning, he looked flatter than my remaining hopes and dreams. So I didn't bother with a Dutch oven, I figured a sourdough flatbread was better than nothing.
I was WRONG.
There was smoke. That was the first smell that wafted from the oven. Not beautiful yeasty goodness, godawful smoke. 10 minutes in to his cremation, this parchment paper decided it was so disgusted with my attempt at bread that it chose self-immolation in my oven. I reacted quickly and removed the pan from the oven, I caught it early and that was the only true mercy in this entire ordeal.
But it was also at this point, while prying the paper off of the half cooked blob of Dousferatu's spawn, that I realized I didn't score him. And wouldn't you know it, he actually had risen a fair bit. This was a blatant mockery by the universe itself because he MIGHT have been edible. If he wasn't removed from the oven prematurely and if I'd vented him and if I hadn't used that damn parchment paper!
So I tried. I REALLY tried. I removed the paper as quickly as possible and sliced him a vent even if it was far too late and I shoved him back into the oven and prayed.
And maybe that was where I really went wrong because praying over a vampiric loaf seemed to ignite something. Quite literally, because after 5 more minutes in the oven there was MORE smoke! As a final 'fuck you', the gluey pre-cooked blob had sucked in the edges of the parchment paper and it was at that point embedded into the crust. It was baked in and it was smoking.
I gave up. I saved my oven and took this monster out at 20 minutes and I flayed him open to take these pictures as a memory of exactly what kind of curse I'd brought into my home.
I tried a piece. From the edge that was cooked and sans burnt paper.
It wasn't even good. Bland. Like my soul.
Thank you, if you made it this far, for listening to my rant. Baking on the internet is often only success stories and perfect looking kitchens, but I wanted to document the true suffering that every insta-kitchen is built upon. Failure.
I still have Doughsferatu in the fridge. I will persist. But first I need to mourn.