Sourdough Baking Beginner’s Journey: My Tangy Tale

Alright, let’s talk sourdough. For years, the very idea of baking sourdough bread felt like trying to understand quantum physics while simultaneously juggling flaming torches. It seemed reserved for artisanal bakers with mystical powers and kitchens that looked like they belonged in a magazine. I’d see those gorgeous, crusty loaves on Instagram, with those intricate scores and that perfect open crumb, and think, “Nope, not for me. Too complicated.” I mean, a sourdough starter? A living thing I had to feed? It sounded less like baking and more like adopting a very demanding, albeit invisible, pet. And as a marketing guy who spends his days dissecting campaigns and consumer behavior, the unpredictable nature of wild yeast felt… well, wild. Here in Nashville, where the creative spirit is infectious, I found myself wanting a new kind of project, something tangible, something that connected me back to basics after years in the fast-paced Bay Area tech scene. Plus, Luna, my ever-watchful rescue cat, seemed to approve of anything that involved me spending more time in the kitchen, probably hoping for dropped scraps.

So, I decided to dive in. And let me tell you, this beginner’s journey into the art of sourdough baking has been exactly that – a journey. There have been triumphs (that first genuinely good loaf!), utter failures (the infamous “hockey puck” incident of ‘24), and a whole lot of learning. It’s been messy, occasionally frustrating, but ultimately incredibly rewarding. I’m Sammy, by the way, and I usually write about food culture and lifestyle trends here on Chefsicon.com. But today, I’m pulling back the curtain on my own fumbling, flour-dusted attempts to conquer the sourdough beast. My hope is that by sharing my experiences, the good, the bad, and the slightly-too-dense, I can demystify the process a bit for anyone else out there who’s been curious but intimidated. This isn’t going to be one of those super-polished, “I’m a sourdough guru” posts. Far from it. This is a real-time, still-learning, participant-observer account. We’ll talk about starters, tools, techniques, and the inevitable moments where you wonder if you should just stick to buying bread from the store. But trust me, when you pull that first successful loaf out of the oven, the aroma alone makes it all worthwhile. It’s a kind of primal satisfaction, you know? Creating something so fundamental from just flour, water, and a little bit of wild magic.

What you’re going to get here is my honest take. I’m going to walk you through the steps as I learned them, share the resources that actually helped, and point out the pitfalls I stumbled into so maybe, just maybe, you can sidestep them. We’ll cover everything from coaxing that first starter into existence (it feels like a science experiment, and not always a successful one at first) to understanding the weird, wonderful language of bakers – things like ‘autolyse’ and ‘bulk fermentation’. We’ll even touch on the almost meditative quality of working with dough. It’s a process that forces you to slow down, to observe, to be patient. In a world obsessed with instant gratification, sourdough is a refreshingly analogue pursuit. So, grab a cup of coffee (or maybe a glass of wine, no judgment here), and let’s embark on this tangy adventure together. Who knows, by the end of this, you might just be ready to name your own starter and join the ranks of us slightly obsessed home bakers. And trust me, it’s a pretty cool club to be in.

The Sourdough Saga: My Notes from the Floury Front Lines

Understanding the Sourdough Starter: Your Living, Breathing Pet (Sort Of)

Okay, first things first: what even *is* sourdough? Before I started this, I vaguely knew it was “sour” bread, but the mechanics were a mystery. Essentially, sourdough bread is leavened by a wild yeast and bacteria culture, rather than commercial baker’s yeast. This culture, lovingly (or sometimes exasperatedly) referred to as a sourdough starter (or levain, if you want to sound fancy), is a living ecosystem. You create it by mixing flour and water and letting the naturally occurring yeasts and bacteria in the flour and your environment colonize it. These little guys eat the sugars in the flour and produce carbon dioxide (which makes the bread rise) and organic acids, like lactic and acetic acid. These acids are what give sourdough its characteristic tangy flavor and also help to preserve the bread naturally. It’s pretty amazing when you think about it – you’re basically cultivating a tiny, invisible farm in a jar. The symbiotic culture of yeast and bacteria (often called a SCOBY, though that term is more common with kombucha) is what makes sourdough, well, sourdough. It’s an ancient method of baking, way before neat little packets of instant yeast were a thing. My starter, affectionately named ‘Bubbles’ (Luna seemed to approve of the alliteration), took a good week to really show signs of life, and there were moments I was convinced I was just growing a jar of beige sludge. Patience, as I quickly learned, is ingredient number one.

The difference this makes in the final bread is huge. Not just in flavor, which can range from mildly tangy to assertively sour depending on how you manage your starter and fermentation, but also in texture and even digestibility for some people. The long fermentation process involved in sourdough can help break down some of the gluten and phytic acid in the flour, potentially making it easier on the stomach. I’m not a dietician, so don’t quote me on that as medical advice, but it’s a commonly cited benefit. For me, the most fascinating part was realizing this starter was a unique reflection of my environment. The specific strains of yeast and bacteria in my Nashville kitchen are different from those that would be in a starter made in San Francisco, or Paris, or anywhere else. It makes each loaf a little bit of a terroir experiment, which appeals to the analytical side of my brain. It’s like a tiny, edible science project that smells amazing.

Essential Gear for Your Sourdough Adventure: Don’t Break the Bank

When I first decided to try sourdough, I went down the rabbit hole of “essential” equipment. And let me tell you, you can spend a FORTUNE. There are special proofing baskets, fancy lames for scoring, dedicated dough mixers… it’s overwhelming. But here’s the good news: you really don’t need all that stuff to get started. My initial setup was pretty basic. The absolute, non-negotiable item, in my opinion, is a digital scale. Sourdough is all about ratios, and volume measurements (cups, tablespoons) are just too inaccurate for consistent results. Flour can be packed differently, water levels can vary. A good scale that measures in grams will be your best friend. I picked one up for about twenty bucks, and it’s been indispensable.

Next, you’ll need a large mixing bowl – anything non-reactive will do, glass or ceramic is great. You’ll also want something to bake your bread in that can trap steam. A Dutch oven (a heavy, lidded pot, usually cast iron) is the gold standard because it mimics a professional steam-injected oven. Steam is crucial for getting that beautiful oven spring and crispy crust. I already had one, thankfully, but if you don’t, you can find decent ones without spending hundreds. Some people have success with a pizza stone and a pan of water for steam, or even an overturned stainless steel bowl over the loaf on a baking sheet. For proofing, a banneton (a rattan or cane basket) is traditional and helps the dough hold its shape while giving it those lovely spiral flour rings. But honestly, a bowl lined with a floured tea towel works just fine, especially when you’re starting out. I used a towel-lined bowl for my first few months! A dough scraper (a bench scraper) is also super helpful for handling sticky dough and cleaning your work surface. So, scale, bowl, Dutch oven (or alternative), and a scraper. That’s really the core kit. You can always add the fancy bits later if you get really into it. I know I’ve slowly accumulated a few more toys, but you can make amazing bread without them.

Creating Your Sourdough Starter from Scratch: A Week-Long Saga (and Test of Will)

Ah, the starter. This is where the journey truly begins, and where many a hopeful baker throws in the towel. Creating a sourdough starter from scratch is a process that demands patience and a bit of faith. It typically takes about 7 to 10 days, sometimes longer depending on your flour, water, and ambient temperature. The basic idea is simple: mix equal parts flour (by weight) and water in a jar, cover it loosely, and let it sit. Then, you begin a feeding schedule, which usually involves discarding a portion of the starter and replenishing it with fresh flour and water daily. I started with whole rye flour because I read it’s richer in microorganisms, which can help kickstart the process. After a few days, I switched to a mix of whole wheat and unbleached all-purpose.

Day one and two? Nothing much. Just a wet flour paste. Day three, I started seeing a few tiny bubbles and a slightly fruity smell. Excitement! Day four, it got weird. It smelled a bit like old gym socks, and a clear liquid, known as hooch, had formed on top. This is normal, by the way – hooch is just alcohol, a byproduct of fermentation, and indicates your starter is hungry. You can stir it in or pour it off before feeding. I nearly gave up around day five when it seemed to go completely flat after some initial activity. This is apparently a common phase where different bacteria battle it out for dominance before the good yeasts really take hold. I consulted a few blogs, took a deep breath, and kept feeding. Then, around day seven, magic! It started to reliably double in size within a few hours of feeding, was full of bubbles, and had a pleasant, tangy, slightly yeasty aroma. That feeling of success when it finally “woke up” was immense. I might have done a little happy dance in the kitchen. Luna just blinked at me, unimpressed, as usual.

The key is consistency in feeding and not getting discouraged by the weird phases. And yes, the discard. You’ll be discarding a portion of your starter before each feeding, especially in the beginning. It feels wasteful, I know! But it’s necessary to keep the microbial population in check and ensure the fresh flour isn’t overwhelmed. The good news is, there are tons of recipes for using sourdough discard – pancakes, waffles, crackers. I’ve made some surprisingly good discard crumpets. So it doesn’t *all* have to go to waste. It’s a bit of a commitment, this starter business, especially in the early days. Is this the best approach for everyone? Perhaps not if you’re extremely short on time, but the connection you build with your own starter is pretty special. You could also try to get some established starter from a friend or buy it online, which definitely speeds things up. But I’m glad I went through the from-scratch process, at least once.

The Rhythms of Feeding: Daily Rituals for a Thriving Starter

Once your starter is alive and kicking, you enter the maintenance phase. Keeping your yeast beast happy requires a regular feeding ratio and schedule. If you plan to bake frequently (like, multiple times a week), you can keep your starter at room temperature and feed it once or twice a day. A common ratio is 1:1:1 (starter:flour:water by weight), but you can adjust this. For example, a 1:2:2 or even 1:5:5 feeding will slow down fermentation, which can be useful. I’ve found that in my Nashville kitchen, which tends to be warmer, especially in summer, my starter gets hungry pretty fast. I learned this the hard way when it became super acidic and sluggish.

If you don’t bake that often, fridge storage is your friend. Once your starter is well-established, you can store it in the refrigerator and feed it about once a week. When you want to bake, you’ll take it out, let it come to room temperature, and give it a couple of feedings to get it active and bubbly again before using it in your dough. This is mostly how I manage Bubbles now, unless I’m on a baking spree. Troubleshooting starter health is an ongoing learning process. Is it sluggish? Maybe it needs more frequent feedings or a warmer spot. Is it too acidic (smells like vinegar or nail polish remover)? It’s probably overdue for a feeding and might benefit from a larger feeding ratio for a bit to dilute the acidity. Mold is the one thing you really don’t want to see. If it’s just a tiny spot on the surface, some people say you can scrape it off and feed the starter from the clean part underneath, but I’m a bit cautious. If it’s widespread or colorful, it’s probably best to start over, sadly. I once left mine unfed in the fridge for way too long while on a trip, and came back to a very sad, hooch-covered jar. It took a few days of intensive care (frequent, smaller feedings) to bring it back to its former glory. These little yeast colonies are resilient, but they do need consistent care, much like any pet, or perhaps a delicate houseplant.

Your First Sourdough Loaf: From Mixing to Marvel (or Mild Mishap)

Alright, starter is bubbly and active, you’ve got your basic gear. It’s time for the main event: baking your first loaf! I remember being so nervous. I’d read so many complex recipes. I opted for a fairly simple, beginner-friendly recipe with a manageable hydration level (that’s the amount of water relative to flour). The basic steps usually involve: autolyse (pre-mixing flour and water to let the flour hydrate and gluten begin to develop), mixing in the starter and salt, bulk fermentation (the first rise, with a series of stretches and folds), shaping, proofing (the final rise), and then baking. My first attempt was… an experience. I was meticulously following the instructions, watching the clock like a hawk. The dough felt alien in my hands – stickier than any bread dough I’d worked with before.

The autolyse step felt a bit strange – just mixing flour and water and letting it sit for 30 minutes to an hour. But it really does make the dough smoother and easier to handle later. Then came adding the starter and salt, and the initial mixing. Most sourdough recipes don’t involve intense kneading like traditional yeast breads. Instead, you rely on time and a series of “stretch and folds” during bulk fermentation to develop gluten. We’ll get more into that later. The bulk fermentation is where a lot of the magic happens. This is when the yeast gets to work, producing gas and developing flavor. It can take anywhere from 3 to 6 hours, or even longer, depending on the temperature of your kitchen and the activity of your starter. This is where observation becomes key. You’re looking for the dough to increase in volume (maybe by 30-50%), feel airy, and show some bubbles on the surface. My first time, I think I under-proofed it during bulk. I was so scared of over-proofing! Then came shaping, which felt like trying to wrestle an octopus. I tried to form a boule (a round loaf), but it was a bit… amorphous. Into my towel-lined bowl it went for the final proof. Many recipes call for a long, cold proof in the refrigerator, which can develop more flavor and make the dough easier to score. I opted for a shorter room temperature proof because I was impatient. Finally, baking. Scoring it was a wobbly affair, then into the preheated Dutch oven. The smell that filled my apartment was incredible. The result? Well, it wasn’t a total disaster. It was a bit flat, the crumb was a little dense, but it tasted like sourdough! It was MY sourdough! Luna even sniffed it with moderate interest, which I took as high praise. That first, imperfect loaf was a massive confidence booster. It proved that I *could* do this. It just needed practice.

Cracking the Code: Baker’s Percentages Explained Simply (Ish)

Now, if you start diving deeper into sourdough recipes, you’ll inevitably encounter something called baker’s percentages or baker’s math. At first, this sounded incredibly intimidating to me. Math wasn’t exactly my strongest subject, and applying it to bread felt like a bridge too far. But stick with me, because it’s actually a super useful concept that, once you get the hang of it, makes understanding and adjusting recipes much easier. Essentially, in baker’s percentages, the total weight of flour in a recipe is always considered 100%. All other ingredients are then expressed as a percentage of that total flour weight. For example, if a recipe calls for 1000g of flour and 700g of water, the hydration is 70% (700/1000 * 100). If it has 20g of salt, that’s 2% salt (20/1000 * 100). If you use 200g of starter (which is itself flour and water), you’d calculate its percentage too. This system is brilliant because it allows you to easily scale recipes up or down. Want to make a smaller loaf? Just reduce the total flour amount and all other ingredients will adjust proportionally. It also helps you understand the characteristics of a dough. A recipe with 65% hydration levels will behave very differently from one with 80% hydration (the latter being much wetter and trickier to handle, but often yielding a more open crumb).

It took me a while to embrace this. I’m more of an intuitive cook usually, but sourdough, I’ve learned, benefits from a bit more precision, especially when you’re learning. Understanding baker’s percentages helped me move beyond just blindly following a recipe to actually understanding *why* a recipe was constructed a certain way. It allowed me to start tweaking things. What if I want a slightly saltier bread? I know to adjust the salt percentage. What if my flour seems to absorb more water? I can confidently increase the hydration slightly. This was a real turning point in my sourdough journey, making me feel more in control of the process. It’s less about complex math and more about understanding ratios. If I can get it, you definitely can. There are plenty of online calculators too, if you want to double-check your numbers. It’s a tool, not a test. And a very useful one for recipe scaling and experimentation.

Stretch and Fold vs. Kneading: Developing that Glorious Gluten

One of the first things that surprised me about sourdough was the minimal kneading involved, at least in the traditional sense. Most yeast bread recipes I’d used before involved a good 10-15 minutes of vigorous kneading to develop the gluten development. Gluten, as you probably know, is the protein network that gives bread its structure and chewiness. With many sourdough methods, however, you achieve this primarily through a series of “stretch and folds” during the bulk fermentation period. Instead of a long, continuous knead, you perform several short sets of gentle stretches and folds, usually every 30-60 minutes for the first few hours of bulk fermentation. The technique is simple: you wet your hands slightly (to prevent sticking), grab a portion of the dough, stretch it up gently, and fold it over the rest of the dough. You repeat this from all four “sides” of the dough. This process gradually aligns and strengthens the gluten strands, building dough strength without over-oxidizing the dough, which some say can affect flavor and color. It also helps to equalize the dough temperature and redistribute the yeast and nutrients.

I was skeptical at first. How could these gentle folds possibly be enough? But the dough transforms. With each set, it becomes smoother, more elastic, and holds its shape better. It’s quite remarkable to witness. This technique is particularly well-suited to higher hydration doughs, which can be too sticky to knead traditionally. The goal is to build enough strength to trap the gases produced by the yeast, which will eventually lead to that beautiful open crumb we all covet. There are different schools of thought, of course. Some bakers do incorporate more vigorous mixing techniques like the slap and fold (or French fold) at the beginning. I’ve experimented a bit, but I find the gentle stretch and fold method to be effective and quite therapeutic. It’s another one of those moments in sourdough baking that forces you to slow down and be present with the dough. My first few attempts at stretching and folding were a bit clumsy, I’ll admit. The dough stuck to my hands, I probably stretched it too aggressively at times. But like anything, practice makes it more intuitive. You start to feel when the dough has had enough, when it’s becoming taut and resilient.

Shaping Your Loaf: From Blob to Beauty (Hopefully)

After the bulk fermentation, when your dough is airy and full of life, comes the shaping stage. This is where you gently degas the dough (just a little!) and form it into its final shape, usually a round boule or an oblong batard, before its final proof. This step is crucial for building surface tension on the dough, which helps it hold its shape during proofing and baking, and encourages a good oven spring. A well-shaped loaf will have a taut “skin” that contains the gases produced during the final proof. My early shaping attempts were… humbling. I’d watch videos of bakers effortlessly transforming a wobbly mass of dough into a perfectly tight boule, and then my attempt would look like a deflated jellyfish. It’s definitely a skill that takes practice. Too little tension, and your loaf might spread out flat. Too much, and you can tear the gluten network you so carefully built.

There are various techniques for shaping. For a boule, you might gently flatten the dough into a round, then fold the edges into the center, flip it over, and use your hands or a bench scraper to rotate and drag it towards you on the work surface, creating that surface tension. For a batard, the process is similar but results in a more elongated shape. The key is to be gentle but firm. You want to create structure without completely deflating all those lovely air bubbles. Once shaped, the dough goes into its proofing basket (banneton or towel-lined bowl), usually seam-side up. Then it’s time for the final proof. This can be done at room temperature for a couple of hours, or, more commonly for sourdough, in the refrigerator for a longer period (12-24 hours, or even more). This cold retard (great name, right?) slows down the yeast activity while allowing the bacteria to continue developing those complex sour flavors. It also makes the cold dough much easier to handle and score before baking. I almost always do a cold proof now. It fits my schedule better, and I genuinely think it improves the flavor and texture. Plus, a cold dough is less likely to stick to my lame when I’m attempting my (still very basic) scoring patterns.

Scoring Your Masterpiece and Achieving that Perfect Crust

The moment of truth! Your dough has proofed, your oven and Dutch oven are preheated to a blazing temperature (usually around 450-500°F or 230-260°C), and it’s time to bake. But first, scoring. Scoring techniques involve making decisive cuts on the surface of the dough just before it goes into the oven. This isn’t just for pretty patterns, though that’s a bonus. Scoring directs how the loaf expands during baking – what’s known as oven spring. Without scores, the loaf might burst open in unpredictable (and often unattractive) ways as the gases rapidly expand in the heat of the oven. A sharp blade is essential. Many bakers use a lame (pronounced “lahm”), which is basically a razor blade on a handle. A very sharp knife or even clean scissors can work in a pinch, but a lame gives you more control. For my first few loaves, I just made a simple cross or a single slash. I’m still working up the courage for those elaborate wheat stalk designs!

Once scored, the dough goes into the preheated Dutch oven. The lid stays on for the first 20-25 minutes of baking. This traps the steam released from the dough, creating a humid environment that keeps the crust soft and allows the loaf to expand to its full potential. This is crucial for good oven spring and that beautiful, crackly crust development. After the initial covered baking period, you remove the lid to allow the crust to brown and crisp up. This second phase usually takes another 20-30 minutes. The smell at this point is intoxicating. The first time I got a really noticeable “ear” (the proud, raised flap of crust along a score line) from good oven spring, I felt like a baking god. It’s such a satisfying visual cue that you’re on the right track. And that crackling sound the crust makes as it cools? Pure music to a baker’s ears. I’ve learned that even if the crumb inside isn’t perfect, a beautiful, well-baked crust can make any sourdough loaf feel like a triumph. It’s the part everyone oohs and aahs over first.

When Sourdough Goes Sideways: Common Problems and Solutions

Let’s be real: not every sourdough bake is going to be a masterpiece, especially when you’re starting out (and honestly, even when you’re not). I’ve had my share of what I affectionately call “learning loaves.” Dense, gummy crumb? Probably underproofed or your starter wasn’t active enough. A “flying crust” where the top separates from the rest of the loaf? Often a sign of underproofing or issues with shaping. Too sour? Maybe your starter was over-fermented, or your bulk fermentation went too long in a warm environment. Not sour enough? Could be the opposite – not enough fermentation time, or your starter is too young or fed in a way that doesn’t promote acidity. This is where troubleshooting sourdough becomes an art in itself. One of the best pieces of advice I received was to keep a baking journal. I jot down notes about my starter’s activity, the flours I used, fermentation times, ambient temperature, and the results. It sounds a bit nerdy (hello, marketing analyst background!), but it’s incredibly helpful for spotting patterns and figuring out what works and what doesn’t in your specific environment.

The important thing is not to get discouraged. Every loaf, even the ones that don’t look like they belong on Pinterest, is a lesson. And honestly, most “failures” are still perfectly edible, especially when toasted and slathered with butter. That dense loaf? Makes great croutons or breadcrumbs. That slightly too-sour one? Amazing with a strong cheese. Embracing imperfection is key to enjoying the sourdough learning curve. It’s a craft, and like any craft, it takes time and practice to hone. I used to get so frustrated when a loaf didn’t turn out how I envisioned. Now, I try to approach it with more curiosity. What can I learn from this? What will I try differently next time? This shift in mindset has made the whole process much more enjoyable. And Luna doesn’t seem to mind the occasional sub-par crust for her (very) occasional tiny nibble. She’s a forgiving audience. The journey is truly ongoing, and I suspect even seasoned bakers are always learning and tweaking. That’s part of the appeal, isn’t it? The constant quest for that perfect loaf, knowing that perfection is elusive but the pursuit is delicious.

Where Do We Go From Here? The Never-Ending Sourdough Quest

So, there you have it – a peek into my ongoing, often messy, but always fascinating sourdough journey. From nurturing that first tentative starter to (finally!) achieving a decent oven spring, it’s been a ride. What started as a curiosity, a way to connect with something ancient and elemental, has become a genuine passion. It’s more than just baking bread; it’s a process that teaches patience, observation, and a certain acceptance of delightful unpredictability. It’s a conversation with flour, water, and time. And honestly, in our hyper-connected, instant-results world, there’s something deeply satisfying about that slow, deliberate dance.

Will I ever achieve those picture-perfect loaves I see online consistently? Maybe. Maybe not. And I’m starting to realize that’s okay. Each loaf has its own character, its own story to tell. And the joy is as much in the making – the feel of the dough, the smell of the fermentation, the anticipation as it bakes – as it is in the eating. Though, let’s be clear, the eating part is pretty fantastic too. My Nashville kitchen now regularly smells of tangy yeast and warm bread, a far cry from the takeout boxes that used to dominate. Luna still supervises, of course, probably wondering when I’ll graduate to baking tuna-flavored sourdough (not happening, cat).

Perhaps this whole sourdough thing is a bit of a metaphor. You start with simple ingredients, nurture them, adapt to the unexpected, and create something unique and nourishing. Is this the ultimate path to baking enlightenment? I highly doubt I’m qualified to say. I’m still fumbling my way through, learning with every bake. But I can say this: it’s a deeply rewarding path. So, if you’ve been on the fence, maybe now’s the time to take the plunge. What’s the worst that can happen? You make a few doorstops? Trust me, I’ve been there. But you also might just discover a new passion, a new rhythm, and some seriously delicious bread. What will your sourdough story be?

FAQ

Q: Can I use any flour for my sourdough starter?
A: While you *can* use various flours, it’s often recommended to start with whole grain flours like whole wheat or rye. They contain more natural yeasts and nutrients, which can help kickstart fermentation. Once your starter is established, you can transition to feeding it with unbleached all-purpose or bread flour, or a mix, depending on the characteristics you want in your bread.

Q: How do I know when my starter is ready to bake with?
A: A ready-to-use starter will typically double or even triple in volume within 4-8 hours after feeding (depending on temperature and feeding ratio). It should look very bubbly, airy, and almost web-like in texture. A common test is the “float test”: drop a small spoonful of starter into a glass of water. If it floats, it’s generally considered ready. It should also have a pleasant, yeasty, and tangy aroma, not overly sour or like alcohol.

Q: My sourdough isn’t sour enough. What can I do?
A: Several factors influence sourness. Longer, slower fermentation times, especially a long cold proof in the refrigerator, can increase tang. Using a higher proportion of whole grain flours in your starter or dough can also contribute more sour notes. The feeding schedule and ratio for your starter play a big role too; a starter that has peaked and is beginning to fall, or one that is fed less frequently, tends to produce more acetic acid, which is sharper and more vinegary. Experiment with these variables to find the flavor profile you like.

Q: What’s the best way to store sourdough bread to keep it fresh?
A: Avoid storing sourdough in plastic bags if you want to maintain a crispy crust, as plastic traps moisture and can make the crust soft and chewy. The best way is to store it cut-side down on a wooden cutting board, uncovered, for the first day or so. For longer storage, a bread box, a cloth bread bag, or even beeswax wraps work well. You can also freeze sourdough; slice it first, then wrap it tightly in plastic wrap and then foil, or place it in a freezer bag. It thaws beautifully, especially if you toast the slices.

@article{sourdough-baking-beginners-journey-my-tangy-tale,
    title   = {Sourdough Baking Beginner’s Journey: My Tangy Tale},
    author  = {Chef's icon},
    year    = {2025},
    journal = {Chef's Icon},
    url     = {https://chefsicon.com/the-art-of-sourdough-baking-a-beginners-journey/}
}