Success!

When lockdown began, I had three little sachets of Quick Dried Yeast in my cupboard - perhaps enough to make 9 loaves. But I quickly learned that the supermarket was liable not to have the kind of white bread I like for toast (typical Scots Plain loaf, thick sliced) and I started to make my own white bread, as well as the regular brown loaves. And in no time at all I realised I was running out of yeast. Enter my sourdough memories. I used to make it, some 15 years ago, and I was always bothered by the fact that I was told by my recipe to make freeform loaves, and these tended to flop on the baking tray before they baked and the result was a great deal of tooth-destroying crust and not enough bread. And so it was that when my starter died through neglect (remember we used to go off on holidays?) I didn't mourn for long.

But now ... Now the domestic goddess had to spring once more into action. I got another recipe from my pal who makes it all the time; I made my own starter but soon got some of hers because it was mature and lively. I tried using a banneton ( a proofing basket - why?). I put it in the fridge overnight, and felt sad when the rising stopped. Sure, my bread was firm and had a nice pattern from the basket, but it was ... dull. I like my bread bouncy and full of holes. The quest for the perfect texture had begun.

Fast forward through a month or so, through dough that had been kneaded madly, dough that had been stretched and folded several times, dough that was dry and floury, dough that was wet and slimy and practically impossible to deal with. Promising loaves collapsed on their journey to the oven; crusts grew hard as iron and threatened to demolish my sorely tried teeth. Last week I tried again, googled "sourdough loaf in a tin" and found what looked like an absurdly simple, easy recipe ...

Yesterday morning I took my starter from the fridge, fed it, and left it on the worktop all day. By the time I was about to make our dinner, it was bubbling merrily. I mixed it with tepid (23ºC) water, whisked it enthusiastically, put on the rice for the chilli, (no, no - that's not part of the recipe), added the flours and salt, mixed it all together  with a large wooden spoon. I lined my loaf tin with greaseproof paper, buttered it, added the  last dribbles of water to the dough, and plopped it all into the tin. It spent the night in the kitchen, covered in a clean disposable shower cap, went into the fridge for a couple of hours in the morning, and was put in the hot oven at 11am.

The result is as you see - a decent-sized slice, with a reasonable top crust and good holes in the bread. It was delicious. It was made only with water, flour and salt - nothing else. I think it may be a miracle ...

In other news, we sat over the last of the wine at dinner tonight and remembered how young we were 50 years ago as we contemplated our wedding on the morrow. We thought about how young people set about attracting The Chosen One, and if it really ever works as you plan or if - my memory - it just happens. In many ways it doesn't really seem that long ago - and then I look at what we've done, what we've created, the family that has grown because we got married half a century ago. 

That's me: a matriarch, who makes sourdough bread ...