The Humility of Sourdough
Around the same time I was kicking off my brioche tests, I also decided to teach myself about sourdough. I went full on into "breaducation" mode, a burst of skill-building that, I suppose, was my way of preparing for what I'd imagined would be a major career pivot. In those last months at home in Brooklyn, I was packing up for a new life and a new business in Amsterdam and simultaneously immersing myself in research and experimentation with all sorts of baking.
As the magic of flour, water, and the microflora of my neighborhood revealed itself to me, I was riveted. I studied like a monk, devoting hours to poring over the gospels of Chad and Jeffrey (Robertson and Hamelman, respectively). For a deeper understanding, I consulted the writings of Sandor Ellix Katz, prophet of fermentation. I'd scribble calculations of hydration and do homework of baker's math. I nurtured two new pets, the Yeastie Boys- a Tartine-style half and half white/wheat blend starter, and also a 100% rye one (which I subsequently dehydrated and packed into my carry-on for the move to Amsterdam. He's still with me today, here in London.)
I discovered an enormous and highly engaged global community of fellow breadheads whose guidance was actually accessible to acolytes like me. In fact, they were more than happy to answer questions, or to help untangle the strands of whatever conundrums had you stuck. (That was a gluten joke, by the way. Gluten strands.)
One of the most well-known, and certainly one of the warmest and most generous of these bakers is Maurizio Leo. His blog, The Perfect Loaf started out as a journal of his own sourdough learnings. An engineer by trade, Maurizio's notes and observations are incredibly precise, and thus immeasurably helpful.
IF I'VE LEARNED NOTHING ELSE ALONG THE WAY, IT'S THAT SOURDOUGH BAKING IS PROBABLY MORE SCIENCE THAN IT IS ART, A SYSTEMATIC MANAGEMENT OF VARIABLES FOR FORMING AND VALIDATING HYPOTHESES. OR, FINDING 10,000 WAYS THAT DON'T WORK...
Nearly four years on myself, I still feel like I know nothing. Every small gain opens up a whole new world of challenges. The utter simplicity of sourdough- just four ingredients- is what is both deeply compelling and enigmatic about the process. There is nowhere to hide. That being said, once you get the hang of things, it's next to impossible to make a loaf of bread that isn't already exponentially better than anything you'd buy at the grocery store. The next best thing to sliced bread? Yeah, fuck that, bread you make with your own two hands, with time and temperature on your side is pure magic. Slice it yo' damn self!
Yet still it leaves me, and indeed most sourdough bakers unsatisfied. We are ever chasing the proverbial dragon of a dream loaf, an archetype, an icon, the likes of which we may never have actually tasted. No, indeed we're too shallow, we measure ourselves against unrealistic standards. We have, unfortunately, what baker Trevor J. Wilson pointedly calls out as the embarrassing problem of "Tartine Envy:"
"Instead of celebrating the diversity of bread, the new Cabal has declared that there is only one “true” bread. And then they proceed to define that platonic ideal in only the narrowest of terms — wet dough, big holes, near-burnt crust."
I hate to admit it, but he's right. And, as with most of our feelings of inadequacy, it's not hard to point a finger at the tightly honed eye of Instagram as a root cause. There is, at the moment, a kind of cult of dough-bros ruling the sourdough Insta-feeds. I'm not gonna lie, I follow them all, and they're as supportive and helpful as they are competitive. Hell, if I've done an awesome bake, you can bet I, too, will be a #crumbshotwanker.
There are of course a number of amazing women worth following for their own sourdough pursuits, teaching and learning in equal measure, particularly Sarah C. Owens, Tara Jensen @bakerhands, or Hannah @blondieandrye. Over the past several months, I've also become Insta-pals with the wonderful Tika Stefano, @sourdough_mess, whose own sourdough trials and triumphs have been inspiring and especially relatable.
However, despite the fact that we're all following our own path, somehow we remain fixed on arriving at the same destination. The upside is that the "open-source sharing of knowledge is not surprising to those who own Tartine Bread, which put forth everything that Robertson had learned into a 34-page recipe that has been the backbone of pro and amateur bakers around the world."
And, as our revered chef-yogi himself has said, “I don’t feel like there’s a reason to keep it all secret. I want to push the whole state of bread, by putting it out there and seeing what people will do.”
While lately I've been frustrated with my own seeming lack of progress, I'm trying to call on my reignited yoga habit to remind me that similarly, sourdough is also a practice. No matter how meticulous your notes, how assiduous your formula-following, no matter whose definition of perfection you're emulating, the conditions that surround the creation of every loaf are always going to be as minutely different as the way you feel when you arrive on your mat, from one day to the next.