A mediocrity of sourdough
Not all my kitchen alchemical projects are unqualified success stories.
Last week I took on the pursuit of wild yeast, attempting a from-scratch sourdough culture.
The Thing squatted on the kitchen counter, being fed, swelling and absorbing attention every time I was in the vicinity. Eventually I shaped and baked two French style loaves of wheat rye sourdough.
They turned out rather dense. Maybe I didn’t knead enough. Maybe I didn’t allow enough proving time. Maybe my inability to stick to a recipe, resulting in that addition of rye flour is the problem.
The taste is great: a little sour, a definite rye robustness and slices make a good platform for the (successful) vegan cheesy spreads made from raw almonds, garlic, lemon juice and spices.
These two loaves were a lot of work and serious investment of time, for underwhelming results. I’m thinking to stick to veggie pancakes and patties with bean/tuber/nut flours in future: I get better and tastier results.
Bread baking just isn’t my thing even though I seem to revisit it around every seven years. Bottomline: maybe I feel better not eating a lot of wheat anyway.