Sourdough, Slowing Down & Sticky Messes

It is still dark when I pull my slippers on, wrap myself in my gown, and go to the kitchen to switch the oven on. By the time I have warmed up and properly woken up after doing the usual morning things, the oven is also warm (and the dog has moved himself closer to it). I put the bread dough on a baking sheet, score it, and pop it in the oven. By the time everyone else is awake, the sun has just started peeking over the horizon, the smell of fresh bread fills the house and the kitchen is nice and warm.

Most of the things I bake are with pre-mixes: muffins, birthday cakes, scones. There's no need to measure out the flour, salt, sugar, or baking powder; I just chuck it in a bowl, add eggs, milk or water, whisk it all together, and pop it in the oven. Easy peasy. The house smells great, and the muffins (or whatever I have chosen to bake) taste great, although they're not as healthy as anything baked from scratch.

Lately, in my need to slow down and actually enjoy life instead of trying to do All The Things, I've been trying to apply the slowing down to what happens in the kitchen as well as life in general. A couple of months ago I asked my friend, Sarah, for some sourdough starter without any clue how to use it. I had heard that sourdough bread was a healthier option for people with gut and thyroid issues, so I thought I'd give it a try. Sometimes you just have to dive in, hope for the best, and figure it out as you go along. (And if you get stuck, well, there's always Google.)

I wanted to slow down in the kitchen; well, baking sourdough bread is a slow process. I can't just wake up and decide that today is a good day to bake. There are no easy pre-mixes here. I have to plan ahead, wake up early the day before I intend to bake, feed the starter, then come back later in the day to mix the dough, knead it, let it rest, knead again, let it rest, knead again, then let it rest. Later still, it's time to shape the dough, then it goes into the fridge overnight. The baking happens on day two.

Right now, I bake sourdough bread once a week: for our Friday soup night. Is there anything better than homemade soup and sourdough bread on a cold, dark winter's evening? I picked the right time to get into the sourdough trend (only about three years after the rest of the world). My children would happily eat sourdough bread every day, and maybe we'll eventually get there. For now, once a week works for me.

There is something therapeutic about mixing the dough. It's a sticky mess at first, but it slowly takes shape, and in the rhythm of kneading and folding and shaping, there's something that satisfies something in my soul: an innate desire to create something with my hands that feeds and nourishes my family; the longing to move to a farm and raise chickens and plant vegetables and fruit trees. Maybe even get some goats. Not that I have had much success keeping a veggie patch alive—I gave up on it after our dog realised he could jump over the fence into it. My succulent garden is thriving, though; succulents are more difficult to kill. And my husband really dislikes goats. Ahh well. One can dream.

Baking bread makes me think about my grandmother, my mother's mother. She was always baking something: hertzoggies, coconut biscuits, vetkoek, big loaves of white bread that we'd eat with butter, still warm from the oven. She made ginger beer from scratch too; I remember her fridge full of bottles. Only now, when it is too late, do I wish I had learned how to make all of that with her. I can learn by myself, of course, but Googling a recipe and following it step by step is not the same as learning side by side, making memories as well as baking treats.

I want a different experience for my children, even if it means we start off with pre-mixes and Googled recipes. I want the slow afternoons in a sunny kitchen, hands covered in flour dust, trays of biscuits fresh from the oven, a pot of tea steeping as we wait together to test the first batch.

This past weekend, my not-quite-seven-year-old baked muffins for church. He was inspired by one his friends, who baked the week before, and it occurred to him that baking wasn't just for girls. He was very keen to bake entirely from scratch, but I convinced him that starting off with a pre-mix might be easier for his very first time. Of course, it turned out that his idea of baking was just to mix the batter, so it ended up being me who spooned the batter into the muffin caps and put them in the oven. He was still very proud of “his” muffins and kept coming in to the kitchen to check that no one had eaten any.

My daughters, not to be outdone by their younger brother, have said they plan to bake for church this week. Do we dare attempt something from scratch? Maybe we'll stick to pre-mixes for now. And when I feel as though I've got the hang of sourdough bread, I'll teach them how to make that too.