My Sourdough Nemesis: When Life Teaches You to Rise (Eventually)

Loaf #4 - Too golden and undercooked inside

I have been a good cook for a long time. I don't just say this out of being egotistical or overly confident—I say this because others have told me that my cooking is good. I am a home cook with no formal training (other than the occasional cooking class for fun). But I have spent years honing my cooking skills to get to a point where I feel good about almost anything that comes out of my kitchen.

OK, so here it is... I am still learning how to bake! And I don't mean the cake-in-a-box or frozen pie dough kind of baking. I mean real artisanal baking—sourdough, scones, breads, croissants. For whatever reason, baking and I have had it out for each other. I know why it is—with cooking, you can "add a splash of this" or "a zing of that." I go on instinct a lot, which doesn't make it easy to write recipes, but I know how to tweak a dish just right. But baking? No, no, no—there is no tweaking. It is a precise endeavor down to the gram and teaspoon. It's exacting, and one needs patience to master it. I am not patient... I just look at that bread rising over there and think, "That's got to be enough time, right?" Wrong!

Recently, I have been on a journey with sourdough. I don't know why, but sourdough is my Mt. Everest. I want to figure out its path, climb its intricacies, and come out on top with a fluffy, light interior and crusty exterior just the right shade of golden brown. But my goodness, the steps... so many steps to making sourdough.

First of all, you have to make your starter, which is at least a week-long labor of love. Every day, measuring out the exact amount to add to your little beaker—not too much water, not too much flour. Then wait... until the next day and do it all over again, carefully stirring until you have created a moist, beige blob called "starter." Now, I have screwed this very first step up already. Again, my patience with it and then, of course, forgetting about it—that doesn't help. But I managed to finally get my "living starter" going, and I could now proceed to the actual bread-making steps.

Wait, what? How many steps? Yup, there are a lot. Mix the dough, let it rest, stretch and fold every half hour, bench stretch and fold, and then rest. Then into my little sourdough basket to—you guessed it—rest. Into the refrigerator it goes because Lord knows you can't actually bake it the same day... So, on it goes into another day now. Turning out my wannabe loaf and making precise, if not even artistic, razor cuts on its humped back; I am aspiring to at least make it pretty if nothing else. Bake in a cast iron pan or not? Bake covered or uncovered? Bain Marie or not? Ice cubes? Ugh, all the advice and articles I read, and then... it was terrible!

Not just the first loaf was terrible, but so were the second, third, and fourth. Not risen enough, doughy inside, just didn't taste right, and then, of course, burnt! This was becoming an arch nemesis with whom I was starting to really grow weary. I almost thought about giving up, and then I said, "No, just because it's not easy doesn't mean you shouldn't keep trying!" That voice in my head was right.

Loaf # 2 - Undercooked and doughy!

And then, on the fifth loaf, I couldn't believe it—it worked! I made a perfect round loaf of sourdough. The bread was a little sweet and a little sour, the crust was crunchy, and the inside was airy. I was as proud as a mother sending her child away on the first day of school. I wanted to shout, "Look, I did it!" But ultimately, no one else really cared. But I did! Now if I can just remember the methods I used...

Doing easy things—like cooking, for me—doesn't really challenge our soul's purpose. Like my life right now, I am in transition in my career and as a parent of grown children. I am learning to better appreciate the things that come easier to me and push myself to do the hard stuff. I have that loaf of sourdough in the refrigerator right now, ready for a fresh bake tomorrow. Will it turn out? We'll see. But I know that I can do it, so that pushes me on.

Sometimes the things that frustrate us most are exactly what we need to be working on. My sourdough journey isn't really about bread—it's about patience, precision, and trusting the process. It's about learning that some of life's best rewards come not from our natural talents, but from wrestling with our weaknesses until they become strengths.

I forgot to take a pic of my loaf that turned out! So, imagine this is what it looked like!