Confessions of a Sourdough Mum

Frazzled sourdough mum

The highs, the lows and the slightly obsessive relationship I've developed with a jar of flour and water.

I'm not a good sourdough mum.

There. I said it.

I really wanted to be. I genuinely dreamed of having a starter bubbling away on my bench like a delicious little science experiment. I pictured those gorgeous reel-worthy moments, folding light, airy dough that had been tended to with love and care. Birds chirping around me like Snow White while I effortlessly pulled beautiful golden loaves from the oven.

I imagined daily feeds following a clear, simple recipe that told me exactly what to do and when.

But the reality?

Sourdough is hard work. And it is a fickle, fickle thing.

First Things First - You Have to Name It

Apparently it helps your starter thrive if you give it a name. Maybe that's been my problem all along. I hadn't been talking to my starter by her true name.

So, now that I've officially named her, say hello to Goldie!

Having a sourdough starter is basically like having a newborn again. Daily feeds. Nightly feeds. Sometimes once a day, sometimes twice and somehow you're just supposed to know when she needs to start that second feed.

The basic instructions lured me in with a false sense of hope.

Start simple: 50g flour, 50g water, once a day. Easy enough, right?

But then, after about a week, everything changes.

You shift from daily feeds to feeds every 12 hours and suddenly you have to plan your entire day around it. You can't just decide at 9pm, "Right, I've finished everything, I'll feed Goldie now."

No.

You need to know in advance exactly what time you'll be home, morning and night and commit to it.

Every. Single. Day.

And yes, I'll put my hand up. I may have missed a feed here or there. Fed her a little too late. A little too early.

We don't need to talk about those days.

The Instructions Are Anything But Specific

If you're anything like me, you thrive on specific instructions. But when it comes to sourdough, the instructions are anything but specific.

There are so many talented bakers and bloggers absolutely thriving in the sourdough world, and hats off to every single one of them. I genuinely want to be one of those people. But I'm just not there yet.

One thing I always wonder when I'm watching those beautiful sourdough videos, apart from how do they do that? is, what temperature is their house?

Is it the middle of summer?

Because for some reason I always seem to start a new starter in winter, which, as it turns out, is the least ideal sourdough weather possible.

Sourdough starters love warmth. They want to feel like they're on a summer holiday in Bali, not sitting on a Gold Coast kitchen bench in June.

And we all know what Queenslanders are like in winter. We're basically rugged up in ugg boots and seeking warmth the moment it drops below 20 degrees.

Goldie never stood a chance.

The Water, the Flour and the Ratios

Then there's the water situation.

Not tap water.

Not bottled water.

Not filtered water - as I quickly discovered.

Goldie seemed to prefer cool boiled filtered water. Technically filtered water should have been fine, but apparently she had opinions about that. Well, she liked it for a few days anyway.

And don't even get me started on the flour.

We all begin confidently buying a 1kg bag of baker's flour. Then it becomes a 5kg bag. Then someone suggests adding wholemeal flour because your starter looks a little sluggish.

But how much?

Half and half?

Ten percent?

Twenty percent?

There never seems to be a definitive answer. The advice is usually something along the lines of, "Just try it and see."

And at some point you'll inevitably be told that rye flour might help too.

Maybe.

One day.

Who knows?

When should I start that?

How much?

Then come the feeding ratios. We start with 1:1:1, that's 20g starter, 20g flour and 20g water for anyone not yet deep in the sourdough rabbit hole. But before long you're hearing ratios anywhere from 1:1:1 to 1:10:10 and everything in between.

Apparently they all work.

Somehow.

The Bubbles, the Texture and the Smell

Because it really is like having a baby again.

Are the bubbles small or big? Is the texture like chocolate mousse or muffin batter? Does it smell fruity and yeasty or like nail polish remover?

Every little detail apparently means something different and my brain is genuinely going into overdrive trying to keep up.

But We Keep Going

Because that's what sourdough mums do.

We persevere. We Google things at midnight. We stare into jars of bubbling flour wondering if today is the day it all finally comes together.

Every morning I lift the lid, take a cautious sniff and inspect Goldie like she's a science project. Some days she looks promising. Other days she looks exactly the same as she did yesterday or last week.

Yet somehow I still find myself whispering, "Come on, you've got this."

I've invested too much flour, too much filtered water and, quite frankly, too much of my sanity to give up now. Goldie and I have been through too much together.

So tomorrow morning I'll lift that lid again and check for signs of greatness.

Maybe tomorrow, Goldie.

The dream is still alive. The loaf is coming. And when it finally happens, you can be absolutely certain you'll hear about it. 🍞😂

A Little Something While You Wait

If you've already accumulated a jar of sourdough discard while waiting for your starter to mature, don't throw it away. Some of my favourite ways to use it are in Sourdough Discard Chocolate Brownies and Sourdough Discard Yoghurt Pancakes.

At least while Goldie and I are figuring things out, we can still eat well. 😉