Doodling Around With Sourdough

Last night, I opened the fridge and there was my sourdough starter, looking sort of reproachful. It had somehow migrated from the back of the fridge to the front, where I could see it and feel guilty about it. C’mon, little guy, I know you’re strong, I thought to it. You’re surviving. You don’t really need me to refresh you every week … do you?

I haven’t quite reached the stage of talking to inanimate objects, although the day is probably not too far off. Thing is, a sourdough starter isn’t inanimate; it’s full of live yeast culture, and I’m supposed to take care of it instead of leaving it in the back of the fridge for weeks at a time.

At least it didn’t think anything back at me.  But it did look neglected. So I shlepped the jar out, mixed the hooch back into the starter and removed a cupful to another bowl.

Once the original starter was refreshed and stored away again, I reached for the cupful to throw it out. But I hate to pour good, live  culture away. So I beat in about 3 cups of all-purpose flour, covered it with plastic wrap, and set it aside while I did more important things, like watching Shrek with my Little One for the eleventeenth time.

A lovely, bubbly sponge developed meantime. Hm.  This had possibilites. So I mixed in a tablespoon of olive oil, a tablespoon of salt, and about 2 more cups of flour. Stretched and folded. Floured the bowl heavily, covered my dough with plastic wrap again, and went to bed.

Funny how one thing leads to another, and how small things can shape your day (or destiny). I had errands to run this morning, but it was raining. Casting around for an excuse to stay home, the sourdough caught my eye. It was well risen, fair and light in its bowl, rich in the promise of good bread. Pretty good for a little cupful of starter I’d almost thrown down the sink last night. Wouldn’t it be a pity to let the dough keep on fermenting the whole morning? It would get too sour to enjoy. Better stay home and bake something wonderful.

So I divided the dough into thirds.

With one third, I made a quick little focaccia. Just olive oil, kosher salt, and plenty of freshly-ground pepper. I let it rise again for half an hour, meantime pre-heating the oven to 450°F and shaping the next two breads.

The focaccia baked up in about 20 minutes.  When it cooled down, I split half of it open and stuffed my breakfast omelette into it. Pretty good, with a tomato.

There were about 3/4 -cup of black olives that needed to get used up. I sliced and kneaded them into the second third of the dough. When I took the focaccia out of the oven, I put the boule to bake – it took 1/2 hour on top, then another 10 minutes upside down.

And there was some firm white cheese (Hemed, for Israelis). And a few tablespoons of grated Parmesan. The last third of dough I rolled into a rectangle, filled with cubed white cheese and the Parmesan, and rolled up into a fat snake. Then, using a technique more commonly used for sweet yeast cakes, I cut the snake almost in half lengthwise, and twisted the two halves around each other. Painted the whole with a little beaten egg I’d set aside before making my omelette, and let the cheese bread rise while the olive bread was baking.

That was some good bread.

And there went my whole morning, just doodling around with sourdough. Well, I did make a fish soup in between. Guess what’s for dinner tonight.