James Whitcombe
A Loaf That Suits a Slow Morning
There is something quietly satisfying about a sourdough loaf cooling on a farmhouse table, its crust crackling as it settles. Unlike the soft, uniform loaves from the supermarket, a country sourdough asks for nothing more than flour, water, salt, and a jar of lively starter kept on the dresser like a member of the household. It needs no machinery and no packets of yeast. What it does need is patience, a warm corner of the kitchen, and a reasonably hot oven. Get those three things right and you will be baking a crusty, open-textured loaf that tastes of wheat and time, week after week, for years.
Keeping a Starter Lively
A starter is simply flour and water left to ferment. Begin with 100g of strong wholemeal flour and 100g of tepid water. Tap water is fine in most parts of Britain, though if yours is heavily chlorinated, draw a jug the night before and let it stand. Stir, cover with a cloth, and leave on the worktop. For the first five days, tip away half and feed with another 100g of flour and 100g of water each morning. By day five it should bubble within a few hours of feeding, smell faintly of apples and yoghurt, and roughly double in size.
If a grey liquid gathers on top, the starter is hungry rather than dead — pour it off, feed, and carry on. Rye flour gives a sluggish culture a real kick, so a spoonful in each feed works wonders. Once established, keep it in the fridge between bakes, bring it out the night before, and feed it until it is frothy and domed before you use it. A starter that floats in a glass of water is ready to raise a loaf.
Strong Flour and Straightforward Measurements
One loaf, one bowl, no scales gymnastics:
- 500g strong white bread flour — the high protein gives the open, chewy crumb. Swap in 50g of wholemeal or rye for flavour.
- 350g tepid water — about 70 per cent hydration, forgiving for a first loaf.
- 100g active starter — bubbly, risen, and smelling pleasantly sour.
- 10g fine sea salt — not table salt, which can taste harsh.
Mix the flour and water first and leave it for 45 minutes; this rest, the autolyse, lets the flour hydrate and saves you a good deal of kneading. Then work in the starter and salt, squeezing the dough through your fingers until no dry patches remain. Cover and rest for half an hour, then give it four sets of stretch and folds, spaced half an hour apart. By the last set the dough should feel silky and pull into a thin, translucent window without tearing.
The Long, Cool Rise
Now leave it alone. A bulk fermentation of four to six hours at 18–20°C — a cool larder or the corner of a north-facing kitchen — is about right. The dough is ready when it has risen by roughly half, looks domed, and jiggles when you shake the bowl. Turn it out, shape it into a taut round, and let it rest on the bench for twenty minutes before shaping it a second time, seam side up, into a floured banneton or a tea towel-lined bowl.
Then comes the slow part that makes all the difference. Cover the bowl and put it in the fridge for twelve to eighteen hours. The cold slows the yeast to a crawl while enzymes carry on developing flavour, giving you a deeper, more complex loaf than any same-day bake. Bake it straight from the cold; there is no need to bring it back to room temperature.
Steam, Heat, and a Proper Crust
Preheat the oven to 240°C for at least forty minutes, with a cast-iron casserole or a heavy baking stone inside. Steam is what lets the loaf spring upwards before the crust sets, so a lidded pot is the simplest answer. Failing that, put a roasting tin of boiling water on the floor of the oven just as the bread goes in.
Turn the cold dough onto baking parchment, score the top about a centimetre deep at a shallow angle, and lower it in. A short timetable keeps things simple:
- 240°C — twenty minutes with the lid on, or with the steam tray in place.
- 220°C — a further twenty to twenty-five minutes uncovered, until deeply browned.
- 96–99°C — the internal temperature of a fully baked loaf, if you have a thermometer.
A hollow tap on the base is the old-fashioned test. Either way, resist slicing until the loaf is completely cold, ideally after two hours, or the crumb will smear.
Reading the Loaf
Every bake teaches you something. A gummy middle usually means underbaking rather than underproving, so give it ten more minutes next time. A dense, tight crumb points to a weak starter or too short a bulk rise. A flat, pale loaf that spread sideways was almost certainly overproved — cut the bulk by an hour in warm weather. Sourdough is not a recipe so much as a conversation with your own kitchen, and the answers come with practice.
Serve the first slice warm with salted butter, and the rest with sharp cheese, ham, or a bowl of soup on a cold afternoon. It keeps for two days in a paper bag, then makes excellent toast and better croutons. Once the rhythm is in your hands, you will wonder why you ever bought bread at all.
