The Daily Ritual of Sourdough: A Love Letter to My Husband's Loaf
For the past year, a quiet, rhythmic hum has become a staple in our home. It's not a new appliance or a forgotten tune; it's the subtle, constant presence of sourdough. More specifically, it's the daily, almost sacred, ritual my husband performs in the pursuit of the perfect loaf.
I’ve watched, fascinated, as this journey has unfolded. What began as a new hobby has blossomed into a full-blown passion, a mindful practice that I admire more and more with each passing day. He tells me he simply loves the process (his method), that there’s always a new nuance to explore, a subtle refinement to be made. And honestly, it shows.
His mornings begin with the gentle coaxing of his sourdough starter, that living, breathing foundation of all good bread. Then comes the precise weighing of the flour and water, a scientific approach to what, to me, seems like an art form. By afternoon, the real magic (or as I affectionately call it, the "aeration process") begins. He'll stand at the counter, completely absorbed, as he folds the dough in a deliberate, clockwise motion. Every twenty minutes, at least four times, he repeats this gentle turning, building strength and structure in the dough. It’s a dance of patience and precision, a testament to his unwavering dedication.
He allows the dough to rest, to gather itself, before the grand finale. The clatter of the heavy pot being preheated signals the next stage. With a focused intensity, he decorates the top of the dough – scoring intricate patterns that will bloom in the oven – before carefully placing it into the hot pot. The kitchen then fills with that intoxicating aroma of baking bread. After twenty minutes, the lid comes off, the temperature drops, and the bread continues to bake for another forty, transforming into a golden-brown masterpiece.
I love to eat a slice fresh from the oven, still warm, with just a touch of salted butter melting into its craggy crevices… it is, without exaggeration, the best bread I have ever tasted. The crust crackles, the crumb is soft and chewy, and the flavor is deep, complex, and utterly satisfying.
Beyond the incredible taste, what truly captivates me is watching him in his element. When he’s making bread, he is utterly connected. It’s his mindful method, a space where time seems to slow down, and the worries of the day recede. In a world that constantly pulls us in a million directions, witnessing his complete immersion in this craft is a beautiful thing. It’s a quiet reminder of the joy found in process, in dedication, and in creating something truly wonderful.
What about you? Do you have a daily ritual that brings you a sense of peace and connection?