The Blog of welshstacker

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Every weekend, without fail (well, unless life truly kicks off), I make a loaf of sourdough. Sometimes it’s a Friday night unwind, sometimes a lazy Sunday bake — but it always starts with the same familiar friend: my faithful sourdough starter, quietly waiting in the fridge.

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I’ve been baking bread for years, but switched entirely to sourdough during the chaos of Covid, like many others did. My starter — kindly gifted by @huw28582 and his now ex-wife (cheers both!) — has been bubbling along for over five years now. It’s changed character many times depending on what flour was cheapest: plain, wholemeal, rye — it’s tasted them all. That shifting blend has given it a deep, ever-evolving flavour. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

There’s something incredibly grounding about the process. On baking day, I take the starter out, let it warm up, and give it a fresh feed of water and flour. A few hours later, it's wide awake, bubbling and ready to go. I always leave a bit behind in the jar, give it a top-up, and pop it back in the fridge — zero waste, no discard, and it’s never let me down. I don’t do measuring. Never have. I add water, a bit of olive oil, salt and flour until it feels right. Too wet? More flour. Too dry? A splash more water. It’s not rocket science — just intuition (and probably years of doing it slightly wrong until I got it right!).

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After a 30-minute rest, the dough gets its first stretch and fold, and then another. After an hour or so, I knead it for a good 15 minutes — my own form of stress relief. Some people meditate. I pound dough. Better than shouting at the kids, right? Once shaped and rested, it’s into a Dutch oven at 220°C to rise and steam for 30-45 minutes, then finished off at 180°C for that crisp, golden crust. Some days I’ve got the patience for an overnight proof to deepen the flavour. Most days I don’t. And when it’s done? Nothing beats slicing into a warm loaf, slathering it in butter, and topping it off with a spoonful of homemade strawberry jam from this year’s harvest.

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Baking my own bread gives me control over ingredients, flavour, and that quiet satisfaction of making something with my own hands. It’s fresh, healthy, cheap — and just the way I like it.

Until next weekend...