Letter From Birdland--Sourdough

In Birdland Spring teases us with the bright blue skies and occasional warmish breeze. Last week I saw a robin as I carried seed out to the aviary, and my daffodils are sending up green shoots, almost electric against the dull greys and browns of the yard. Usually I can appreciate the starkness of winter, and enjoy the muted colors, but this year I turn more eagerly than ever to garden catalogs. I've ordered seeds for the 4-H club and seeds for myself. In a moment of weakness or insanity, I put in an order of day old chicks, too. Michael doesn’t know this, yet.

All this is not enough, though, and I also began another new project: Sourdough. Once I lived in a hippie house full of vegetarians and the smells of curry and tiger balm and incense. We got along remarkably well for a group of 20ish kids with strong ideals and personality conflicts and baggage we weren't even aware of. Looking back, I realize that it was the kitchen that held us together. We each had different schedules, but two or three at a time would collect in the kitchen at odd hours for popcorn and conversation or an impromptu game of chess or a sing-a-long. And central to the kitchen was the sourdough starter. I don't remember anyone ever baking bread, but we had sourdough waffles almost every day. The most important rule in our house (more important than doing the dishes or paying your rent on time) was "Respect the Sourdough! If You Use the Starter You Must Feed It." We were known as the Sourdough House and we had a special pyrex measuring cup marked with indelible ink for Sourdough Starter up to HERE; Water to HERE; Oil to HERE; and how many eggs. This was the perfect amount for one waffle, and I can still taste that sour crispy deliciousness. Warm, with a tang and an outer crust. The tart smell of hot waffles would drift through the house, and my housemates would drift into the kitchen hoping for a bite; hoping that enough starter remained in the jar for one more waffle. The house legend was that our starter had come from San Francisco, but I’m sure it picked up some prairie yeasts as well. We kept our starter in a gallon pickle jar. A wooden bowl lay on top with a spoon stuck in it to keep the bowl askew because the sourdough has to breathe.

Spring is the longing in me* and last week I found a recipe to start my own culture of sourdough in the “Simply Bee” issue (February-March 2009) of MaryJane’s Farm. The recipe called for about 5 minutes of easy tending every day for a week, then another few minutes to mix the dough to bake a loaf of bread. It sounded sort of like a pet, and though I don’t really need another daily task to add to my Birdland chores, sourdough is a very forgiving pet. If you forget to feed it one day, you can easily revive it the next. Going on vacation? Just put it in the fridge or freezer to slow the growth until you get back. You can also embellish the recipe—variations on a sourdough medley. Feeling adventurous, I added oats one day; remembering how corn gave our waffles even more of a crunch, I added cornmeal the next. At the end of a week I scooped out two cups of the starter to make a loaf of bread. Sourdough is very relaxed, and no matter how much I tried to stiffen the dough, it wanted to spread out. The resulting loaves were flattish, but delicious baguettes. I think they could be more sour, but I’ll bet that will come with more time, more culturing. Maybe by spring.

Bake in Beauty; Culture Peace; Blessed Be.

Mary Lucille Hays lives in Birdland and writes for The Piatt County Journal Republican. She is interested in issues of ecology, social justice, and her own backyard. She is thinking about making some waffles. You can find a link to a sourdough recipe and read more of her writings at www.birdlandreading.com. She can be reached at birdland@planetsave.com.

*apologies to Frost.