Yesterday after I got over my little panic attack shit fit, I decided to make some sourdough muffins, and reached into the dark, dank, depths my fridge for my starter.
Having not used it for a good six months, the bakers amongst you will not to surprised to hear that it looked a little grey, with about a centimetre of brackish looking liquid floating on top, so I took the lid off and gave it a sniff.
God, it smelled absolutely rank! But I know it’s meant to be a bit funky to give the bread that lovely tang, so I give it a quick stir then add equal amounts of flour and water and put it on top of the fridge, where it is usually, for some reason, quite warm and left it overnight.
When I managed to drag my arse out of bed today, I went to have a look at it.
It had barely moved, let alone doubled in size, only one or two bubbles had appeared to break the surface, and it seemed to be separating again.
Hmm. This isn’t promising….
So I added another tablespoon of flour, an equal amount of water and mixed it all up again.
I then got paranoid about how crusty the plastic tub it was kept in had gotten, so tipped it into a bowl, washed and dried said container, put it back in again and put it close to, but not touching the radiator, and left it there to recover it’s va va voom.
An hour later?
Well maybe it had farted up just a couple more bubbles, sighed and collapsed back down again but it was very hard to say.
I search the internet for advice and inspiration, and surprise, surprise I’d done the wrong thing.
‘The dark liquid is a form of naturally occurring alcohol known as hooch (yes it’s alcoholic, wish I’d known that before I got started….), this is harmless but does need to be poured off and discarded prior to stirring and feeding your starter’
Shit. But the teacher from my bread making course told me to mix it in?
And there, on another bread making forum, it is in black and white:
‘The hooch is perfectly normal, just mix it in….’
Ha! See! Bloody, scare mongering wankers.
‘…if you culture is too dry, and pour it off it it’s too wet.’
I look at it again. It stared back moonily, all pallid and lethargic.
Huh, I know how that feels.
I continue to scout around on t’internet and find a remedy equivalent to the kiss of life for stinky glop, so then I halved it, fed it again, then grabbed my phone to set an alarm so I would remember to do it once more before bedtime.
….I thought ‘Fuck it’.
Maybe like me, it need to get it’s shit together in it’s own good time.
Some things just can’t be rushed.
Let’s hope it doesn’t need 18 frigging months plus, like it’s mother…..