Sourdoughs--because nothing warms the heart like bread

      Since my current novel-in-the-works takes place in gold rush-era San Francisco, I mention a lot of sourdough bread. This tangy, yeasty loaf was synonymous with the American pioneers in general, but something about its presence among the prospectors of 1849 really stuck in our national lore. To this day, San Francisco boasts of its delicious sourdough bread, and visitors who don't try a hefty slice alongside a bowl of hot clam chowder are seriously missing out.
      As a child, sourdough was one of my favorite breads. I loved going to restaurants and having thick slices served warm before I'd even ordered from the menu; I would slather it with butter and watch it melt in before taking a bite. Yet somehow, despite this affection, I have never made it myself. Actually I haven't baked much bread at all--a fear of the unpredictability of yeast accompanied by a dislike of "club-fingers" from kneading kept bread as a grocery-list staple, rather than a baking regular. But years (and a certain cinnamon roll recipe) have changed my perspective. And now that I'm writing about dusty California settlers munching sourdough in San Francisco saloons, it's time I embraced the loaf, and made the magic happen in my own kitchen.
      The first thing I needed to do was make a starter. The reason sourdough was such a staple for the pioneers was because it doesn't require starting from scratch every time a person wanted to bake bread (which was usually every day). A loose dough is made and set out to catch wild yeast from the air, and accompanying bacteria to help process the sugars. This is called a "starter." You have to feed it with more flour and water every now and again, and sometimes you have to throw part of it out, but you can take off parts to mix with more flour and water to make bread...ack. Here, Alton Brown does a better job of explaining it than I do. He also explains why anything I do here in Ohio is going to be different from San Francisco sourdough. But I'm going to do my best, anyway.
      Here's the recipe I'm using for a starter. I chose this because, well, it's winter. Also because it uses honey, which I have on hand, as opposed to spent grapes, which is preferred in wine country. But, like all starters, it takes time. The better part of a week, actually. So I did the first part...

Not much to it, just bread flour, spelt flour, salt, honey, and warm water.

       ...and then I was surprised at the result. I know the recipe said "make a compact dough," but every starter I've ever encountered has been very loose. (Through the years, there have been neighbors and girl scouts who have given me bags of goo, with enthusiastic explanations of how it would become bread someday if I just did a, b, c, and then x, y, z. Most of these were graciously accepted, and then graciously thrown into the garbage. A few of them were graciously put in the fridge and then graciously ignored for a long time before being thrown into the garbage.) But hey, it's my first time, so who am I to second guess a recipe?

This part at least I was able to mix with a wooden spoon, sparing my fingers.

      I confess I made one small change. Before stashing the dough atop my fridge, I kept it by an open window for about an hour. This was only possible because we had an unseasonably warm afternoon (and boy did that not last long at all), and I wanted to get those wild yeasts from the great outdoors if at all possible. We'll see what happens. I'll do the next part in a day and a half. Follow along with my sourdough adventure over the next week, I'll keep you updated on how I'm doing. Hopefully it will end with a tasty loaf of fresh, authentic sourdough. Either that, or an ungracious waste of time and materials. We'll see.