Oh, boy, mama’s calling me to come help in the kitchen…now what?
Uh, oh, mama’s on a sourdough kick. Not that she wasn’t on one, say, a gazillion years ago (okay, okay, mama, a few years ago), but at that time she was experimenting with all kinds of cooking and sourdough starters were just a part of the knowledge. This one is just started, no bubbles yet. It will take live yeast out of the air (and in this little wine burg, there are YEASTS!) and make a sour starter in a few days. Then, the bread will happen.
First she stirs up something bubbly (white and rye flour, water, pinch of yeast) that has to be fed, like me, haha, every few days, unlike me, to make sure it has enough sugars to keep it alive and kicking.
I’ll keep you posted on the progress of this but evidently with starters, nothing happens overnight.
So she’s starting with this jar, full of her own sour dough that comes from saving a little piece of her pizza dough each Sunday eve (pizza night, YAY!) and refrigerating it until the next Sunday dough is made, using a bit of it and adding whatever is left over to the ziplock. This has been going on for years, so I guess we actually have a sort of sourdough DOUGH in our fridge, and just a little piece of it added to the flour, water and yeast each Sunday gives our pizza dough a little tang (notice the use of “our”). Hey, I help make pizza every week! I watch to make sure it’s being done correctly and then I eyeball the mozzarella until mama feels guilty.
A regular sous chef, I.
Exhausting work, sourdoughing.