I was totally and utterly wrong about one aspect of developing a sourdough starter. The mixture does not in fact become, as I so wildly imagined, stinkier with each passing day. At least my batch has not proceeded along these lines. After a few days of building stink, this starter sort of settled down to a gentle aroma, giving off an air reminiscent of wine and damp forests. When I sniffed it this afternoon, before adding the wheat and kneading it into a dough, the gray-brown liquid smelt almost desirable. Huh? Let’s hope this tamed odor is a sign of life rather than death in the yeast department. There were bubbles, certainly, but these too appeared rather subdued and lethargic.
Tomorrow is judgement day. I have just finished kneading and shaping the dough and it is now safely ensconced in loaf pans and covered with the inevitable damp tea towel. As sourdoughs as slow risers—the lazy bastards—I will leave it overnight and hope for the best. If all goes well I should have two magically plumped loaves to bake tomorrow.
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